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It burns…the fever burns through her forehead, scraping down against her skull. Its heat wrinkling her brains and nerves to coil. “Thean…” Sol huffs out, panting in sweat that only sear her skin red.
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“Shhh shh~” Patting little Sol’s head, “You are okay~ You are fine~”
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“W-who?” trying to open her eyes, and seeing blurry and hazy colors,
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“Here” a cold, rim of a glass touches her sweating lips, “Drink nice and easy, it is medicine” the voice says before letting the thick crimson liquid tease her closed teeth. And, when it opens with the tongue reaching out, the glass pours it down her throat. “Good girl~ You are my daughter after all~ hehe~”
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And Sol takes the glass, both hands before sitting up. Drinking it empty.
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“You want more?” The hazy blur forming to sharpen at two crimson red eyes. Its irises are sharp as knife cuts. “Here you go~” offering her a dark cyan wrist and a black pulsing vein draws the little girl to sniff.
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Here tiny fangs drilling down for the pulsing vein before smooching a mouthful of wound and black blood.
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“Do not spill it now~ It is my special gift for you and it is precious~”
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And she does not spill it, licking her mess clean before sucking and feeding herself more of that pulsing wrist and black blood. The fever cooling down as all the heat runs down to her neck. Darkening her own veins and, burning her eyes ablaze with scarlet.
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“My name is Dramescula~ Your mother Sol Sanguiris~” Patting the little girl’s head, “If you ever feel hot or hungry. Mother will come and feed you. Just remember my eyes, and you will know that the entire sacrifice before you are your meal.”
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The scene shifts to a dark hallway where a teenage boy whom teenager Sol calls “Berlin,” demanding with open palms, “give me back my money”
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But the boy shrugs his shoulders and disses her with a smug expression, “I’m going home and I’m going to get more tomorrow and the next following days after that.”
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“Father gave it to me as my allowance! Those are mine!”
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“Well now it is mine because they are in my wallet!”
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“Are you sure about that boy?” A familiar voice resonates from behind Sol and a bat perches on her shoulder. A wallet hanging in its mouth. “I am sure you are hungry”
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“B-but” murmuring but the side of her lips are already drooling, “He is a noble”
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“Does that matter anymore?” the bat flies and claws and scratches at the complaining boy’s eyes. Before the bat bites him and his own hands strangling him. “Eat while it is still fresh” flying away to perch on the ceiling upside down, watching Sol creep up to the boy and gnarly stabs his throat with a ballpen, gurgling out blood from the vocal cords and drinking warm and fresh fountain.
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The scene changes to when Sol is alone, dumped and heartbroken. Only for a stranger with the familiar crimson eyes to knock the ex out could. So that she can fill her broken heart back with his fresh beating pulse.
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Then to a scene where Sol is frustrated at a paper of request. The noble who wrote the paper itself appears before her the next day with familiar crimson eyes. Sol did not hesitate to feed herself and bring back her own sanity.
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“I, have been with you throughout your life Sol.” Dramescula says in her present thoughts, bracing against the claws of a werewolf with bats and undying blood regeneration---a torn arm easily healing in less than a second. “I am your mother who made you stronger, protected you from harm, and guided you in mortal charades. We are one mother and daughter. Compatibly so that you may accept me as your one~”
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Sol's breath comes in ragged gasps as she dodges and weaves around Tywin's relentless attacks, the werewolf's claws tearing through the air with savage ferocity. She sacrifices a limb here, an ear there, her blood manipulation healing the wounds almost as quickly as they are inflicted. But even with Dramescula's power coursing through her veins, she knows that one misstep, one moment of hesitation, could mean the end.
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The underground camp crumbles around them, stone columns shattering and walls caving in under the force of their battle. Sol flings her fingers, desperately trying to control the raging beast before her, but Dramescula's voice echoes in her mind, a mocking reminder of the futility of her efforts.
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"It won't work, my child," she purrs, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "Tywin's blood is a cocktail of Hemos, silver, and other minerals that render him immune to our powers. We must find another way."
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Sol's heart races, her mind reeling as she searches for a solution. Dramescula's suggestion comes as a whisper, a dark and seductive promise. "Lure him to the columns, the walls. Let his own rage be his undoing."
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And so, Sol dances, a deadly game of cat and mouse as she leads Tywin on a destructive path through the chamber. The werewolf's head crashes against stone, again and again, the impacts sending shockwaves through the already unstable structure. The other Whiteblood Knights cry out in warning, their voices lost in the cacophony of crumbling rock and snarling fury.
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Dramescula's next idea comes as a cruel twist, a manipulation of the bond between leader and follower. "Send him to his mates," she whispers, her voice dripping with malice. “Hehe, this will be interesting”
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Sol hesitates, a flicker of doubt crossing her features, but the pull of Dramescula's influence is too strong. She lures Tywin towards Dori, the poor girl's scream cut short as her head is ripped from her shoulders by her own leader's jaws. Zera's strings prove a temporary reprieve, but even her power is no match for the werewolf's savagery. Gordon's attempt to separate Sol from Dramescula ends in a spray of blood and spikes, his body impaled on the very power he sought to control.
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And then, only Zera remains, her strings shredded and her body broken by the unrelenting onslaught. Dramescula's laughter echoes through the chamber, a mocking celebration of the carnage. "Look at what you've done, Tywin!" she cries, her voice filled with twisted glee. "You've killed your own mates, your own family!"
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The werewolf's eyes blaze with uncomprehending rage, his movements growing more erratic, more destructive with each passing moment. Sol continues her deadly dance, luring him to the last of the stone pillars, the chamber quaking and shuddering under the onslaught.
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And then, in a moment of shocking clarity, Tywin's jaws close around Sol and Dramescula's shared body, tearing them to shreds in a rain of blood and flesh. Sol's scream mingles with Dramescula's enraged shout, their pain and fury intertwined in a single, horrifying sound.
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But even as Tywin's consciousness fades, his body pierced by the very blood he sought to spill, a new horror rises from the carnage. Sol and Dramescula's body reforms, two heads sprouting from the ruined flesh, one bearing Sol's anguished features, the other Dramescula's pale, monstrous visage.
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And then, a voice cuts through the chaos, a familiar presence that sends a chill down Sol's spine. Hubert stands at the edge of the chamber, Princess Thean at his side, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly orange light. Threads of power weave around Hubert's form.
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Sol's heart leaps, a desperate plea for forgiveness falling from her lips, but Dramescula's voice drowns out her own, a dark recognition flooding her tone. "Yralla," she breathes, her crimson eyes wide with a mixture of fear and longing. "I thought you’d stay silent all the way”
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And Yralla speaks through Thean’s voice but with an echoic divine, “I thought so too, but my daughter kept on wanting her girlfriend that I cannot let her go get her, alone.”
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“Hehe, my daughter too” Dramescula says, “Did not expect the wolves would sniff me out and I did not want her to suffer alone.”
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“That is not you” Yralla tilts her head, “Twist your heads then it is you”
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“Oh please~ We both know that this was an accident.”
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“An accident by the Lady Goddess and Farsight”
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