Little thought had been spared, to this point, toward the actual execution of the deal. A simple handshake, she expected, or perhaps another exchange of blood? But the moment Alastor's gloved fingers slid between her own, slowly splaying them wider to accommodate the sheer size of his hand, Lotte felt almost dizzy with a rush of warmth altogether more deadly than the heat that enveloped her skin in time with the claws that folded over her knuckles almost down to her wrist. A heady but somehow not unpleasant reminder of just how much space he seemed to occupy...
...more than any living creature ought to. A fact she reluctantly had to admit had always fascinated rather than bothered her.
She had no real way of knowing if it was the same for everyone who made a deal with a creature like Alastor, if this sensation was his doing directly or simply a side effect of offering a piece of herself to him. The prickling that had preceded their touch spread through her, from the very tips of her hair to the deepest reaches within her, setting each nerve aflame as it ripped her asunder. Did they all feel this way? Would it have been different if if weren't Alastor standing before her?
The questions reeled in her mind, and oh... was she short of breath? Or had she simply forgotten to breathe there, for a moment? Alastor had only enveloped her hand, but it felt like much, much more. If someone had asked her what way was up, or down, Lotte couldn't have told them with any certainty, despite feeling like she'd never occupied her body more than this very moment.
It was Alastor that had dragged her to this precarious, electric place and Alastor that called her back to the surface, voice much more steady than Lotte had any faith in her own to be.
She felt his eyes on her, seeking out her gaze. Her own snapped up, surely only a few seconds had passed, but a rush of air flooded through her that made her question just how long she'd been lost in the sensation touching Alastor and being touched by him for the first time.
His final instructions weren't lost on her - Lotte couldn't afford to not pay close attention to any guidance for both their sakes, but the rest of their interaction felt as though she were in a dream, floating through a cloud of dust.
Her sense seemed to return to her once Alastor had taken his leave, with a grand flourish and an energy that she found very flippant for the task that awaited them. Now, their deal and the details of winning Alastor's freedom occupied her every waking thought. There was no time to dwell on that one, lingering touch, and the heat that no spell or fire seemed to quite replicate. All Hallow's Eve was close at hand and Lotte knew precious little about what her task truly entailed.
If she succeeded, there'd be an abundance of time to discover whatever she wished with Alastor, she reasoned. After all, he had offered to live with her as a man. Whatever that meant, for a demon.
From the moment she woke until she slipped into sleep each evening, well after the sun had sunk beyond the horizon, Lotte practiced magic. Without any real knowledge of what Alastor might become, or what she might need for the task, it seemed wiser to simply practice with the intent of increasing her own focus and intention. While a sigil might be able to stall the queen's procession at the crossroads, she doubted she'd have the time or knowledge to craft a sigil in real time if she was to keep her grip on Alastor. Whatever she needed would have to come from herself. She could not, would not fail for lack of will.
But time waned quickly, and without Alastor in front of her to bolster her nerve and challenge her, fear inevitably settled in.
The dark shadows that settled in the deepest corners of her cabin, the whisper of the wind on the tall grasses outside her door whispered in the quiet spaces of her day.
Who was Lotte, after all? Certainly not the most powerful witch here or anywhere. Unstudied, uneducated in the ways of this world or the next, in the ways of magic itself. She'd let herself be swept straight to her own demise by a handsome face and a crooked smile, like so many women before her. What awaited her at that crossroads was nothing more than a fearful, painful end, dressed in a lovely bow. An obvious trap, to a real witch.
The fear crept through her, nipping at her heels as she tended the sigils, blew cold through her dress down to her bones, caused the little garden in her back yard Alastor had so kindly given her to wilt a little more each day.
And as she sat at her little table the evening of Halloween, nursing a dusty glass of the whiskey he'd given her, Lotte finally let her mind wander to Alastor, himself, again. Wondered what he would think of her sitting here, sorry for herself, doubting the abilities he so clearly seemed to perceive in her. He'd laugh, maybe, a little bit mocking, a little bit incredulous. Would he have made a deal so dangerous to himself if he didn't think there was a chance she'd succeed?
Lotte could hear his voice in her head, and it was almost as good as seeing him standing before her... almost, but not quite, and it was that that finally chased away the little whispers and dispelled the shadows.
She wanted Alastor.
Not pulled from the depths of hell by her summoning, not for a brief moment on Halloween. No, she wanted him free to come and go as he pleased. Free to stay, if he pleased, too.
The whiskey was thrown back in one smooth motion, before she stood and walked to her door, pushing it open without ever laying a finger on it. Only one golden, red sliver of light remained on the indigo horizon, and as she stepped off the porch, Lotte soaked it up along with the flames from the fire flickering behind her in her cabin, let the heat burn through her veins. Miles separated her and Alastor, but only for now.
Whatever monster or vicious thing the queen saw fit to transform him into, it didn't matter. She wanted him, and she would have him, even if it killed her.
Lotte was not leaving those crossroads without Alastor, and as her word, so mote it be.
no subject
Little thought had been spared, to this point, toward the actual execution of the deal. A simple handshake, she expected, or perhaps another exchange of blood? But the moment Alastor's gloved fingers slid between her own, slowly splaying them wider to accommodate the sheer size of his hand, Lotte felt almost dizzy with a rush of warmth altogether more deadly than the heat that enveloped her skin in time with the claws that folded over her knuckles almost down to her wrist. A heady but somehow not unpleasant reminder of just how much space he seemed to occupy...
...more than any living creature ought to. A fact she reluctantly had to admit had always fascinated rather than bothered her.
She had no real way of knowing if it was the same for everyone who made a deal with a creature like Alastor, if this sensation was his doing directly or simply a side effect of offering a piece of herself to him. The prickling that had preceded their touch spread through her, from the very tips of her hair to the deepest reaches within her, setting each nerve aflame as it ripped her asunder. Did they all feel this way? Would it have been different if if weren't Alastor standing before her?
The questions reeled in her mind, and oh... was she short of breath? Or had she simply forgotten to breathe there, for a moment? Alastor had only enveloped her hand, but it felt like much, much more. If someone had asked her what way was up, or down, Lotte couldn't have told them with any certainty, despite feeling like she'd never occupied her body more than this very moment.
It was Alastor that had dragged her to this precarious, electric place and Alastor that called her back to the surface, voice much more steady than Lotte had any faith in her own to be.
She felt his eyes on her, seeking out her gaze. Her own snapped up, surely only a few seconds had passed, but a rush of air flooded through her that made her question just how long she'd been lost in the sensation touching Alastor and being touched by him for the first time.
His final instructions weren't lost on her - Lotte couldn't afford to not pay close attention to any guidance for both their sakes, but the rest of their interaction felt as though she were in a dream, floating through a cloud of dust.
Her sense seemed to return to her once Alastor had taken his leave, with a grand flourish and an energy that she found very flippant for the task that awaited them. Now, their deal and the details of winning Alastor's freedom occupied her every waking thought. There was no time to dwell on that one, lingering touch, and the heat that no spell or fire seemed to quite replicate. All Hallow's Eve was close at hand and Lotte knew precious little about what her task truly entailed.
If she succeeded, there'd be an abundance of time to discover whatever she wished with Alastor, she reasoned. After all, he had offered to live with her as a man. Whatever that meant, for a demon.
From the moment she woke until she slipped into sleep each evening, well after the sun had sunk beyond the horizon, Lotte practiced magic. Without any real knowledge of what Alastor might become, or what she might need for the task, it seemed wiser to simply practice with the intent of increasing her own focus and intention. While a sigil might be able to stall the queen's procession at the crossroads, she doubted she'd have the time or knowledge to craft a sigil in real time if she was to keep her grip on Alastor. Whatever she needed would have to come from herself. She could not, would not fail for lack of will.
But time waned quickly, and without Alastor in front of her to bolster her nerve and challenge her, fear inevitably settled in.
The dark shadows that settled in the deepest corners of her cabin, the whisper of the wind on the tall grasses outside her door whispered in the quiet spaces of her day.
Who was Lotte, after all? Certainly not the most powerful witch here or anywhere. Unstudied, uneducated in the ways of this world or the next, in the ways of magic itself. She'd let herself be swept straight to her own demise by a handsome face and a crooked smile, like so many women before her. What awaited her at that crossroads was nothing more than a fearful, painful end, dressed in a lovely bow. An obvious trap, to a real witch.
The fear crept through her, nipping at her heels as she tended the sigils, blew cold through her dress down to her bones, caused the little garden in her back yard Alastor had so kindly given her to wilt a little more each day.
And as she sat at her little table the evening of Halloween, nursing a dusty glass of the whiskey he'd given her, Lotte finally let her mind wander to Alastor, himself, again. Wondered what he would think of her sitting here, sorry for herself, doubting the abilities he so clearly seemed to perceive in her. He'd laugh, maybe, a little bit mocking, a little bit incredulous. Would he have made a deal so dangerous to himself if he didn't think there was a chance she'd succeed?
Lotte could hear his voice in her head, and it was almost as good as seeing him standing before her... almost, but not quite, and it was that that finally chased away the little whispers and dispelled the shadows.
She wanted Alastor.
Not pulled from the depths of hell by her summoning, not for a brief moment on Halloween. No, she wanted him free to come and go as he pleased. Free to stay, if he pleased, too.
The whiskey was thrown back in one smooth motion, before she stood and walked to her door, pushing it open without ever laying a finger on it. Only one golden, red sliver of light remained on the indigo horizon, and as she stepped off the porch, Lotte soaked it up along with the flames from the fire flickering behind her in her cabin, let the heat burn through her veins. Miles separated her and Alastor, but only for now.
Whatever monster or vicious thing the queen saw fit to transform him into, it didn't matter. She wanted him, and she would have him, even if it killed her.
Lotte was not leaving those crossroads without Alastor, and as her word, so mote it be.