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As Radek collapsed to the ground, smacking his face against the stonework flooring...his mind would fade into the bleeding surrealism of another life. A dream. A nightmare.

While many would have horrid thoughts of monsters and vicious denizens, seemingly distorting thoughts of Cthulhu that would make Lovecraftians proud. You; however, do not. You instead dream of relaxing at a spa! Your human body only donning a plush pink towel that even has sequined unicorns on the edges. You actually brought this towel from home cause it is your favorite. But for now, you settle yourself in a nice, relaxing, massage chair. Your lean, slender frame looming over the bubbling pool of liquid that has steam rising from it. Sliding your feet in, you find it absolutely blissful! A petite woman, early twenties with nice curves and a soft face comes over and starts to rub at your feet. Brushing them, massaging, lathering them up with oils and lotions that smell of sweet vanilla and apple pie, the kind your grandmother made back when she was alive. God, does it smell ******** amazing. Glands start salivating, and your body tingles with a renewed hearth.

After your toes are lacquered in glittery red, you make your way over to a table. She ushers you up on it, laying upon your back with a dull paper lantern above you. There is relaxing music and chimes, your eyes lull, lids heavy with the overwhelming feeling of tranquility. As you lay there, her hands once again find their way to your barren body. From your neck and down, kneading and caressing and she inches lower and lower...then you notice, a breeze. Funny...the door is closed and there is no window. Then you look down and your towel is missing! Oh no! Your favorite Unicorn Princess towel is gone! FOREVER! GASP, HORROR, SHOCK! Your eyes are wide in surprise but she gives you a soft smile and you can't help but to repay in kind. Laying back you calm yourself. Hell with the towel!

Her hands start working again, magical tendrils that carve into you and cup, toying and suddenly, you are like...whoa...this is the best massage ever! She is even moaning and you do it too. Then, just as you are really getting into it and are reaching this new found apex...SHE BITES INTO YOUR THIGH. NOM NOM NOM~ You scream and yank back, looking down at the trifling wench and notice...it isn't a female at all!


It is a sparkling vampire of your dreams! Your idol! Edward McPullin! Suddenly you are the woman and you two are in a forest. He is packin' some serious heat for your fine a**. He knows you like him! He can read it in your texts! Then as he loses your phone, tossing it back to smack some cracked out Alice (whom he previously shot), you can't help but wonder if you had insurance on it... You faint front the sheer delight and awaken to your nose busted, blood spewing from it. Your cheek feels puffy and a bruise has already formed.

Once the velvety curtain was drawn back, a visible beguiling female figure is partly obscured by long flowing hair that dances and flows around her as if she were underwater. A slender, wide-eyed face peered up at the new comer, bright, vivid luminance filtered from the cauldron she stood behind. Its flames flickered and swayed, like it had half a mind of its own. Something wicked brew in it, the thick iron pot, its steam created billows of smoke that ebb and casted mythical scenes.

To his right was a few candle stands, a single crow perched on one. If he took notice of it, it had three eyes, bright red ones.

To the left, stacks of books litter the floor, parchment and ink wells lay everywhere.

The woman did not advance, and yet, she did not run either.

"It isn't done yet."

As the young man stepped forward, an inquisitive brow raised. Perhaps he was NOT the guest that she was thinking of...no matter! Pale, thin arms crossed over her breasts, her lithe form shifting to c**k a single hip.

"There is no party. This is my lair. Now who in Makath are you?"

The fire under the cauldron flared to life, creeping up the sides of hot iron. The brew bubbling and continuing to steam and maturate.

Rusal stared at him, a piercing, menacing gaze that spoke volumes of trespassing and warning. She also noticed his weapons, he carried a wide range...unless he was some type of Knight, he had to be a master of them. This inclination brought a scowl.

"You should leave. This is no place for the likes of you."

"Rumors? Tch, I am Rusal."

She continued to stare, unfaltering in their gaze.

"None'ya business!"

The young woman appeared standoffish, not budging from her spot.

He would slowly approach and in turn, she would circle around the brew, eying him cautiously. A smile decorated her youthful face, almost reaching her eyes.

"It is safer down here and I am kept to myself."

As he mentioned fighting, her smile faded ever so slightly.

"I would hope not. You'd surely die and you seem to be a young vampire."
It was strange, he must be freshly turned in order to not know who Makath is.

"Are you not from here? Surely if you were, you'd know of the great Makath. An iron warrior once...now..more of a God."

They continued the waltz, rounding the cauldron once more while billows of magical steam rose high.

He was trying to appease her and she wasn't buying it.

"Listen, I am much older than I look. I have seen the world and I do not like it."

Lips pursed in a pout, giving her cheekbones a flare of life. Black ebbing strands wavered about in her wake.

"Of course I did! I wouldn't be down here concocting..things...for no reason! What kind of imbecile are you? Why did you really come down here? You are not one of my guests or customers...so how did you know?"

Rusal stared hard, eyes narrowing as suspicion was rising higher and higher. As he leaned in, the fires around the cauldron flared, trying to catch a piece of his clothing. She controlled it, not that he knew, if anything, it could be enchanted.

The youthful woman stopped moving, piano? she thought to herself. There was no piano down here, never once did the sounds penetrate her ears. The confusion was written on her face...she had no idea what he was even talking about.

"Sir...there is no music down here." Rusal replied with a head shake. "I think...I think you must be mistaken. I have been down here for years and not once have I heard of such a thing. The general populace comes down here, it is the crypts after all...worshiping the dead, body snatchers, witches, warlocks, etc...I've never come across anyone that has complained of music before."

Her eyes followed his, they were wandering on her brewery.

"It was my great grandmothers cauldron. I come from a long line of....well, let's just say powerful women." Rusal smiled coyly. "If you leave now I can extend my gratefulness by giving you some potions that I have concocted?"