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The boy was weak when I came to him, and he couldn't resist my pull. When that Waters boy picked up my crystal, it was as if no instance passed before I was in his body, his head, his thoughts. Of course, he put up a struggle - in vain. Taking control of the new vessel, I made sure to take my time, get acquainted with it and the thoughts within it. Archon he claimed to be, but he was mentally weak, unable to hide his thoughts from me.
I had no interest in the sob story of a weakling, of course. I had my own machinations to run, my own devotion to my god to consider it.
It wasn't until I saw him, and I felt the Archon's mind light up, and oh did I understand it.
As I lowered my hood and looked up at the fleeing airship, I could make out the silhouette. White hair, dark horns, a rising look of beautiful panic rising in those eyes. And then that scream.
I could feel the soul trapped beneath mine shuddering.
It made me feel alive.
There is no part of me that is real unless I possess a body. No bloodflow, no heartbeat, no goosebumps, no cancer. But that Archon boy fought, and as I stared up at the figures racing away from me, I could feel a . . . thrumming. A thought, or at least such multitudes of thoughts that could only center so much upon one name.
Bartholomew.
But oh, I had been familiar with this toy, this Bringer of Light, for too long. I was familiar with his rise to power, for he reeked of that Light, touched by the "Almighty" Hydaelyn. His very visage was a token to that light, powder blue skin and white hair and bright eyes. It seemed those eyes could stare straight through you - a thought not my own, but of the Archon's. Even so, I was tempted to agree.
That gaze could pierce.
Even as I worked towards my machinations, the Archon fought and fit, but so often did his mind turn to the Bringer of Light, to Bartholomew Thorne, and on occasion - when it felt that perhaps his thoughts would be too strong to contain - I entertained them. I teased at his mind. Visions of the Bringer, nude, practically glowing with his seeming innocence. I would tease the lithe, delicate figure of his admiration in front of him - and then I'd let it shatter. The absolute howling that would earn me, the beating against the inside of his own mind as he attempted to free himself . . . oh, how fit for amusement.
But it was not as if that was the only amusement to be gotten from him.
Feeling a body I never had was a rare occurrence, and I came to learn that he wa reactive, and every touch I made - whether below the belt or above - sent his skin trembling. It did so even more so when I thought of Bartholomew. Bartholomew. Even the name made my inner turmoil shudder as well. Such a name to roll off one's tongue, and potentially into one's mouth.
I wondered - idly, of course - what the man could possibly taste like. Sweets? Succor? Or, within that filthy mouth of his, was there perhaps the hint of desire?
As I stared him down from the shadows as he went after Gaius, I could not help but wonder even further, my eyes attached to his swaying hair, his swaying shoulders, his swaying rear. Even with armor leaving much for the imagination, I could still wonder more. What kind of mewlings would he make if I tugged his tail? Would his expression melt down into ecstasy? And what about if I tore it directly from his body, left his most vulnerable places even more exposed--
When I fought him, I made sure he knew. Every time he attempted to hit me, I caught his weapon. I caressed my hands over his blade, his wrist . . . up his arm, over his shoulder, along his neck. Usually, he broke free too fast. But I could see the look in his eyes, the desperation, the fear. And I could hear the Archon within me getting louder and louder.
Such fools, I thought as I chain the Bringer of Light. "So foolish," I repeated again, grinning ear to ear as I reached forward and finally cradled his jaw in my hands. His eyes were wide, but his teeth were set with chest heaving angry breaths. I puffed out a laugh as I leaned forward and panted into his mouth.
"You would've made an excellent Ascian . . . if only you could've been mine."
Oh, how wrong I was.
When he rose, I was unprepared. When he disarmed me, dragged me into the void I could be naught prepared for, I expected him to take to the blade. To obey his stupid goddess and do away with me, with this wretched body . . . but he did not.
He was . . . different in this space. Bare once more, yet clothed in light that draped around his form as if it should be fabric. His arms were held out like a messiah's - pah. Though this time it was I who was bound, I spat at him as he approached. I fought my chains. I hissed at him to get away, or I would kill the Archon bitch--
And then, with sudden reverence . . . his arms wrapped around me.
I froze. What on earth did that stupid Bringer of Light think he was doing?! How could he bring himself to hold this wretched body of mine, how could he dare to tease?! Perhaps he was a sadist all along, sick, just like I was. Perhaps this was a cruel joke, and I prayed that it was, for I could only find horrid respite in the notion that he was toying with me--
--but he was not.
"It's time to come home, Thancred."
My body stilled. A suffocating feeling came over me, pushing me down, down, until I felt myself concentrated in that damn crystal again. In the distance of my perception, I felt my arms lift without my control . . . and they reached up to wrap around Bartholomew's shoulders.
". . . I'm here."
My crystal shattered, and I was released back into the void - alive.
But I might as well have been dead.