The Reborn Witch had a nice 'Tea Time' with the Dragon Queen today
Chapter 69: I Coughed Blood as the Goddess Descended

Chapter 69: I Coughed Blood as the Goddess Descended

"Allow me to tell you of the weeping soverign - the first and last fool of the vampire kind."

A voice, as old as an first blood spilled, murmuring through the crackling air that rained rivers of bloods. Cocoon trembled, its silky surface unweaving like a gentle embrace unspooling. From within, a chuckle, short and sweet like torn flesh on the cheek, brushed through the world as if it mourned the most foolish gracefulness.

"She was born when the blood moon was still dangled, and vampires still ruled the night. Their ethereal fangs tore through the flesh of gods, and hungers satiated by reddest seas from the <Divine Realm>. But one night, the childish La Llorona witnessed red wines as indifference, and skinned cattles as cruelty."

The cacoon’s gap unfurled, weeping black tides of sorrow and mourns. A hand emerges, youthful, short fingers, nails reddened. It carrasses the edge of the cacoon’s gap, sharp nails sinking into the silks as if returning a child’s favor with pain, before tearing the gap open.

"Therefore, she pray, kneel as a soverign to her subject. She wept helplessly for her kin’s stubborness, unwillingness to change. The red eyes she once loved soured and draped in the blood of the innocents tamed. And so, she ends in a betray."

The figure merely walked itself free, blood-red wave pooling each step as she descended, her youthful face veiled by a cascade of white hair. Her crimson eyes glazed over the rosary red coffin of Manasseh, then to the Druid Elder who murdered her kins, trapped them from their deserved deaths, and coffined a child of her own making.

"By a plea to the gods, she tore apart her people’s fangs, cursed their tongues to silence, and melded their beloved <Blood Mana> for mere party tricks. Her kins called it treason, she...I called it pity."

Each step pulsed the abyssal dread from the Druid elder, each soft syllable a dissonance from the vampire’s childlike figure. One step pooled, another cracked the ground, then her bare feet landed on the rosary coffin.

"And so, I was torn apart, the moon no longer crimson of my own selfishness. I died, I wept, I screamed, I laughed, I despaired, I cowered, then...I waited."

The Druid’s eyes widened as she felt the roses...her roses trembling, the Druid’s own magic being toyed with as the roses grew, petals opened wide to the soverign’s cheek, teeths cluttering from the petals like children distorted for another adult’s playing.

"Yet, it was all but a mere dream. Humanity still burned with hatred, and my kins whom I mercifully granted a chance knew not but to merely wage futility against that hatred."

Her plump lips curved into a smile as she raised her tiny finger. The teeth of the stolen petals bit onto it, shuttering, giggling with innocence, as her half-lid red eyes darted for the Druid Elder, as the elder’s staff was raised, her stern silvers quivering for her children’s betrayal, just as the sovereign did in her death.

"And so, I must awaken once again, not for the kin who tore my limbs for bargains to the Demons, not for the humans who have long forgotten my mercy."

An arrogant wind howled as the Vampire Sovereign’s eyes hued red, the teethed roses cradled, nodded, before they sunk back into the ground, her mistress’s fate and intention conveyed, as the sovereign took a deep breath.

"But for this child who have called for me, who have sacrificed her families and skins for the mere rests of my old allies..."

La Llorona tilted her head, as bloodied cracks tore wide open into a red cross, bloods surged, spilled, then gelled, the elder gulped her cowardice. The wasteland’s now nothing but red muds as the vampire stood amongst two stained crosses that sized like coffins, the bizarre, pulsing divinity echoing for all the species to witness, the birth and rebirth of a meriful fool who has run out of mercy.

"So let this land hear me weep like an infant once more, for a matyr who failed, for a monarch who dared betray her kind for another."

And so, with a graceful sway of her hand, the red crosses lunged with her command, for the fool’s errand to finally be pried open.

-----------------

In a street that smelled of gargolytes dusts, Selene huffed, her steps ever steady for someone who just lied exhuasted, the scroll in her hand grasped as she recalled her mother’s stern reminder not to forget the street of Solitude Swordsmaiden, the first street her mother constructed, and....the first rune she carved in the fountain at the centre.

And so, she huffed, puffed, then huffed and puffed, then huffed and puffed....bloods? Wait, bloods?!

Her steps wavered on the white pavements as whiteness is tainted by red, her breathings choking with biles of blood rushing from her lungs, her eyes flared bloody veins as if they will be plucked by gusts. The air...the air feels different, every drift was as if a dagger slicing, her red bloods tainting a hint of blackness.

She glanced up before her violets widened. A red moon, painted with red glows surrounding, the fierce moonlight piercing through even the fog barrier Demond has crafted. In an instant, her knightly honour flared up as she dashed. She is running out of time, and she couldn’t afford another second coughing up bloods.

Trembling voices of bloods spilling from hoarse throats echoed in her ears, as her eyes closed and ran. No, if she witness the innocents coughing bloods, she will falter, hesitate. The main task is just right around the corner, even if the biles of blood is catching up to her brain, threatening to stitch a black abyss that she had no anticipation for what’s to come after it.

She turned the corner to reveal unto herself the fountain, childhood memories of her mother’s soft yet sorrowed gaze clashing with her quivering heartbeats, as she dashed for the fountain. Her hands stretched as she pushed and pulled to stop her own force from clumsily falling into the water, as she leaned in with her violets blinking forward, then the left, then the right.

There! On the right amongst the watery surface is a hollowed sigil, hidden underneath glowing rune. Her hand was about to be stretched into the waters, before someone called out to her.

"You will die if you touched upon something not meant for you, my child."

The graceful, elegant, sickeningly sympathetic voice arced a crescent bow on her forehead, as she turned and yelled. "What is it?! Don’t...don’t joke with me when I-"

Blood splurged as she talked, the bloods once again staining her shirt and the edge of the fountain. The veined violets narrowed, as they met the gaze that was familiar, not familiar at the same time, before widening at the realisation that it was emerald green, the same emerald green that crystalised on the gargolytes.

"I hope I didn’t interrupt, because I never jest without purpose."

Corial smiled, the curved line ever a haunting foretelling of what’s to come.

--------

Demond glanced upon the knights who were coughing bloods, children with reds instead of white as tears, and adults writhing on the ground as if bloods would spill from their heart. She sighed, the slicing air and the red moon’s influence was minimal for her, a drop in her now boundless manas, yet as cries and groans chilled the air more than her own spells did to the gargolytes, she tired of not being able to use it when it matters the most.

"Adrei..." She called for her only companion, hoping her hurriness would soon stop the madness. But the only option remains to Selene for activating the seal as soon as she can, before disaster struck over the lands of Rouen, the street filled with nothing but people weeping and coughing bloods without even knowing the reason that is the Divine Fool’s descend.

She glanced over to the direction of the mansion, still marred by the mana maelstorm that would hinder her senses. The former old mage looked upon her palm, stretched and outstretched her finger. This witch’s body...she would have never dared to try otherwise, but her mana sang a warcry that resonanted her urgency, begging for her to force through the vague maelstorm.

She glanced upwards to the red moon, then to the fogs that surrounded them, before an idea to break through the vague maelstorm that scared even her manaed birds away.

For what if it is not the bird weaved alive, but the tailors’ fogs that were undetered, unmoved, unwaned that attempted to intrude the mana maelstorm. The mana she would have lacked is no longer a problem, for her husband gave her boundless manas in her new body, as if an ice cavern was widened and remolded to ice glaciers.

A smirk glossed over the witch despite the groaning tensions that surrounded her, as her staff raised not to spun another tale, but utilise an already existing <tale> for her own making.