The Bane of Light

Study Group On the Diabolic.

I sunk into his spinny, leather arm chair, emitting a frustrated sigh. He had to have something useful. No single person could be so transparent, so...decent. I picked up the framed image of his wyvern- a magnificent, white Windweaver from his desk. I rattled it, removing the back for a hidden compartment. Nothing. I placed it back on the desk with an annoyed inhale, observing the image.

The dragon was fully white, with kaleidoscopic eyes that shimmered in various hues. It was an expensive steed. That I knew for sure, considering the fact that It was one of the highest ranked, pureblood wyverns on the market. Windweavers were particularly skilled in their speed and capabilities of navigating through narrow spaces. They were named after the way they gracefully weaved their way through obstacles. It didn't hurt that they were also beautiful, meticulously aiding to Paris' hero complex by complimenting him perfectly.

It's iridescently-pristine, white scales added to Paris' whole "holier-than-though", saintly image. The body of the ivory dragon shimmered in the sun. And with Paris' ability to attract the sun, the same way I attracted shadows, they always flew radiantly under a ray of sunlight. Sometimes it punctured through waves and waves of grey clouds and unseemly weather, just so that it could shine down on them.

'Show off' I scoffed to myself, though I had to admit, it was a good maneuvering for his public image. I wondered if his publicist orchestrated it for him, like my publicist often did for me and my siblings. Daphne, the poor girl, was overworked with maintaining my families portrayal to the media. We really made it hard for her to do her job.

Jerking me from my thoughts, my shadows sent a warning tremor down my string of awareness. I had placed them as watch guards at the end of the hall, incase Paris' decided to show up early.

Quickly pulling the shadows to myself and my leather chair, I waited. Sat in the corner, I watched the door knob rattle. Paris threw open the door, letting in a gust of fresh air rampage the room as he ran in. The scent of the outdoors, wet grass and crisp, autumn air, fluffed up his damp curls.

Flicking the light on, the sun having set and providing us with minimal, receding light, he quickly threw his wyvern's harnesses to the floor. Turning to his mirror, his ran his fingers through his blond hair. He was out of breath, from most likely having sprinted up from the practice field.

"Come on, focus, Paris" He said, smacking his rosy cheeks, as if attempting to wake himself up. They were flushed from his workout, with his hair disheveled by the wind.

"Don't mess-up today". His complexion was a vibrant, healthy shade that I could only dream of. My face never retained any color, always wan and morbidly pale. I was not Eulalia, if I did not forever look on the brink of an unpleasant death, most likely from tuberculosis. Honestly, I was born in the wrong era. The Victorian Era would have adored me.

"You can do it" He gave himself a little pep-talk, swiping his hair up with his hand, in attempt to flatten it out. In my opinion, it looked better unruly and wild like that.

"You can do what?" I spoke up from my corner, clearing away my camouflage of shadows. Before my eyes could even process the glint of gold, his full sword was unsheathed and outreached before him. Wrath shone on his expression, his eyes glinting with deadly intent. I watched as recognition lit his chiseled features, making him drop his sword and exhaled wearily.

My heartbeat had spiked, but I didn't even have time to process panic. It was over before the thoughts could even form. I blinked at him, still as death in an attempt to remain unbothered. I didn't think I was breathing, till he let the sword morph back into his family crest ring.

"How long have you been there?" He asked, glancing around the room in a newfound suspicion, as if I was hiding my monster crony's under his bed and in his closet. I cleared my throat, attempting to calm my racing heart.