Date: Tue, 24 Dec 2013 21:45:36 +0000
From: Enchanting Enchanter <enchantingenchantor@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter Thirteen

No underage fuckers. Sex is here, well not yet but soon, maybe, actually
probably not for a while. This is gay shit, as you have figured out by
now. All those other dull warnings. And, of course, DONATE TO NIFTY YOU
SNIDY FUCKERS! DON'T BE SO TIGHT, IT DIDN'T HELP THE JEWS. Omg. I did not
just write that. No offence, of course. I love jews, personally, but some
people... you know... didn't.

Ps. Just so you know, I'm British, so I write the proper and traditional
English, not the defiled form in which Americans write. It is realised,
not realized. It is splendour, not splendor. You Americans need to learn
the right way to write. You can't just steal the English language, change
a couple of words, and call it yours. Sorry. No. As you can tell, this is
a touchy subject with me.

Anyway, to the story.

The Enchanter's Storybook: Chapter Thirteen:

It seemed so supercilious, in Purgador. Everyone was superior to someone,
and there was a distinguished hierarchy that had to be regarded in every
aspect of life. Witches were an odd people, Marcus had known that from
the beginning. The tales he had heard of their devilish sorcery and their
casual frivolity were renowned in the Pass, although some of the details
had faded from his mind. Witchkind were somewhat of a nightmare in the
Pass, told to be rotten and decaying creatures that could shift between
forms in order to lure and entrap victims. They reminded him of Widow
spiders, for some peculiar reason or other. But they were nothing like
the tales. In fact, they were almost exactly the opposite.The tales told
of dark, shadowy cottages surrounded by jagged, dead trees and bogs that
swallowed children whole. But in fact witches lived in pointy shards of
glossy glass that glimmered under the sun and glistened under the moon,
for witches were under the distinct impression that a glimmer was almost
the exact opposite of a glisten. And these glass houses were not any
regular colour, they were of any and every colour: orange and red, fiery
tints that blurred the interior of the shards; cyan and prussian,
reflecting some ocean far from the city, or some constellation seen from
some point far from the city. More often than not, Marcus would find
lilac or purple, and the only excuse that the witches  gave him of their
obvious addiction to the colour purple was "that it was royal" or "the
colour of pure darkness", but Marcus hardly knew what they were on about.
Witches were definitely an odd breed, even their accent had a certain
zest of splendour that could not be reproached just for being too fruity.
That seemed an almost pristine word for witchkind: fruity. Everything
about them was fruity, they had a certain juice, a certain citrus. From
their clothes to their hair, they were mad in so many ways.
Most people see witches as these fat, ugly hags with grey hair and
wrinkling, saggy faces, but they were the opposite. Witches were
beautiful, even in old age. Their hairs seemed to be of any colour,
whether it be as green as grass or as blue as the sky. And, more often
than not, Marcus felt uncomfortable just from looking at their revealing
outfits. They were so very suggestive.
"Marcus, darling! Come, sit here, I insist!" Varia screamed at me, as I
stared over the wide-spaced room. It was giant room crowded with people
of any and every colour imaginable, but a certain dullness was drilled
into the corner where Varia was seated with Darius and Daisy.
"What is this?"
"The queens enjoy parties such as this," Varia relayed to him.
Then there was the matter of three queens. That seemed so odd to him.
Witches were either so greedy that they felt they needed three rulers
instead of one, or they were so fickle that they could not choose one to
solely and permanently rule. Neither were good options, in his opinion.
The surface beneath him tapped as he strode over to them, he felt as
though the glass floor would crack underneath him and he'd fall into the
pit of no return.
"The three witch queens," he repeated to himself. It was too odd to him.
"Varia, how long does it take for you to tell Lady Grisella that you
quit?" Darius asked, sitting opposite her with a sullen and morose look
about him. At least he had stopped calling her 'witch', Marcus thought.
And then it all came back to him, back in that bath-house, back to their
first night in Purgador. They hadn't discussed it, they hadn't felt like
they needed to. But maybe they did, because it seemed the oddest thing
about the place. They had both kissed, cuddled all night, and acted like
nothing had happened ever since. It was kind of mad to him, their entire
world was mad.
"You quit?" rumbled a low and meek voice from behind Marcus. Slowly, he
swallowed and moved aside to allow the elderly, yet strikingly gorgeous
woman, to swoop in on their inner circle. Lady Grisella seemed weaker
than they had last met, more frail and nimble, like she was ready to
drop. The bags under her eyes screamed it to all who looked upon her
pugnacious face.
"Let us discuss this later, Grisella, I wouldn't want to ruin the
splendour of the night," Varia said seductively, her eyes peering
suggestively over at Lady Grisella. It seemed so sickening, but every act
every witch performed with one and other seemed like a flirt, like they
were begging to be breached by the other. Marcus didn't know the ghastly
details of sex, but he knew the basics, the ins and outs and suchlike.
And that was all he needed to know, really.
"Well, I will be sad to see you go. You are the finest in the Guild,
Varia. I had hopes of you surpassing me after I am gone. I have not long
for this world, you know, I can feel it."
"You can feel when you're going to die?" Daisy asked, her face shooting
from a relaxed and almost bored expression to one of surprise and even
horror. We had all been in Purgador long enough to get use to it all and
find the simple flamboyancy of the witch world boring.
"I can feel my body decaying around me, I am nearing a corpse. My soul is
ebbing, you see. I am lingering, I am a lingerer. Soon, but not yet,
trust me, darlings, I'll be in the Ether soon."
"The where?"
"Hell, dear."
"And that's a good thing?" Daisy continued questioning.
"Well, I would hope so!" And then she was tottering off with the grace of
a dead swan, floating on the black depths of the pond.
A silence filled the air then, and Marcus found himself staring at
Darius. He was such a good friend to him, eve if what they had was more.
But he was so modest, he didn't understand how much Marcus loved him. And
he didn't just loved his appearance, he loved everything about him. The
good and the bad, if there was anything really bad about Darius. Marcus
couldn't think of anything on the spot, so he shrugged and took a seat
between Varia and Darius. He could feel the awkwardness around him.
"So now that is done, we can go?" Darius asked. Marcus smiled, but only
slightly.
But then suddenly, the entire room grew quiet. No longer did the witches
hush and squeak in all corners, squabbling around in all directions,
dressed in all colours. The entire room grew cold and silent, the entire
crowd dared not to speak a single word.
And the doors blew open, clashing against the walls and shattering into a
thousand pieces. The glass shuddered and danced along the ground, sending
glitters of light across the ballroom. And purple curtains swayed,
revealing three veiled bodies, draped from head-to-toe in shades of
purple from lavender to indigo. In fact, as Marcus peered closer at them,
they each seemed to wear entirely different shades of purple: the
farthest on the left was garmented in a light lavender, the lightest of
purples; the farthest on the left was adorned in lilac, the brightest of
the purples; and in the centre of the two was an embroiled violet, the
darkest of the purples.
"Who are they?" he asked idiotically. In the back of his mind, it was
clear who they were. They were the three queens of the Witchlands.
"Our queens," Varia gasped, dropping to her knees frantically. The entire
room fell to their knees, even Darius and Daisy had the mind to. But
Marcus lingered standing, and soon, it seemed everyone regained their
colourful postures. "Her in lilac, her name is Lilac; her in lavender,
her name is Lavender; and of course, her in violet, is so named Violet.
It is an old tradition of Witchkind."
The three queens proceeded to the very edge of the room, where they
regally took their seats on one long, singular, elongated throne. It was
more of a sofa, if truth be told. A long, silver-framed, amethyst throne
that was bedazzled in black rubies and purple diamonds. The three queens
held hands with one and other, and the infamous party resumed around
them.
Marcus found he could not take his eyes off of them, they intrigued him
so. Three queens, one kingdom, yet they ruled so well. And there was no
doubt about their power, it was all he had heard the witches boasting of
the last few days: how powerful their queens were, how amazing and
perfect and beautiful they were. But all he saw were women veiled in
purple, faces blurred away from view as if it was a sin to cast your
glance upon such godly beauty.
And they called him forward.
"Marcus!" Varia bellowed. Before he knew it, she was crouching beside
him, her lips tickling his ear with their closeness. "Approach them
slowly, look at neither of them. Bow as you reach them, greet them, do
not anger them!"
"But I don't understand," he mumbled to himself. "Why do they wish to
speak with me?"
Varis stared at him in complete and utter awe, her long red locks
dangling around her neck like a tight noose. She pursed her blood-red
lips and stuttered, "You are the only exception."
"The what?"
"The only exception, to magic. Immortality, Marcus. I've told you before,
it should not be possible. It is as if you are a god in human form. And
your darkness, I have warned you, is beyond belief. It surpasses all
kinds of darkness, it is complete blackness."
Marcus never understood these witches. They called him a dark soul, a
creature with vast darkness and unending blackness, but he wasn't even
close to that. He was just that sweet, blond-haired little boy with
adorable blue eyes and a body strength that was abysmal.
But, without much choice on the matter, he found his feet moving of their
own accord. He followed a silky red carpet that proceeded to the very
edge of the room, whereupon the three queens stared down at him in
complete disbelief. It could have been anger, really, it was hard to tell
with their faces masked. He stood there before them, the three most
powerful beings in the Known World, and couldn't even find it in himself
to blurt out a small 'hello', or even a brief nod.
"You know," the queen dressed in Lavender began, the queen of the name
Lavender,"it is considered common courtesy to bow before your queen."
He could not find it in himself to reply to such a strong, husky voice.
It was too domineering, too daunting. No reply found its way to his lips.
"Speak, boy!" Lavender screamed.
The queen in Lilac, by the name of Lilac, leaned in suspiciously to her
sister and whispered dubious murmurs in her ear, Marcus only caught a few
words, "Can you sense him?" and "Apparently, this is the boy that gives
immortality."
Lavender gave a curt nod to her sister and peered at him through the
eye-slits in her lavender veil. Marcus could see her purple eyes, dark
and terrifying. He couldn't look into them. "And these rumours are true,
child?" she asked.
Marcus managed to murmur a silent "Yes," before staring idly at his shoes
like they were the most interesting thing in the room.
"Bring him closer," the silent of the three queens spoke so suddenly. She
had a honeyed voice, soft and sweet. Violet. It was a kindly colour, not
too pale, nor too bright or dark. It was a perfect mix, a perfect flower,
and a perfect smell. Marcus decided immediately that this one was his
favourite.
"Boy, come," Lavender ordered, snatching Marcus by his wrists and
throwing him at the violet Violet. he ignored the brute strength of
Lavender and stared idly at Queen Violet. Like a child, she forced him
onto her lap. He felt so close to her, she was very cold. And, peaking a
look at her eye-slits, he saw her eyes were milky and white, ghostly and
blind.
Her hands traced over the features of his face. "Yes," she agreed with
the structure of his nose. "Mhm," she whispered to his lower lip. "Oh, I
agree!"
Marcus assumed she had gone senile, but then he remembered the rumours
about one of the three queens. It was said she was a prophet, a
soothsayer, a swimmer in the sea of what-will-be. Some thought she was a
crazed woman, mad and growing madder. But Marcus felt something as she
touched him, a tingle. It was not the tingle he had felt when touching
Varia, it was deeper and more intense. It held no pain, it was
refreshing, almost sensational. He felt her shiver, and knew she was
feeling it to.
Her fingers retreated from his face and helped him back to his feet.
"Well?" Lavender insisted.
"It is true," Violet decided. That made him blush ever-so-slightly. "He
speaks the truth. His darkness is inevitably black, and he has, on two
occasions, gifted immortality upon a mortal. Himself, and Varia."
A grumble of roars echoed through the hall, before Lavender called,
"Varia!" in a harsh tone and forced the red-head forward. Without a
second thought, the lavender queen rose to her feet and approached Varia,
digging her hand in her chest and pulling away her heart. She dropped it
to the floor and returned to her seat.
"She seems perfectly dead to me," Lilac joked. "It is not true."
And then Varia rose from the ground, claimed her heart from the floor,
and gently encased it back into her chest. The room grew silent with awe.
"I told you so," Violet announced.
"Very well," Lilac agreed.
Lavender spoke next. "Marcus, dear boy, you will not be leaving this
city. Go, we will call for you when we see fit to."
And Marcus had no choice but to turn around and leave the soiree. He had
no idea what had just happened, but he felt like he had been sentenced to
an eternity of imprisonment.

*Snaps The Storybook, very tightly, to a close*

 DAAARLINGS! It has been so long, too long! This chapter isn't a very
good one, but the next few will be action-packed. Want a peak? Okay.
Violet seems the only shred of kindness remaining in the three queens,
and while her sisters Lilac and Lavender want to keep Marcus in order to
obtain immortal life, she knows how things will end. He becomes a
prisoner in the city, but will he be able to escape?
Also, I am sorry this chapter had nothing about the boys' relationship,
but I am focusing on the problem that they are facing. Next chapter,
Marcus will speak with the three queens, he will discuss the kiss with
Darius, and they will attempt to leave. But little do they know, the
queens Lilac and Lavender want him kept close, so they will have to try
harder in order to be free.
I know, you all just want the four of them to go off to the fairylands
(which are real. I mean, I have a Trollsturf and a Witchlands, and
fairies exist in this story! SPOILERS FOR WHAT LIE AHEAD BEYOND PURGADOR!
FAIRIES! FAIRIES, I SAY!) but that just isn't happening. Paradise is
boring, and Marcus doesn't do boring.

*Places Storybook into a small crevice in the wall, where it shall become
neighbours with spiders and cobwebs.*

Until next time, my precious, effervescing darlings, love
the Enchanter.