Fantasy A Devil's Smile | Private

[LONELYRAIN]

Asher Vintcliffe​

Did he remember when his obsession had started? Some part of him wanted to paint his obsession as blissfully romantic, the type that the bards would sing of a tragic one-sided love that would bloom into wonderful springtime. But, then again the other part, more logical, more cynical, more broken understood perfectly well that his love for Princess Evelynne Isolde van Dacre was twisted and warped. Ever since she had gracefully strode into his life at the beginning of when it started, a warm spring day in the fortieth year of Dacre that he knew he wanted her desperately. From her gentle smile, to the way her face lit up at the slightest inclination, he wanted to take it for himself and chain her to his side. The first life, he failed, miserably. Despite showering her with plenty of love letters and gifts; gifts that depleted his own mass treasury as the head of the Vintcliffe dukedom, she did not turn her eye to him. It seemed like the excessive gift giving had scared her instead of endearing her to him. That made his weak heart distraught, and he choked and died on his own misery.

However life was very, very curious.

He woke up again as soon as he'd taken his last breath on the same, wonderful spring day that he'd first lain eyes on Princess Evelynne. And his obsession started anew. Surely, by divine intervention he had been given another wonderful chance to win her over. It was proof that his love for her had not been doomed! He was the one in the right, and she was utterly blind to the fact he was the only one for her! So he sought to open her eyes, courting her for all to see. It too ended in failure. She took another man as her lover, while stringing him along like a foolish cur. The heartbreak was nothing compared to the wrath he felt as he had killed her with his own hands, driving the life from her body and watching her crumble and fade. Asher, of course was sentenced for his crimes and beheaded that time, the gallows and chants of the commonfolk vengeful and desiring his blood. Oh, but that was nothing compared to the warm memory of seeing Princess Evelynne struggle for her life! He loved it, loved her, and loved how she looked both in death and life.

Then he was given another chance. Curiously returned once more to that warm spring day, and so Asher found himself spiraling down a dark path of his demented desires. Whether dragging Princess Evelynne's name through the mud by ruining her reputation and driving to his arms in her broken hearted terror to then take her life and his own, to seeing her expression twisted in scorn at the rare moment he wanted to see her completely disgusted with him; or even better yet to rob her completely of any and all conceivable happiness and seeing the light of hope die from her eyes; the man loved it all. He loved her, every single side of her whether she hated him or not, whether she desired his companionship or not, each life he'd been given, he took it with glee to break her over and over again until she was nothing.

But even he was growing tired of it. Did she not understand how much he longed for her? Desired to take her in his arms and give her his love? It was infuriating that the only satisfaction he could receive was breaking her heart or her adorable ego. Something new, he needed something new.
...
The rocking of the carriage was his only companion in a compartment that was far too big for him. It was lonely. A year had passed since his latest return to life, rewinding through time, and thus a year after the spring ball that chained his heart to Princess Evelynne. He was truly stuck in what he was to do this time to her, normally he'd already would have been making plans to meet her or by chance cross her path; but his mind yielded him nothing. Frustration made his expression pinch as he gazed at the perfected buildings and nobles striding about. It was business like usual in Yegoris, and not a single thing was amiss. His head leaned back in against the seat as the gilded carriage made its slow path through the twisting buildings and pathways until eventually he found himself on the outer slums of the city.

It was barely much of anything there, in fact it reeked of filth and human waste. Shoddily made buildings and the inner city's sewage system always was dumped out into the slums, resulting in quite the massive amount of ill and vermin. Not that anyone, even Asher himself cared about the poor conditions. After all, here was where he could find items for cheap, in particular a rather strange merchant that seemed to occasionally show up from time to time. Poisons of late had grabbed his attention in his previous reruns of his lifetime, and the more potent ones certainly would be of much more use to him than cheap, watered down swill that would only cause an upset stomach. Perhaps he could even find one that could feign death? Asher had heard rumors of a poison in his previous life that was capable of it, perhaps he would be lucky this day?

As the carriage came to a slow stop, the nobleman had slid from his seat, opening the carriage door and stepping out into the soft, dirt ground underneath his shoes. The air outside was foul, worsened underneath the sweltering heat of the summer sun. It was enough to make his nose wrinkle at the scent, eyes stinging as his gaze shifted over the huddled, sullen shapes taking shelter from the sun. Not a single soul seemed to be reminiscent of the poison peddler he'd encountered before; perhaps they were not present that day? It was disappointing that he'd wasted a trip out there to begin with, after all the slums was no place for a noble. Even from where he was standing, he could see some shifty eyes looking his way and restless hands as if he was now a new target. The very thought was laughable, and so he would pay them no mind; for how could he when an eerily familiar sight of hair fluttered at the edge of his vision.

It can't be. Asher turned his head to look, wide eyed and bewildered for a moment as he could have sworn he saw the princess mingling in between the shaded, and broken down makeshift tents. But that couldn't be, Princess Evelynne wouldn't associate herself with worms, now would she? Certainly not, not the Evelynne that he'd grown so familiar with. And yet... would it truly hurt to investigate? It shouldn't right?

 

[Zearea]

Blood red and unbound. Exactly like the night of her murder when he caught her unaware. In every other memory, Evelynne's substantial mane of hair was tamed it in plaits and braids, a picture of elegance that she always maintained in public.

After a careful look between the dirty, makeshift tents and open stalls, his attention is drawn to a stall where Evelynne stood bare footed, resting her weight on the tips of her toes. Her hair is strangely stripped of its usual vibrancy, the ends split and dry. Worse, that night her fervent struggle had left her hair tussled, but NEVER tangled to the point of being matted! Even in death Evelynne was beautiful.

"Please, sir!" Her voice was bell-like, the sound akin to a windchime, high-strung, full of emotion. "I'll do anything. I-I can deliver items, or clean up or--." She is interrupted when the peddler behind the stall, who up to this point ignored her, finally turns and levels her with a glare. "What makes you think anyone needs your services?" he growls. "You look like you'd hardly be able to carry a basket, let alone lift a broom." His stall is cluttered with a mix of goods; faded fabrics, broken pottery, rusty kitchenware, and a few baskets of wilted vegetables. A sign overhead reads 'Darlie's Bargains,' and the air around the stall carries the scent of stale bread, sweat, and decay.

Shifting her weight slightly, her toes, bare and cracked, curl into the dirt. "Sir, I assure you that I am capable." she says, voice trembling. "I will do whatever tasks you require, and I promise ill work hard." With her back to him, Asher only sees her lean forward, red hair flowing around and framing her slight, bony body. "Give me a chance, please."

The peddler's face twists, deepening the wrinkles around his mouth. His nose scrunches up, pushing his cheeks closer together. "Work hard?" he repeats, his tone incredulous. "Ha! You're nothing but a skeleton wrapped in rags. How much work do you think those scrawny little arms of yours are capable of doing?" His lips purse, eyes narrowing to slits. "Listen here, girl," he says gruffly. "This isn't a charity. I've got no time for beggars, especially ones who are too weak to even stand properly." He leans toward her menacingly, causing the woman to sway slightly, then flop to her heels away from the counter. "Now leave before I make you." His threat seems to fall on deaf ears when she speaks, slowly, and carefully this time. "Could... umm... perhaps there is a smaller task?"

The peddler's face contorts, features tightening into a mixture of disgust and irritation. "Enough!" he spits. "You stands there, wasting my breath and taking up valuable space. Nothing more than a vagabond, useless and unwanted." With a swift motion, he reaches beneath his counter, producing a sturdy wooden cane. "Clear off, you pitiful wretch!" He brandishes the cane menacingly, its tip hovering inches from her face.