A Wraith for a Pet, A Shadow for a Queen

[Laurel (DELETED 502)]

In spite of the fact that she was injured (she'd retaliate at some point; it was some idiotic human hunter that had inflicted it) Laurel thought it was about time she tried out her newest power. The previous night, she'd written out an invocation entirely in French, hoping that it would work in conjunction with her power, and that it would work to her advantage.

Kneeling down before the façade of the Dragomir Temple, Laurel closed her eyes and started to whisper. "Je appeler si j'ai le fantôme d'un vampire, une demoiselle noble avec un cœur vindicatif, un cœur meurtri par le mépris d'un amant infidèle. Ses fidélités sera la mienne. Elle fera comme je l'ai commande. Sa mort sera sa force." All of her thought focused upon the tear between the world of the living and the shadowed realm beyond.

She chanted the French words, crafting them into a sort of spell. As she spoke the rolling syllables, a black sort of glow wrapped around her hands, quite different than the smoky blackness that was her vampiric blood. If Laurel didn't know any better, she'd compare its texture to something like ectoplasm. Her brows knitting together, she slowly started pulling back from the space; glowing threads bound into a rip in reality, one which also glowed black.

What the hell is this? Laurel thought, keeping with her chanting.

The slim silvery-blue shadow that emerged from the slit seemed inherently graceful, her insubstantial body lithe and quick. Laurel felt immediately inclined to call the shape female; a waspiness to her waist and grace to her movements added to that.

"Who are you to dare bring me back to this place?!" Her thin voice was distinctly soprano.

Laurel, remembering that wraiths like her new...friend...had to be forced to listen, flipped the paper over and began to recite the words she had written the previous night. Once more, she spoke in French.

"Vous le saurez pas de douleur que vous avez fait dans votre vie. Je vais vous traiter gentiment, mais vous serez sous mon complet commandement. Vous obéirez. Pour moi, vous pourrez observer les commerçants de sang que vous rencontrez. C'est votre devoir." Her elegant voice took a commanding tone with the wraith, ordering her to do as was ordered. Thin bonds of shadow wrapped the wraith in place momentarily, then winding around the breathing vampire's wrist momentarily.

This was just for show, really. Laurel had thought of this a while ago, when she'd earned the power to call upon these...wraiths. It represented, to her, the leash of a pet, bound to its master.

The wraith hissed slightly before whispering, "I was once a countess...my name was Desdemona."

"It still is," Laurel whispered. "Just because you've lost your corporeal body and are now bound in slavery to me doesn't mean you are anyone other than who you were in life. Desdemona is a very beautiful name."

"Thank you, my queen. May I call you that?"

Laurel giggled. She was nothing like the queens of old, but she was flattered. "That would be acceptable. Now," she said, recoiling the shadowy leash she had chosen to craft, "go keep an eye on whatever blood traders you find. Inform me of any sales you witness; I will pass word along to someone in the bounty-hunting profession. I'd rather not be caught in the crosshairs of those battles."

"Yes, my queen," the wraith replied, bowing her head and fluttering away, her shadowy, featureless shape dissipating into the air. Laurel then walked into the temple with a smirk on her face, curling up in the back bedroom and closing her eyes, webphone in hand.