50
" I, Johannes the bard, the sorcerer, the miscreant, hereby make a statement. Let this be my claim.
"I claim only those places and spirits as far as the reach of my voice," he said. "I claim this space and only this space. I claim the connections here and only those connections."
"I name this space my demesnes, a place where convention doesn't hold, beyond those conventions which I openly decide to be fair and right. I claim this alone, with no bloodline of note behind me, and no intent to mark a bloodline after me. This demesne is forfeit when I have passed from this mortal coil."
He exhaled slowly.
"I claim this space as mine, as I dislike that which lies elsewhere. I would return to old times, stable times, and let this place be a sanctuary, both for Others that would come here, and for myself. For I do not like where things are going elsewhere, and I would hope to change the destination... or delay it."
"Let this be my challenge. All who would deny me this demesne, declare your right to challenge me, and find me here."
The words were ominous, and they held power. "
― , Pact
53
" My hands were paralyzed, one wrapped around the handle of the Hyena’s sword, spikes sticking through the flesh and out the back of hand, thumb and fingers, too painful for me to let go of it. The other hand was tangled by the locket and the cord that surrounded the imp’s book, fingers bent back out of position. When I moved, it had been a jerky, frustrated movement, the length of the sword, the pain, and the weight of the sword and book all frustrating my attempts to interact with the world.
My arms were cracked open like a hard plastic doll, and all that was within were feathers of mixed, dull colors, sticking to one another. I couldn’t move fast enough to catch up to anyone. I was too tired, too gaunt, an old man in a young-looking body, and the objects bound to my hands were too awkward to allow me to open doors easily or even walk through a crowded area without banging them on something.
I couldn’t close my eyes, because something black and monstrous slithered beneath the surface every time I did. When I breathed, it was like I was having the heart attack again. The air I spent was air that I couldn’t replenish by any means. I was deflating, losing substance.
There was nothing to do but stand there, too tired to move, arms spread like I was crucified, or a bird in mid-flight, staring at Rose and her gathered summonings, with Pauz perched on her shoulder. I somehow knew that words would cost me more of that vital substance than I could afford to spare. I knew, too, that nobody would listen.
I stared until my eyes watered, because the idea of blinking was too terrifying.. The water in my eyes became welling moisture, and the resulting tear that fell from my right eye was black and heavy. I could feel the tendrils and tiny clawed feet reaching out from the tear, rasping against my cheekbone. "
― , Pact
