The thing was darkness given substance.
Thick and bulbous oil, rising up from the center of the
floor; a bubbling, purplish mass of ooze, glowing like a ghoul at midnight. It
was a top-heavy hulk with long, undulating appendages that might have once been
arms in a past life, and there was a vague impression that it should have a head.
It didn’t.
Sitting in its place, where a neck would have been, was a
thin little creature. A small animal—sort of—with pointed ears that were pulled back on a
tiny skull, and a dagger-toothed grin that split its mocking face in two.
Unlike its silent companion, which may or may not have even been sentient, this
thing radiated malevolence.
Both of these monstrosities, whatever they were, were
translucent. If not for the glow in the skeletal imp’s eyes, there wouldn’t
have been a focal point to see them at all. Not with a layperson's eyes, anyway.
Sithe's glare bore straight into the both of them.
Sithe's glare bore straight into the both of them.
“What an ... unadulterated pleasure, Mistress,” the imp
hissed, offering a grim mockery of a courtly bow. Something resembling fondness
rested in the ethereal black that was
its voice. “Don’t you think so, Metha?” The imp patted its oily companion. “I
think she’s ... up to something. Mm. I do.”
“Fezzik,” Sithe murmured softly, with a dark little smile.
She gestured almost delicately toward the thing. Fezzik hopped onto her hand
and scampered up her arm, to rest on her shoulder and lean its bony cheek
against her ear. “Metha’li,” she continued, obviously referring to the other. “Thank you for coming. I have an assignment for you. Involving a rather ... unseemly sort of man.”
“Are we doing noble
work again, Mistress?” Fezzik asked mockingly. “To what do we owe the pleasure of being your instruments
tonight? The last I heard, you preferred to use our dear little Ekza when
dealing with ... heh, men.”
Sithe’s smile widened. “We’re not at that stage yet, little one.” She reached up and ticked the imp’s
long nose with the knuckle of one finger. “I need information. Shall we say, damning evidence.”
Fezzik clapped its talon-tipped hands together with a squeal
of dark delight. “Oh! Listen to that, Metha! We’re off to spy on the decadent!
You humans have such a capacity for ... what’s your word for it? Evil? Tell me, Mistress. Tell me true. Who is the
hapless, craven creature which has so caught your ... illustrious fancy?”
“His name is Gregor Abney.”
* * *
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