Respira - 06/07/21 - Malice No More

“Are you sure you want to do this?”
The calm voice of Lord Morvolan echoes ever so slightly in the laboratory. There is no fire to warm the ice-encrusted workshop of the Winter Court fey noble. A cold surgery, to do a procedure, arrived at by cold calculation. Noone will hear you sing here; noone will hear you scream either.

“I am sure. ‘A song for peace of mind’. That was our bargain. Go on then.” Menace takes deep breaths. This is it. The moment he has been waiting for. The moment to assert control.

You are fooling yourself if you think this will eliminate me.

““Doesn't matter now, does it? As long as it keeps you locked away, I will be happy.” He sighs, taking deep breaths.

“I won't lie,” the Fey noble says, sharpening knives and magical instruments, “this will hurt.”

“I will sing.”

“It will hurt a lot.”

“I will sing loudly.”

“As you wish. Here we go. Please begin…”

Menace begins. He starts his song slowly, sad notes building as the cold scalpel cuts into him. His voice rises as the knife cuts deeper, as the fey lord’s magic scoops in, his song rises, full of anger and hatred, his chest open, knife and magic hard at work, rising, ever rising, rage and power building to a crescendo!
Until the root is reached, cut from his deepest motivation, and he begins to slow his song, lungs pumping out note after note.

You will regret this…

Lord Morvolan reaches for a sparkling ice crystal, “...and now for the coup de grace…”
The sense of coldness is indescribable as the fey noble pushes the crystal into Menace’s chest. Pain mingles with a cold certainty; this is how it is meant to be; this is the way; this is the only possibility…

You will miss me.

“Maybe… But I will see you on the other side. When our mission is done. When we have gotten our revenge. When we have gotten our way. MY WAY.”
The song of woe is slowing now, coming down from its crescendo. Cold notes building a new refrain. This is a song of cold calculation, of plans made years ago and emotions tightly wrapped into coils, ready to be unleashed when suitable.

“Goodbye brother.”
When Menace rises from the gurney, there is no doubt left in him. A bargain has been struck. ‘A song for peace of mind.’

Malice has been subdued.

There is only Menace.

There is only the Plan.

There is only vengeance.

There is only the way.


"How do you feel?", Lord Morvolan asks his patient.

"I feel fine, doctor." Menace's voice is level, steady, cold.
The smile is anything but.