《Vermilla (Dark Fantasy Romance Short Story)》


 Chapter 1

    The new girl is a blood elf named Vermilla, and she¡¯s obsessed with demons.


    It¡¯s all she sketches in her notebook. Images of summonings, exorcisms, violet stars. Rips in the universe that open up to darker realms. Sometimes it¡¯s a creature void of shape. A hallowed sphere with slits for eyes. A clouded figure clad in red. Not just a singular red, but made up of hundreds of shades of red all blended together like a dying forest. Today, she¡¯s spending our entire three-hour classroom lecture painting an image of Valgog, Lord of Blood, flaying a group of villagers against a threaded roof.


    The scene takes place at sunset. She uses gold and red to show the last rays of sunlight on bare flesh and bone. A river flows in the distance, dark against a backdrop of mountains. There¡¯s a storm and it''s raining, but that only adds a glaze to the fires burning below the villagers. She uses a dark blue to show wisps of wind. A matte purple for lightning.


    The most disturbing part isn¡¯t the violence of the image itself, but rather, how carefully she draws the faces of the people. Tiny dots against a canvas that spreads across her entire table, yet intricately detailed with razor thin lines to show shadows. Splashes of ink to shape the most minute of facial expressions.


    From one angle, everyone on the roof looks like they are suffering, faces contorted in anguish, bodies writhing. Valgog rises above them, a blood-stained slash for a mouth, a pitched trident for a tail, and then he lunges, teeth bare, ready to devour. From another angle, it looks like everyone on the roof is in utter euphoria, mouths slightly parted, ready to be swallowed whole to satisfy Valgog''s divine appetite.


    Oh, and sometimes, instead of demons, Vermilla sketches pictures of me.


    She doesn¡¯t hide it. She makes the sketches openly. I think she even wants me to see, but it feels more like a warning than a form of flattery. Humans are prey to blood elves, Master Roku once taught us. Not all of them are evil, and some, like Vermilla, are even allowed to study in the Cathedral with us, but their nature is always the same. Predators.


    I had been planning to confront her about it today. Or tonight, I should say. Had my whole speech practiced in front of a mirror. After this lecture, I¡¯d find her in her room. I¡¯d tell her, politely but firmly, that I didn¡¯t appreciate the sketches and that if she didn¡¯t stop, I¡¯d tell the Masters about it.


    No no, telling the Masters sounds childish. I¡¯ll be tough about it, though. Polite, but straight. She would listen. She had to.


    She turns back in her seat and looks at me. She¡¯s sitting three rows down. Her lips curl into a grin. I shiver a little bit, wondering if she could read my mind. Is that a blood elf power I didn¡¯t know about? Her scent fills the air. No one else could smell it, just me. It¡¯s mind-numbing. A blend of flower and spring rain, tailored to my own memories. This is a natural affinity of blood elves. An ability they use to lure their prey in. I imagine this is her way of playing with her food.


    I look around. Shift in my seat uncomfortably. Think about how I¡¯ll approach her tonight. I¡¯ll tell her to stop using her scent on me. To stop sketching me in her notebook. I¡¯d turn her down with my head held high. Luckily, the Cathedral has strict laws preventing blood elves from feeding on classmates, but then again, that¡¯s not the only appetite they¡¯re known for¡­


    ¡°You can smell her, can¡¯t you?¡± Fellum asks.


    I lean back in my seat. Nod slowly, then try to take in a deep breath without smelling the air. This is how I get through lectures where Vermilla is intent on distracting me. Deep breaths, one minute at a time.


    I check my pocket watch. Cover my nose slightly with the palm of my hand.


    Fellum shakes his head. ¡°I¡¯d kill to be in your position, you know?¡±


    ¡°I know¡­¡±


    The lecture hall is packed with about two-hundred students. Tonight¡¯s a full moon. Master Roku is doing his breakdown of how to fight werewolves. It¡¯s not as simple as knowing that they¡¯re weak in their snouts or that you have to avoid their bite. Werewolves are animal-human hybrids. They fight with the same bestial ferocity as a real wolf¨Cbut with all the focus and awareness of a person. It¡¯s hard to explain unless you¡¯ve fought a werewolf before. The style is inherently unique. You can¡¯t train against it in normal circumstances. It¡¯s a strange mix of untamed blows and calculated haymakers.


    We¡¯ve had werewolf attacks in just about every other full moon, so the Masters have been preparing the more senior students to fight back. Support the guards if we needed to. I don¡¯t think the Cathedral is truly in danger of falling (hasn¡¯t happened in more than a thousand years), but I wouldn¡¯t mind jumping in to prevent more harm done to the guards, or other students.


    It¡¯s just that I can¡¯t join early. I¡¯m an arcanist, you see. I¡¯m not the best in up close combat. My strength is average, at most, and I wouldn¡¯t know what to do closer than a few feet to a real threat. I¡¯m typically called in for sieges, or as the ultimate line of defense behind shield-bearers.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to tell her to stop,¡± Sarya whispers. Sarya, Fellum, and Luri have been my best friends since my first year at the Cathedral. That must have been when we were ten. Nearly nine years later, we¡¯re still going strong.


    ¡°He¡¯s not going to tell her to stop,¡± Luri says. ¡°He likes the attention.¡± Luri is a silver-haired mage. She comes from a wealthy family. One of many heirs to a shipping empire that specializes in moving occult artifacts between the kingdoms of Hinterland and the underworld.


    I roll my eyes, but I can¡¯t deny it. Luri is half-right. I would tell Vermilla to stop, but I also did like the attention.


    Luri and I dated for a while. I broke it off because¡­well¡­I¡¯m a light arcanist. A holy warrior. I¡¯m an orphan, but I inherit the trait from both sides of my family, and I take my vows seriously. I can¡¯t give girls what they want, or relationships what they need.


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    Despite this, I want to be wanted. It¡¯s why I dated Luri, and a number of other girls around the Cathedral. I like being able to say no. I love the sense of control it comes with. A feeling of satisfaction. Of discipline. I know it¡¯s twisted. Probably a result of some complex I have deep down inside related to righteous entitlement. Or maybe something to do with wanting attention because I never had parents. I don¡¯t know, but it¡¯s something I¡¯ve been trying to work on. No more dating girls just to say no. No more stringing them along. I need to be more honest.


    After just¡­this one last time. After I go up to Vermilla, look her in the eye, and tell her I¡¯m not interested. It would be an affirmation of my strength. A way for me to validate my discipline.


    Sometimes I wonder if that¡¯s why she has her eyes on me. A kind of morbid fascination with being able to corrupt the light. She wouldn¡¯t succeed, I tell myself. I¡¯m too disciplined. I have too much self-control. She would see that tonight.


    Sarya leans forward to whisper between me and Fellum. ¡°Whatever the case, I¡¯d be terrified if a creature like that sketched me in a notebook. And multiple times, at that. You should at least tell one of the Masters. Weren¡¯t you planning on talking to her today?¡±


    ¡°No way,¡± Fellum says. ¡°What you should do is give up on those stupid vows and spend a night in her room. Can you imagine what it would be like to be with a blood elf?¡± He throws an arm around the wooden rim of his chair. ¡°The scent they release is supposed to be like a drug for the prey they choose. Imagine getting lost in that during¡­¡±


    Luri shakes her head. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s why Leon looks like he¡¯s in a coma right now.¡±


    I blink. Swallow to try and fix my dry mouth. Sit up and straighten my posture.


    It¡¯s true. Despite holding my breath, I¡¯m dazed by Vermilla¡¯s scent. It¡¯s like a sweet flower mixed with berries in a rainstorm¨Cthat with an undercurrent of vanilla incense. It¡¯s familiar. Made for me. The idea of that bothers me so much. Another creature able to manufacture exactly what my body wants. Not just a variation of it, but exactly the most arousing smell possible for my brain. Blend it together from fragments of different memories to form a drug for my senses.


    I can¡¯t even remember the memories myself, but I imagine they¡¯re there, buried somewhere deep in my subconscious. Maybe from when I was two or three. Riding in a wagon through a rainstorm. A family huddled together, vanilla incense burning at the front. A trail through a forest filled with flowers and berries.


    Sometimes in class, I don¡¯t even try to resist it. I let myself get lost in it. The smell penetrates so deep I feel like I¡¯m drinking honey after a few minutes. I can choke on it. Drown in it. Time flows slower. Even if I snap out of it by the end of the lecture, I¡¯m not the same after. I can¡¯t sleep in the nights that follow. I end up lying in bed, drunk, feeling like there¡¯s a better reality waiting for me beyond the veil of this one. I count stars. Look for constellations. Try and remember the smell. Convince myself not to go looking for Vermilla.


    All this without us ever exchanging words directly to each other.


    On those days, when I¡¯d let myself get lost in her smell, she¡¯d always turn around at the end of class with a mischievous grin and stare directly at me. Her way of letting me know she had won. I¡¯d look at her for a second, then look away, always promising I¡¯d be more disciplined next time, always failing.


    I¡¯m the most powerful arcanist in our class, and as a result, arguably the most important person in any future battle. You protected your arcanists, even with your own life. They healed the injured. Broke enemy lines. Tore down walls.


    I have to be disciplined, I tell myself. Mental strength is the foundation of being a good arcanist, and the reason why I¡¯m the best in our class. This is how I built mental strength. Fortitude. Faith. Resisting temptation. This is just practice.


    I¡¯m not interested in you. I repeat the words a few times to myself. I imagine my tone as I say them to her. Soft but firm. Confident. She¡¯ll be devastated. I¡¯d hold myself high. Hold myself above her. A holy arcanist. Righteous. I represent the best of humanity.


    I look down three rows. Vermilla stops sketching and her ears twitch. I wonder if she can hear us. Hear the challenge roaring in my head.


    I¡¯m not going to deny that she¡¯s gorgeous, and if I let my thoughts stray, it doesn¡¯t end up with me saying no. Doe eyes, a peach color in the light. Red curls that fall unevenly around her ears. A perfectly symmetrical face and shoulder blades that line the curve of her neck in sharp ridges. She¡¯s showing off her shoulders right now, wearing a black dress that barely covers her chest. I stare at her neckline. Then below. Take a breath without thinking and suddenly I¡¯m lost in spring rain and the smell of sweet-something flowers again. I feel a bulge in my pants. Cough from the dryness in my throat. It feels like I¡¯m inhaling vanilla smoke.


    I bite down on my tongue to make myself stop. I focus on my plan. Imagine myself knocking on her door. Turning her down. Tonight would be the night. Nothing would be better than that feeling, I tell myself. Overcoming my own temptations. Letting her down hard and showing her I had the power to say no.


    ¡°Who knows what¡¯s special about today¡¯s full moon?¡± Master Roku asks.


    The class is quiet at first. A rustle of pages as people turn their books. Look over their notes.


    ¡°It¡¯s a blood moon,¡± Vermilla says. Her voice is smooth, easy, but confident. A hint of arrogance, even. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s because I¡¯m already half lost in her scent, but it sounds like her voice is coming from right next to me.


    Master Roku clears his throat. ¡°Correct, and what does a blood moon entail? Someone else, besides Vermilla.¡±


    Vermilla doesn¡¯t talk in every class, but in ones related to demonology, she can answer pretty much everything. It¡¯s the first time that someone has outdone me in class. It¡¯s a bit intimidating, really. I study a lot but even I can¡¯t come close to her knowledge of the dark arts.


    Blood moon, I think to myself. Something vague about the walls between realms being thinner pops into my head. Werewolves being able to access more demonic forms along the lycanthropy tree.


    Luri flips through her book. Points to something then tilts the page toward me and Fellum.


    Fellum¡¯s eyes light up.


    ¡°What?¡± I ask without looking. I¡¯m still trying to jog my memory for an answer. I hate feeling unprepared in class.


    ¡°The affinities of blood elves are more powerful during a blood moon,¡± Fellum says. ¡°And their appetites are much larger. Not exactly a surprise but maybe you want to avoid talking to Vermilla tonight.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I say adamantly. That makes me even more determined. If I say no to her tonight, she¡¯ll know I¡¯m better than her temptations. I¡¯ll breathe freely as I say it too. Lost in her scent, I¡¯ll find myself. Make it clear that I can¡¯t be won over. I¡¯m going to be the strongest light arcanist in Hinterland, I tell myself. Beyond temptation. This is practice.


    The classroom¡¯s grand clock chimes to indicate sunset is an hour away. As students shuffle around the lecture hall, packing their things, I see Vermilla eyeing me. A half-smile, the corner of it promising canines.

 Chapter 2

    I pace the halls near Vermilla¡¯s room back and forth. Blood elves in the Cathedral are housed in a separate castle, nicknamed the Red Rook, a chateau-style citadel connected to the main keep through a set of winding corridors and spiral staircases. Vermilla is the only blood elf in our school now though, which makes this part of the Cathedral extra eerie. If I screamed (not that I should have a reason to), no one would be able to hear me.


    I stand in front of her door. Candlelight throws broken shadows across its wooden panels. I hesitate before knocking. Take a few steps back then walk toward a nearby window with a lantern at its sill.


    I can¡¯t beat her in a fight. Why am I thinking that? Why would we fight?


    I¡¯ve seen her spar with other students. Quick as a jungle cat, and with blood elf strength and affinities. Brutal, too. She had broken Luri¡¯s arm in a match once. Put Fellum to sleep with a blow to his spine. I¡¯d never fought her, and a part of me wondered if it was because the Masters didn¡¯t trust her to hold back on an arcanist. A broken hand for me could mean no more casting for months. Years, if the damage was bad enough.


    It¡¯s snowing now. I catch a glimpse of a shadow in the woods. Not big enough to be a werewolf. A dire wolf, maybe. Chestnut fur blends into the branches of a leafless oak. I think of its teeth. Serrated, pearl, made for savagery.


    I knock on Vermilla¡¯s door.


    It creaks open. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. My hands are already clammy and I can¡¯t figure out how I¡¯m going to get my first words out. I realize I never thought through how I¡¯d actually start this conversation.


    I smell her before I see her. The scent is so strong I get light headed. Should have listened to Fellum. Bad idea to come here tonight. It feels like a physical force, and all I can do is stare and try to remember to breathe. I lick my lips and taste berries and vanilla. Feel flower petals on my fingertips.


    She¡¯s wearing another black dress. The straps fall to her elbows and I can see the cups of her breasts. Her hair is pushed to one side, glistening as if she¡¯d just showered. She¡¯s wearing a rose-gold necklace. Dark see-through leggings that show through the slit of her dress. Something tells me she knew I was coming.


    For a long moment, we just stare at each other, and then she takes several steps backward. I follow her in, still feeling lost, not sure what¡¯s giving me direction.


    It¡¯s warm in her room. A blazing fireplace. Torches along stone walls.


    ¡°Am I under a spell?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Close the door behind you,¡± she says.


    The creak of wood again, and suddenly, I¡¯m alone in a castle with Vermilla and no one to save me should I need it. Deep purple curtains drape her windows. Several vases with black roses line the center of her dining table. A few pairs of yellow fleeting eyes glance at us. I hear a purr from behind a wardrobe.


    Her room is an enormous bed chamber, with a ceiling so high up it gets lost in the dark beyond the firelight. There¡¯s a couch in front of the fireplace with black fur blankets. Her bed is a four-poster canopy made of dark wood. The bench in front of it has a stack of clothes. Black and red dresses of different shapes and cuts.


    There are books littered all across the floor, and stacked high on shelves with ladders underneath not long enough to reach them. Large posters that looked like directions for complicated summonings or exorcisms. Old parchment with writing in languages I didn¡¯t recognize. Some of the books were so old, their bindings were held together with ropes and knots.


    She takes several steps toward me and gets on her knees. Looks up without blinking. Her eyes are perfectly shaped tear drops. A coral shade in the light, a darker red outside of it.


    ¡°Am I under a spell?¡± I ask again.


    ¡°The scent loosens your inhibitions. Doesn¡¯t make you do anything you don¡¯t want to do.¡± She puts a finger to her lips. I want to look away but I can¡¯t. ¡°And I know this is what you¡¯ve wanted to do for a long time now.¡± She pushes a strand of hair behind her ears. ¡°Almost as hungry for it as me¡­I can feel it, you know? You can¡¯t hide it from a blood elf.¡±


    Her face is nearly expressionless. It feels like a test. I can¡¯t imagine myself passing, but I do my best to hold my composure. She watches me intently. Tilts her head.


    ¡°Everyone talks about you,¡± she says. ¡°Leon, the holy arcanist, destined for greatness, so devoted to his vows.¡± She runs a hand down the side of my pants. Nudges me forward slightly. I step closer. I want to stop her, but I can¡¯t.


    ¡°The golden child of the Cathedral,¡± she continues. ¡°The Masters most prized student.¡±


    I swallow, barely able to breathe through her scent. I feel guilty, like being here proves I¡¯m not worthy of whatever standard I had held for myself.


    ¡°I¡­¡± I don¡¯t know what to say.


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    ¡°It just¡­got me curious. I wanted to see if I could¡­¡± she comes even closer. Lifts a hand slowly, watches me as if to see if I¡¯d react, then finally smiles when she knows she¡¯s won and undoes the drawstring of my pants. They fall to the floor.


    She looks at my cock, and then back at me, her eyes locked on mine, unblinking. She captures both grace and terror at the same time somehow. A Cornered serpent. A rabid wolf.


    ¡°It¡¯s been hard to control myself, you know?¡± she says. ¡°Especially when I know you¡¯ve been dreaming of this moment, too.¡± She¡¯s panting slightly. Her nails inch out of her fingertips. ¡°This is what you really wanted, coming to my room, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not what I wanted.¡± I barely manage to get the words out.


    ¡°What do you want now, though, Leon of the Arcane?¡± she asks. ¡°What do you want more than anything, and who can give it to you?¡± She brings a hand up, as if she¡¯s about to hold the tip of my cock, then stops. I keep myself from shuddering.


    I bite down on my lower lip. ¡°I¡¯m not going to say it.¡±


    ¡°Yes you are,¡± she says.


    I purse my lips together, not trusting whatever is about to come next, thinking that I¡¯m still somehow not beyond redemption.


    She begins tying her hair back and I get even harder. My cock throbs in front of her. The movement catches her eyes and she smiles.


    ¡°I want you to make me come.¡± I close my eyes and look away as I¡¯m saying it. The final nail in the coffin for the honorable life I wanted to lead. I imagine my ancestors looking down on me. Half of them ashamed of what I¡¯d become¨Cthe other half thinking they should have done this themselves all along.


    ¡°How did that feel? Letting it out?¡± She draws a line across her chest. ¡°Brought to a breaking point by a pretty little blood elf on her knees.¡± She sighs in an exaggerated way. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re ready?¡±


    She takes my cock inside of her mouth before I can answer. I gasp, unable to breathe in the moment. Her tongue is warm and wet. I can feel the back of her throat. She makes no sound, just holds my entire cock in her mouth, and then swirls her tongue around the tip. A slurping sound as she pushes my cock deeper into her mouth. I don¡¯t know how long blood elves can make their tongues, but her¡¯s wraps around my entire cock. I feel the bristles of it rubbing against my foreskin as it curls and uncurls.


    She goes back and forth, using her fangs perfectly to itch the tip of my cock without hurting me. She cups my balls with her hands, sucking faster and faster. When she pauses for breath, saliva drips off my shaft to the floor in a bubbly line. She pulls back. Stares at her work for a moment, then goes back to sucking. She makes a moaning sound. Drops the straps of her dress even lower.


    She pauses after a full minute, then looks up at me, speaking with the tip of my cock still in her mouth. ¡°Don¡¯t make a mess on my floor,¡± she says, more seriously than I expect. Her lips kiss my cock as she talks. ¡°Hold my face when you¡¯re about to come and I¡¯ll drink all of you in.¡±


    I make a sound in affirmation, unable to say anything cohesive. My vision is slightly blurry. She studies me for a moment, then, satisfied with her effect on me, spits on my cock and deepthroats me again.


    She¡¯s going back and forth. Her lips slide against my skin. She presses firmly against the base of my shaft. Looks up while tightening her tongue around my cock.


    I can¡¯t hold it anymore. I place one hand on her face, and hold her knot of hair with the other. She locks her lips over the head of my cock. Keeps her eyes on me to watch my reaction. Uses her hands to hold my cock in place and then squeezes gently.


    I come inside of her mouth. She licks the sides of my cock. Slurps as she takes me in, swallowing every few seconds without pulling back.


    I let out a spasm. The room spins and I can¡¯t find my footing. I¡¯m dizzy. Slightly at first, and then I get dizzier and dizzier. I stare up at the ceiling. See shapes and shadows crawling along the top of it.


    She stands and holds me. Guides me to the couch. Puts a blanket over me. I feel like I¡¯m in a fever dream, half shivering, half warm. I still feel her saliva dripping off my cock.


    ¡°Sleep.¡± she says, and I can¡¯t help it.


    I dream of being a holy arcanist. The most powerful in Hinterland. I¡¯m in battle, a scorched sun in one hand, a blade the color of flame in the other. There¡¯s a castle in the distance. A blood moon and a sky strewn with arrows.


    When I wake, I¡¯m on her canopy bed. I don¡¯t want to get up. It smells like heaven, and bliss, and vanilla, and berries. There¡¯s the sound of shouting somewhere far below. The clang of metal.


    I don¡¯t think I slept for long. It¡¯s still dark outside.


    She¡¯s sitting next to me with a red dress on. A short one that hugs her body perfectly. The light from the fireplace makes her hair look different. Lighter.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been waiting for you to wake up.¡± I try to tell her to wait but she reaches under the blanket too quickly. Begins rubbing my cock back and forth. She pulls one hand out, spits on it, then massages it gently into the head of my cock. I make a sound¨Chalf euphoria, half guilt.


    She claws the blanket off of me. Sits on top of me and holds my cock, but just before she¡¯s about to slide me into her, we hear the Cathedral bells.


    I sit up, still dazed, and rub my eyes.


    ¡°Shoot¡­¡± I mumble. ¡°The blood moon. They need us.¡±


    And then, a sound I never heard before. A screeching horn like rocks scraping the face of a cliff.


    ¡°What is that?¡± I ask, tilting my head and closing one ear. I squint until the horn finishes blaring.


    She sits up too now, then moves toward the window. ¡°Nothing good for your friends who are down there,¡± she says. ¡°That¡¯s a summoning horn. Something only a necromancer would carry.¡± She looks up at the moon, then turns to me. ¡°They probably need the arcanists.¡± She looks me up and down. ¡°But I already took most of your strength.¡± She seems pleased with herself.


    ¡°I can fight,¡± I say.


    ¡°Not without a few days'' rest.¡± She points at my legs. ¡°I made you come so hard you couldn¡¯t stand. You want to go fight now?¡±


    ¡°If they need me, they need me.¡±


    She rolls her eyes. ¡°Get your clothes on and meet me downstairs. Stay close.¡±


    ¡°Stay close?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not trusting your three acolyte friends to keep you safe,¡± she says. ¡°They¡¯ve never been in a real battle.¡± She looks around her room. Softens her tone. ¡°Hopefully we¡¯ll be done by dawn. We can come back to my room and I¡¯ll make you come again.¡± She crawls back to me and wraps her hand around my cock. ¡°Twice, if you don¡¯t fall asleep.¡±


    Looking at her in her red dress, I don¡¯t want to get off the bed. Ever, maybe. Luckily, she¡¯s not using her scent on me and I¡¯m in enough of a headspace to get myself moving.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I say. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±