I've been away for a while and just came back, to review what I had, when I realized how very lame chapters 3 and on were. So I deleted them. And now I'm starting over. If this bothers you, I'm sorry but I really didn't like those chapters. Now I shall set out to see if I can make something better or if this story is doomed to failure (or perhaps it's the writer, rather than the story?)

Anyway, I have no idea what this is about because I haven't written it yet. So be forewarned that I'm screwed up and there MIGHT be something in here. But there might not be. In any case, I hope you like it.


Laereth was 15. His soul resided in the body of a 15 year old, is what I mean to say. Yet his soul itself, that was ageless, timeless, limitless.

Aryn had been forced to follow him out to the forest, where Laereth spent the majority of his time, because his father was becoming increasingly worried of his son's safety. Or rather, it seemed, Laereth's father was worried about the safety of everybody else, if the boy had no restraints.

What he didn't know was that he DIDN'T have restraints, because Aryn was his possession. Aryn did what Laereth said. In fact, it was coming to the point where if the younger boy had wished it, the older boy would kill himself.

Yet Laereth didn't want that because, at the moment, they both sat peacefully beneath a tree in a clearing at the center of Forest Lok.

"Stop thinking such thoughts, it's repulsive."

Aryn was the only one who knew that Laereth had discovered his telepathic abilities and had honed them down to a fine point. He was now working on telekinesis, which he already had a handle on because his shadow weaving was basically the same thing.

"Stop listening then," Aryn retorted, keeping up his ever-present pretense of being independent and uncontrolled.

"I can't very well help hearing your pathetically disgusting thoughts when I'm concentrating on something else, Aryn my love."

There was silence for a second, in which Laereth heard everything Aryn was going to say before he said it.

As predicted Aryn took a breath and asked: "Why is it repulsive?"

Laereth snorted, having already prepared an answer, "Because thinking thoughts about other boys such as the thoughts which run through your mind nearly all of the day is immoral. Women are here to think such thoughts of. That's why they prance about in their tiny-waisted dressed with their breasts half out of the top of it all. That's why men pay hard earned money to sleep with the wretched, filthy things. Because that's how it always is, was, will be, and should be."

Aryn was silent, but Laereth could hear the thoughts running through his head and as Aryn began to open his mouth to ask Laereth answered.

"Because. Just because. I don't know why. It's the same reason my mother is married to my father and they had me. Just because."

Aryn opened his mouth again, "Yes, you're going to ask 'well, whom do you feel towards?' and do you want the answer? The honest truth? No one, that's who. And do you want to know why again? It's for the same reason your thoughts disgust me: because."

They were silent for a time, except this silence was more pure because Laereth had leaned back against the tree, unconsciously blocking out all of Aryn's thoughts.

Quite an amount of time had gone by, in which Laereth had slowly begun to let Aryn's thoughts reenter, when Laereth turned toward Aryn with his eyes narrowed.

Aryn, already guessing what Laereth was thinking, blushed furiously and opened his mouth to respond.

"Don't." Aryn's mouth shut.

"I find it rather weak that you allow yourself to be drawn unendingly into the filthy grime of the sexual matters which occupy your mind already. And then, letting a thought slip past my guard, I find that those sexual matters do not only involve you and another man, which is contemptible enough. But they involve you and ME. Now please do tell me that you understand that you happen to be a MAN-one who is 9 years older than me, no less-and you can admit how very wrong what you had playing out in your mind happens to be."

Aryn didn't notice, as he began to answer, the fine, silky tendrils of shadow spiraling up his legs and around his stomach. He spoke rapidly, and stuttered, as he answered in meaningless sentences, which ended all too abruptly as the tendrils tightened suddenly.

One thick vine of shadow had made its way up to his neck and was now caressing his face with gentle, cool strokes, and yet now it was slipping dangerously into his mouth and down his throat.

"I'm so sorry, Aryn my love. Is something wrong? I didn't catch the last thing you said."

Aryn didn't answer as he struggled to breathe around the shadow.

Laereth brought his hand out, touching a finger to the wispy darkness invading the older boy's open mouth. He smirked.

"I don't believe that anybody realizes just how beautiful pain is. Your pain in particular. You do know, my darling plaything, that you are very beautiful right now, because I think you're beginning to realize that what you fear is death. And that that is who I am."

And then, very suddenly, so that Aryn couldn't even catch his breath, Laereth's mouth replaced the shadow, his tongue tearing apart and plundering the mouth of the other boy.

And Aryn couldn't quite remember what happened after that. He woke up, in the middle of the forest, with the most horribly throbbing pain shooting from his temple to the bridge of his nose in agonizing slashes. He could remember a few things, before passing out, and that was the sensation of being suffocated, first with shadow and then with the mouth of the younger boy. He could remember Laereth's tongue thrusting, in a sick parallel of sex, into his mouth, tasting of blood (his own) and smoke and a bit of ambrosia. He could remember the dull pull of teeth at his tongue, the sensation of saliva slipping from his mouth. And he could remember a hand that smelled faintly of lavender-so sweet-on his nose, blocking his breath.


It was a normal day for Elucido. He sat at his desk in his room, studying something but not understanding it, when a boy he had never seen before walked in. The boy was holding a travel bag. Someone behind him was carrying a large chest.

Elucido stood up immediately, curious.

"Why are you in my room?" the other boy asked.

El wasn't sure whether he should laugh or strangle the boy.

"This is my room, " he said calmly.

The other boy's confident smirk, followed by a mocking chuckle, sent sparks of anger up El's spine.

He struggled to calm himself, "There must have been a mistake. I think you should go talk to Rayne, or someone of that authority, about where you really are supposed to be."

As the boy across from him opened his mouth to utter a retort the page behind him spoke: "Elucido, sir, this IS his room. Rayne sent him here himself. He is your roommate."

El couldn't keep his eyes from going wide, "My WHAT?! Not. not HIM !"

The boy glared.

"His name is Gabriel," Elucido smirked at this, "And he is going to be living with you until you. until you graduate, sir."

Elucido closed his eyes tightly and looked up to the ceiling, taking a breath to calm himself, and said: "If it must be so, it must be so."

He turned and sat back down to study.


Aryn made his way back to the castle, finding it to be quite a struggle not to pass out again with his brutal headache and the fact that, every few steps, he was overcome by dizziness.

He was extraordinarily relieved when he saw the castle's spires through the trees. He was almost in exultation when he reached the steps leading to his rooms, inside the servants' quarters. And he actually almost passed out again at the welcome sight of his bed.

Aryn slept for hours. I tossed in his bed, dreaming of demons and other such things, which most people would rather not think of.

In his dream it was almost completely dark and he could not see anything except, occasionally, something pale near him. He was sitting on something; he didn't know what and he didn't know where, with his knees drawn up to his chest. He could feel, every once in a while, something soft, almost silky, touching him. Touching his arms, slipping beneath them to his legs. Up to his chest. Oh god, they were coming from behind, prying his head up. He couldn't see them, just pale flashes of skin. Skin. On his mouth. Oh Deus, oh sweet Deus, he couldn't breathe. He thrashed, pushed out at them and-Aryn woke up on the floor of his room, tangled in sheets and cold. He lay on the floor with his eyes closed, facing underneath his bed, for a while. When it became to cold he rolled over onto his back.

He sat up and then pushed himself to his feet, tossing the sheets behind him as he plodded to his wardrobe.

There was a looking glass in there, almost as tall as the wardrobe itself. It stood on the doors so that when it was opened you could see your whole self in it. Aryn's mother had given it to him.

He looked into it, groaned at his tousled hair. He was about to shut the doors when he saw something he hadn't seen at first. He spun around.

There, on HIS bed, beneath HIS covers, lay Laereth. His eyes were half-mast as he peered up at Aryn and sleepily said, "My dear, will you stop staring?"

Aryn was aghast. He had absolutely no idea what to say, he was speechless.

It was almost as if he were waiting for Laereth to say something, to snap him out of his reverie. The boy only closed his eyes and drew the blankets up closer to his chest.

Aryn stood for quite some time, staring. He was barely thinking but when he did it was of two things. One being that he really didn't (and never would) understand the damn boy. And the second-one of those thoughts that just pops up randomly, so that you have no control to stop it-was that Laereth looked sexy in his bed. Deus damn the boy.

Aryn grabbed his robe hastily and walked out.

Laereth knew that he wasn't leaving because he was angry. Aryn left because he was trying to escape the thoughts that came to his head.

And those thoughts where the soul reason that Laereth was there.