After three sleepless days, Octobre was beyond tired. She was used to a bit of insomnia here and there, but her mind's sudden penchant toward obsessive wakefulness had her in unusually low spirits. Her wings sagged at her sides as she moved through a field, legs dragging, hooves carelessly raking at the earth. Her stomach growled bitterly, but Octobre payed it no mind. It wasn't food she wanted...

A unique smell hovered and swirled before her nose like a ghost, cloyingly bitter, mocking, taunting. It was unfamiliar, and she therefore craved it. Its blood would be unfamiliar as a result. That was what she wanted. It was preventing her from sleeping, eating, living--no, she was living...but perhaps no longer in the normal sense.

"Haaaaaaaaa~..." escaped a mournful sigh. She was inquisitive by nature, and often her inquisitions turned inward. Her inner dialogue had sapped her of much of her remaining energy. But as her sharpness left her, so, too, did her inhibitions. Obsession took over. The scent she tracked grew stronger, called louder. Octobre's steps quickened.

Field turned to brush, which turned to trees, which turned to forest. The outside world was somersaulting with new sights and sounds; but not smells, for Octobre only smelled one thing. Her heartbeat quickened, flanks shuddered, and she pulled her wings in tight. The world blurred save for the path before her. She moved faster, lifted her knees higher. She was not a predator and did not know the proper tactics of a hunter. But she was driven on by a thirst which at one time had been a secret hobby. No more. The obsession had taken her. If she had been conscious of herself in that moment, she would've been unable to recognize herself.

Her breaths came in husky whispers, and her red eyes burned like the blood she so craved. It was close. That was all she knew. It was close.

Branches that had fallen decades before crumbled sleepily under frenzied trampling, mushrooms coughed up spores in protest, and all life was silent for fear of their lives. Octobre's wings stretched at length and she used them to spur her weak body on. They shifted and fluttered, steering and speeding her along. The smell she followed was nearly visible--tangible--a salmon-colored haze in the black of deep woods.

She would devour it.

In nearly an instant she was upon it, tumbling to the ground with her prey as her legs gave out in relief, wings coiling and eyes closing in reverie. Flat teeth sank in deeply, and she drank just as much. A soft groan trembled in her neck and she took a strange comfort in its reverberation. It meant success. If her prey had tried to flee, she knew not. She knew nothing except the moment she had it in her mouth. She let the blood hold in her throat a moment before each gulp, analyzing its taste, temperature, character...she would memorize it for life.

Ecstasy.

As she came back down, reality tingled her senses and began to manifest, starting first at the corners of her eyes. She didn't force it. It was not her friend, but it was also not unwelcome. She removed her mouth from its hold and let the blood drip from her chin. She was a mess, hair falling from its carefully pinned positions, crimson dripping over her, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter. She closed her eyes again and let another sigh leave her chest, contented by its sound as if it were a reward. Another swallow, but she didn't lick her lips. Not yet. Not yet...

Octobre's eyes opened and flicked to her forelegs where she'd pinned her capture. A moment of confusion passed before she realized what it was she'd drank from.

"Finished?" growled an impatient voice. The mare's head whipped fast to its direction.

A black and orange stallion stood shrouded in oak shadow, watching her at leisure from a distance. She was nearly frightened by the fiendish skull mask he wore, but when she reminded herself that he was just another Soquili, her nerves calmed a bit. She collected her wings back to herself and shifted slightly where she lay. She glanced quickly once more down to her "prey".

A sponge.

"You..." the male started, stepping halfway out from the shadows, "really shouldn't have done that, you know." His voice was nonchalant, but his eyes were serious and cold as death. There was hate in him. Octobre knew she had made a mistake. She'd lost herself and trespassed on another's territory, damaged his things...she did not know what reply she could give. He'd witnessed her secret, been exposed to her shame. She felt self-loathing and regret. If there was a way out, she didn't know it.

"You're about to get really sick," the stallion explained, something almost playful in his tone. But as he moved in a wide semi-circle, Octobre could see nothing of amusement in his gaze. In truth, she was used to hearing what he'd just said. She'd been told that before. There was nothing carnivorous in her bloodline, nothing to allow for what her habit--no, her obsession--drove her to do. Still, she didn't live off blood. It didn't bother her as one might think it would. But then doubt crept through her thoughts. There was something in the way the male spoke that caused her to second-guess what he'd meant.

"Normally I wouldn't care," rumbled the dark voice again, "but I just finished setting up. And since it's just me and my lonesome, setting up can take a nice little while," he continued, stopping in place at the end of another semi-circle. Octobre's stare shifted in response and turned to the area she had stumbled into. She could see candles, colorful smoke in every direction, an odd assortment of gourds and bottles lined up among large stumps, and in the trees dangled shards of glass and, though she could only guess by the smell, more sponges soaked in blood. After her brief moment of observation, her steady gaze locked once more on the male before her.

"So, as you can imagine, if you get sick all over the place, and die..." Octobre's heartbeat stammered. "It's gonna be a real mess," the male finished with a grin, sharp teeth mixing with those of his mask's. His eyes bore into hers and she felt a chill enter her chest. She didn't understand. As if reading her thoughts, the male's grin twisted down into a smirk, and with a flap of his devilish wings, he moved towards his array of containers. He moved behind the flat stumps with ease. His head bent down until a bottle of deepest maroon sat perfectly in the middle of his horns, and he seemed to momentarily consider it with something like pride before he looked back to Octobre. He raised his head and tapped a wing thumb at the little container. It clinked lightly at his touch.

"Pokeweed berries," he said flatly. After being met with the mare's plain response, the stallion sneered with irritation and spat, "They're poisonous! I mix them with blood to keep the color!" All at once, Octobre understood. Suddenly her maw began to burn and she wiped it quickly on the ground to remove any remaining mixture. She didn't dare swallow again, and so separated herself from her dignity to spit upon the roots of a tree. She rose shakily to her hooves and spat again. The stallion watched her with disdain.

"Finished?" she heard again, feeling a haunting déjà vu. She peered over her shoulder.

"What can I do?" she asked weakly. The male lowered his head, mask drowning his own face almost entirely as he considered her.

"A favor," he answered after a moment, "for me. I'll think of something. And when I do...you'll have to do it. Understand?"

Octobre nodded vacantly. She felt nothing, nothing but urgency to save her own life. She didn't pause to debate just what type of life it was she was living, just that she wanted to live. Nothing more, nothing less. And so she obeyed. Helpless as she was to her own wills, she was now helpless in the face of another. There was no option but to agree to his terms.

Satisfied, the stallion shouldered past towering trees and disappeared for a while. Octobre dragged her feet towards the largest tree from which glass and poison-soaked sponges dangled, and set herself down. Any thought which persecuted herself was dismissed. Any idea of allowing herself to die was swatted away. She allowed herself to feel nothing as she waited. Her life was no longer in her own control. Her vision blurred and swayed as she snapped in and out of consciousness. Strange that she should finally feel sleep overtake her under such circumstances. She nearly smiled at the thought. But before she could, she passed out completely.

When she next woke, Octobre found herself in precisely the same position as before, but with a few slowly-noted alterations. A variety of greenery was both pillowing her head and woven around her face. Her mouth and throat burned achingly, but tasted nothing but bitterness and tannin--different from before, as if she had drank something else. Her skin had been cleaned. She was in the middle of discovering how much she longed for water when she remembered fully where she was. And as she did, her eyes found the swaying skull embroidery of a stole she regrettably recognized.

"Finished?" the stallion breathed close to her. Octobre didn't understand. Perhaps reading her sluggish expression, the male stated, "You've thrown up about three times already." The mare had no memory of what he described, but was inclined to believe him, though she could see no evidence to support it. When she had energy enough to glance back up at him, his back was turned and he was walking away.

"The stuff on your face is not for eating," he called, "the stuff under your face is. And you'd better eat soon," he ordered. He went to a place she couldn't see. As she roused from her sleep, Octobre rolled to her stomach and attempted to eat, but the movement proved too much and she was seized with intense nausea. She retched painfully, but emptily. Gathering her composure took several minutes, but once she had it, she began to eat. She knew she must. It was a slow process, and she felt very much like the most foolish foal on earth. The woven herbs around her face stayed where they'd been placed, a crowned veil of soothing smells. She breathed them deeply as she ate and found they improved her appetite considerably. Despite all that had taken--and was taking--place, she felt soothed.

"Y'know, I've seen a lot of things," the male's voice came from behind her, and Octobre jumped with surprise. "But you know something..." his voice darkened to a growl as he finished hanging a freshly-soaked replacement sponge in a branch. As his front hooves met the ground with a quake, he locked eyes with her. "I've never seen someone that desperate for a sip of blood." A fresh wave of shame washed over Octobre, and nausea began to slither back in. She coolly turned her head away, freeing herself from the stallion's prying gaze. The world began to sway again and she closed her eyes to protect herself from it.

Octobre heard footsteps once more and finally dared to question, "You're a healer?" A chilling laugh was the reply. Octobre opened her eyes to slits, but did not turn her head. "What, then?" Her voice made her throat burn.

"There's no name for what I am," the stallion murmured neutrally in the distance. She heard him rummaging through something, but could not see what. She didn't understand anything. He had saved her life seemingly for the sake of his painstakingly decorated place, but he could've just as easily dragged her off to let her die elsewhere. He certainly looked strong enough, and certainly seemed to hate enough. And yet he'd chosen to nurse her back to health instead.

Octobre worked her teeth as she pondered this, and as her conjured conclusions arrived, she set her gaze firmly on the stallion's shadow.

"What do you want?" she asked. Just as soon as she'd asked, she saw him appear once again and make his way toward her. Several containers filled the thickly wrapped part of his stole--red bottles glinting in multi-colored candle light. Octobre's eyes grew hot in their sockets. The male saw this and looked on her with derision.

"Thirsty again?" he jeered. Upon receiving no response, the male added, "You already owe me a favor since I saved your life, but..." he delicately gestured to his cargo with his wing thumbs and puffed his chest like a robin. "There'd be a lot more in it for you if you stuck around even longer than necessary."

Octobre paused in analysis of his words for several moments before responding, "What favor?" At this, the male threw back his head with grinning sigh of exasperation.

"Questions, questions, questions! Is that all that ever comes out of your mouth?!" When he met her eyes again, all traces of amusement had vanished utterly from his countenance. "Don't you get tired of that?" Octobre swallowed silently and focused on breathing in the herbs strewn about her head. Even her breath was painful in her burning esophagus. Her attention then rested on the remnants of the meal laid out before her, and she half debated continuing it, but decided against it under pressure of the stranger's stare.

"You should finish that," the stallion suggested lightly as he turned away, again seeming to read her thoughts. "And drink some water while you're at it." Octobre's ears stood tall at his last mention and she looked about herself quickly. She found there was a hollowed-out gourd behind her filled with water. He must've dropped it when he'd been hanging the sponge, she thought. After some physical effort on her part, she maneuvered her way to the gourd and drank carefully, then ravenously. She felt eyes on her again, but her satiation was enough to overpower her diffidence.

When the vessel had been emptied, Octobre leaned back with contentment. It wasn't like drinking blood, but food and water were what she truly needed. Her body must overcome her mind. It must. It was the only way. She had to remember... She could do this herself. She could. It was why she had driven Him away. At that thought, a series of intensely agonizing memories overtook her and she slammed her eyes shut with a grimace.

"Still hurts, huh?" her rescuer cooed. False sympathy. He was becoming easier for her to predict, and therefore less intimidating. "Would've been a lot worse without my help," the male reminded her. Whether that was true or not, Octobre cared little. She owed him a debt regardless. She chewed down a few more pieces of green if only to prevent the male from nagging her again.

"I think you're doing well enough to get a little more involved in our business discussion," the male started, and Octobre had no choice but to go along. "All these can be yours," he began taking the red bottles from their wrapping and setting them down on a clean stump. "If," he added, "you stay around longer than your required debt asks." Octobre forced herself to remove her gaze from the shimmering crimson. The male seemed pleased by this. "Sound good?"

"What is required of me?" Octobre asked levelly. The male's mouth all but disappeared under his mask where he glared.

"Six seances," he said shortly, and nothing more. Though Octobre's expression revealed nothing, she was lit with confusion.

A seance? A communal with the dead...? Then he was a priest of some kind. No...there was nothing religious about him. A con artist.

"I don't und--"

"I KNOW!" he erupted as Octobre jumped, and then more calmly, "But you don't really need to understand, rem-em-ber?" And then she did. She lowered her face. With a shrug of his great wings, the stallion went to tend his many candles. "You're lucky it's not more," he grumbled at his task. Octobre was lucky about a lot of things, it seemed. She contemplated this with some vexation.

"So my proposition," the male began, "is one bottle of blood for every additional seance." He flashed her a toothy grin as he added, "Pokeweed berry free, of course." The mare's stomach turned at the memory of her ordeal. His proposal seemed reasonable, and yet something prevented her from accepting immediately. She knew why. It was the potential disappointment of opening her payment only to find she'd sampled that particular type of blood before. She had to be sure each bottle was filled with a unique type. More than that, she had to be sure each unique type was one she had not previously sampled. The only way to be sure was to smell each of the contents ahead of time--something she was sure the stallion wouldn't allow. But she chose to mention it all the same. Her nature craved any attempt at control.

"What sort of blood is contained in those bottles?" she asked idly. The male met her cold gaze with one equally as icy.

"All kinds. Fun for you, right?" he provoked. How did he know...? He saw much more than Octobre wished of anyone. His perception was more advanced than anyone she'd encountered. It was incredibly troublesome. But her own mask did not slip.

"I must be sure," Octobre said. At this, the stallion narrowed his eyes and stepped closer to the mare until he was directly before her. Every one of her self-preserving instincts screamed for her to look away, but she did not.

"I'm gonna say this one more time," the devil rumbled quietly. Smoke and candlelight flowed and flickered in the darkness, and Octobre could hear the tinkling of glass overhead, barely audible over her shallow breaths. "You don't need to understand a-ny-thing." And so it was declared. And so it was accepted.

A little light of mirth (or perhaps candle flame) touched the dark green of the stallion's eyes as he offered, "Just think of it like a lottery! It'll be fun," he chuckled as he went away again. "Especially for someone like you." A sweep of his tail cast spectral trails of smoke to rise in his wake, and Octobre felt the full effects of his character. He was a phantom. A demon. She had entered into a dark pact, indeed. She must do what he required of her. She had no choice in that. But as for his addendum...she would accept that as well. In a way, the male already acted as though she had. And it was true.

Fun, perhaps not. But it was an offer too enticing to pass up. She would perform whatever duties he expected of her during these seances, and earn back her life in the process. Her health would be returned by the end of it all. It would be different after this. The controlled circumstances would build up her tolerance and composure. She had seen what her obsession had made her become--where it had taken her. It was certainly not a place she wished to be in. So that was it. No more mistakes. No more...

Acceptance settled over her like a set of warm wings, and as it did, so did exhaustion. Heavy-lidded eyes allowed themselves to close, and slowly Octobre eased her aching jaw to the ground. A rattling breath shuddered through her lungs, and as her burning tongue lulled her to sleep, a snide voice cut through her serenity.

"You'd better finish eating that."

Octobre sneered in silence and ignored him.