Work Text:
He was a curious little thing.
When she first saw what she quickly realized was an illusion of him (a good try, but not good enough) and that woman she could clearly see was his sister, it quickly flashed through her mind how... pretty the both of them were. Long, thin bodies, dark hair, pale skin... and they had the most beautiful eyes, pale grey. She always wanted grey eyes when she was young. She thought they were mysterious and she liked mysterious. That was evident in her choice of staying with Sylas.
She also liked pretty things, but not in the way most would. She had her darling husband for that and pretty was not the word to describe the man. No, she liked keeping pretty things instead of using them, like dear little Cassandra who was as pretty as a doll and just as fun to play with. She liked keeping those pretty things until they would do anything for her, until she had a small army of pretty keepsakes. It used to take so long, but now she could turn more than their allegiances with a simple twitch of her fingers. Cassandra was the best so far and Delilah couldn’t deny the pride she felt to see her grow into a young woman. Their young woman.
The he arrived at their door (the real him now, no more playing pretend) and she was fascinated. He was rather stupid for thinking he could worm his way out of their grasp, but she couldn’t help it. Watching him come into their room all by himself, she couldn’t help but think about what a brave, pretty, stupid boy he was. And then her Sylas sank his fangs into his neck and her thoughts shifted to what he’d look like if he’d turn like her husband had. His pale skin would turn whiter, flawless, like fallen snow and those gray eyes would grow sharper and more predatory. Where the change had made her husband more handsome than he had been alive, surely it would make that boy even prettier. It was a shame he got away, thanks to his irk of a sister shooting arrows of fire and desprately screaming his name. She may look similar but she was nothing like her brother, so sickly sweet during the feast. Although...there was something deep within her that reminded Delilah of herself, long before Silas had gotten sick. The young woman she used to be. Maybe that was why she irked her.
Then they met again, so close to the Ziggurat. It surprised her how far they all had gotten, but she wasn’t too worried about the group of upstarts. There had been groups like them before, and now they were disposed of. Yet again the boy almost rushed to be heroic, which lead to what she thought was the inevitable the downfall of the rest of his group. They tried that trick they used on Percival during the feast, but this time the De Rolo boy wasn’t the one hiding. She could see right through it, of course. Percival was a good looking boy, but not pretty like his sister or the half-elf boy (she vaguely remembered his name from his sister’s screams, but mattered very little to her). Maybe a bit too damaged for her tastes.
They ended up taking the half-elf with them, he was all too easy to take under her control once more. They took him along as they made their way to the Ziggurat, up the steps of the pyramid. As they walked she heard him talking, seemingly to himself.
“Who are you talking to, lovely boy?” She asked, curiosity on her face as she turned to face him.
Curious, that symbol on his glove must be new. She didn’t see it the previous time they met. He must have been spooked by the bite, thought a simple light goddess could save him. She smiled faintly when he kissed the symbol and pressed it to his face and it widened when he told her she was pretty. How sweet.
“I’m taken, my darling.” She purred
“Me, too!” He replied cheerfully, and she nearly laughed out loud. Now she seriously thought about asking Sylas if they could keep him after all this was said and done. It would be fun and a waste if they simply did away with him, he was so docile and eager to please while charmed like this. And as possessive as Sylas got...she knew he would have fun with him as well.
Her opinion changed when her Sylas was slaughtered.
“NO! SYLAS!” Her throat burned as she screamed for her husband, the man she sacrificed everything she was for.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She lost him once and after she used everything she had to scream into the Void for help she promised herself it would never happen again. She never broke a promise to herself, never . She was not going to start now.
“You can’t! I broke the world for us!”
Vax’ildan wasn’t so pretty anymore. Neither was Cassandra De Rolo, or any of her pretty things she kept. Everything was dull and now that her Sylas was gone, she welcomed death. The one last promise she made to herself was that she would always be by her love’s side and she didn't plan to be from him long. After the ritual, she would join him. She would join her beautiful Sylas once again and maybe then they could find peace together in a place without sickness and gods and fear of death.
She watched Vax'ildan’s sister fall, her body slamming into the ground gave her grim satisfaction. His reaction to his sister’s hopefully slow, agonizing death was gave her more pleasure. He deserved it. They all did. They all deserved to feel the way she did.
But they didn’t.
They won.
This wasn’t what was promised.
It wasn't fair.
When her arm blew off her shoulder and she felt herself falling, she couldn’t help but smile faintly through the searing pain. It was over. She was going to join her love once more, and with her last thought she prayed with all she could to the Whispered One.
She prayed that Vax’ildan would know what it felt to lose.