Bereft: Demise

17 | Of Kingdoms and Fallen Kings

My first breath of air was accompanied by an apology. 

"I'm sorry," Anzel said, still holding my hand fast in his own as I choked and gasped. "I should have warned you that would happen. I assumed you would have used one in the past, and I did not think...." 

The energy that had scoured my veins faded, leaving behind an uncomfortable emptiness that was slowly lessened by every beat of my heart. The stunned haze veiling my thoughts dissolved, taking the headache with it. Warmth seeped through the cold that had settled in my bones, inveigling strength in my weakened limbs.

I felt color flush my cheeks and I extracted my hand from the Vytian's. "I'm okay," I said, blinking furiously to dispel the stars in my eyes. I felt better than okay. I felt better than I had in weeks. "It...ah, worked. It worked." 

I hated to admit it—especially with the Vytian's lips forming such a smug grin—but the infusion had helped. My mana had been depleted. How, though? And why? 

"I am well-versed in the properties of ether and its effects upon then body," Anzel said as he chose another bottle from the fizzled construct. He plucked a cork from a small pile of stoppers on the table and sealed the infusion with a muttered word. "Ahh...as I thought. Deny it all you wish, love, but the ether does not lie; you are more than human."

He presented the bottle, holding it in such a way that the slight silver effulgence glimmering just above the clouded glass was unmistakable. Blushing, I took the infusion from him, flinching when the contained energy zinged through my fingertips.

"Barely," I quipped, cupping my hand to hide the black scorch mark at the bottle's bottom. I didn't know what that was from, but I doubted it was good.

Anzel hummed with quiet satisfaction. "You'll want to drink that later this evening, once you feel weaker. After that, your mana should be settled again." The Vytian pointedly ignored the third infusion still waiting in the construct. 

"Anzel..." I said, speaking slowly. I was grateful for his assistance, but still left with so many questions. I wasn't sure how to articulate what I wanted to ask. I elected to be direct. "Has the manor ever...ever shown you anything?"

He didn't respond immediately, nor did he ask for details. The Vytian settled with his hip leaning into the table, hand cupping his chin in thought. "Shown me something? Something ether draining, perhaps?" 

"Perhaps."

Anzel smirked. "Personally, no. Crow's End has never shown me anything noteworthy—but I wouldn't doubt its capability to do so. The nature of domiciles such as this is to bend to the residents' whims, particularly the home owner's. As a living thing, the manor has its own ether. In the past, it would have used this ether to do minor things for those living here—things such as opening windows, unlocking doors, adjusting lighting, and etcetera.

"Crow's End, however, has been twisted by Sloth's perverse soul. You've noticed it, of course. The oddities. The rooms appearing and disappearing without reason. The warped supports, sagging walls, the fleshy wallpaper?" 

Shivering, I nodded my head. 

"The manor mirrors the mind of its master. It reflects the soul. This place has succumbed to the subliminal insanity of Sloth's thoughts and mannerisms. Like Sloth, it can no longer produce ether of its own. It must feed upon others, or steal, when possible." The Vytian lowered his arm. "You must have asked something of the house, and it reacted to give you what you wanted. In doing so, it needed to take ether from you."