Cursing the Darkness (complete)

[Sansa]

<center>The Kidnapping of Sansa Martin by the Sabbat Archbishop Katarina Gordislava</center>

"Oh no. No, no, no, no!" Emile laughed, planting herself in front of her flatmate and forcing Sansa to stop walking. "You are so different! Who is this man that has you under his spell?" She waggled her fingers mysteriously, and Sansa pushed her hands out of her face irritably.

"Emilie, you're supposed to be helping me shop, not giving me the third degree about Gabe-" She snapped her mouth shut.

"Gabe?!" The blond Parisian nearly shrieked the name, causing several other late night shoppers to look their way. She grabbed Sansa's arms, nearly causing the other girl to drop the bags she was carrying. "So there is a man. I knew it!"

Sansa grimaced, "Yes, yes. You're very sharp, Emilie." She pulled away from her friend's touch, and handed her one of the bags. "Can we just get to the last store on your list before they close?"

Emilie made a face, but took the proffered bag in her black gloved hand. "But of course." They walked in silence for a while, and then Emilie giggled, "I cannot believe you've actually found someone, and you are hiding him from me! You wretch! Mon Dieu!"

"Yes, yes, I know." Sansa grinned, finally, the thought of Gabriel bringing a smile to her face. "But you'll find out in time. I don't want you to scare him off, after all."

"Moi?" she spluttered, "But no, I would not!" Emilie linked her arm through Sansa's as she steered them across the street. Neither seemed to notice the shadows growing around them.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The girls, being so caught up their laughter, failed to notice a man running right towards them. Conversely, he appeared to have not noticed them. It was an unfortunate combination and lead to all three colliding in the center of the street. Their bags fell to the floor, spilling out some their contents onto the icy road. The man stood stock still, apparently not sure what to do, his face partially obscured by the up-turned collar of his winter coat.

On either of the street, the shadows were growing longer.

[Sansa]

Emilie loosed a string of French curses as she flopped comically about in the street, slipping and trying to scoop up a pair of shoes that had come out of their box. Sansa had the breath knocked out of her for a moment, but was soon shaking her head and pushing herself up with gloved hands.

The man standing next to them seemed as surprised as they were, but as the moments passed and he still didn't move, both girls had a sense of foreboding. Sansa tried apologizing as she grabbed Emilie's hand to yank her friend to her feet. "I'm so sorry, we didn't see you..."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The man shook his head, as if coming out of some daze and began to apologize profusely. He knelt down and tried to help the young woman gather up her shopping, all the while cursing his clumsiness. In the end, no harm was done, and both parties carried on with their daily routine in spite of the inconvenience, annoyance lingering only briefly. Sansa and Emilie got their shopping, the young man got to his destination in time, and world peace was achieved. Or at least, that is what should have happened.

The shadows at Emilie and Sansa's feet, shadows that technically should not have been there, suddenly sprung upwards. The dark shape behind Sansa wrapped its tenebrous, constricting arms around her, while the form at Emilie's heels pushed the young woman forward with a vicious snarl. She collided again with the man in front of her, only this time it was his fist that hit her, right in the jaw.

[Sansa]

Sansa felt her throat constrict in fear, her screams seized up before they could be voiced. She tried to fight with...whatever it was that was holding her, strugging against cord-like wrappings that her brain could only describe as tentacles.

Emilie was punched in the face by the man who'd knocked them over originally, and she fell limply to the ground, unconscious. Their attacker snapped his fingers, and an unmarked panel van came up the street, stopping beside them. A tentacle wrapped itself around her head, covering her mouth and eyes. A series of strange sounds could be heard - the doors opening, the thump of something solid being thrown into the van. Other sounds she could not identify.

Sansa was picked up with ease and also placed inside the vehicle, still bound and helpless. Terrified, she tried to struggle against whatever it was that had her held, but the thing around her head merely shifted, blocking her nose as well. Denied air, Sansa's struggles became more intense, until she slipped into darkness.

[Katarina Gordislava]

"They will be here shortly, Archbishop." The young Lasombra bowed, showing herself out of the sitting room.

Katarina practically leapt to her feet, as excited as she'd been in weeks. There was a room prepared for their guest, though not as comfortable as the flat where the kine had lived. No, not comfortable at all.

She resisted the urge to rub her hands together, but her sense of satisfaction was growing. Gabriel's abominable plaything was hers, and she would make him grovel to get her back. The Camarilla were so weak minded when it came to mortals, and the Toreador the silliest of the Camarilla. With Sansa Martin in her hands, and the Assamite readying his assault on the Primogen, the Prince of London would find himself on very shaky ground.

Katarina left her rooms and swept down the stairs towards the first floor.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The front door swung open with perhaps a little more force and bravado than was really necessary, as tall bulky Lasombra made a show of forcing Sansa and Emilie inside – the latter being pushed far more forcefully than the former. Much more subdued, Sergei stepped over the threshold without a word, and effortlessly held young Miss Martin by the wrists, his grip seemingly iron-wrought. The sound of the Archbishop descending the stairs could be heard and the over-eager Lasombra, clearly taking pleasure in the terror he instilled, sized Emilie by the back of her neck and thrust her forwards, as if presenting her to Katarina. Around the room, through doors ajar, pale faces peered out in curiosity.

[Sansa]

Her wrists crossed over each other in front of her, Sansa stumbled into the house after Emilie. The man beside her was holding her wrists with one pincer-like hand, his grip strong enough that her fingers were going a little numb.

For whatever reason she couldn't fight his hold on her, but her terror was so strong it was almost palpable. Emilie seemed dazed, her blonde hair mussed and a bruise was forming on her jawline. The ...man? who held her shoved her forward by the back of her neck. There seemed to be people all around them, watching silently as a stylish woman came down the large staircase into the entry way.

The front door closed behind them, and Sansa could barely make out the sound of the van driving away. She forced herself to pay attention to what was going on, trying to remember faces - no, wait, if they showed you their faces didn't that mean they would kill you? Her knees threatened to buckle, but somehow she was held up by the grip on her wrists.

The woman from the house was dressed in a fashionable black pantsuit with a dark red shirt underneath. Her face was pretty, if not a little thin, and she stopped well away from the two captives, a look of disdain twisting her features.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Ignoring the Londoner who pushed the blonde kine at her, Katarina directed her question to Sergei. "And pray tell, why are there two of them?"

Before he could answer, she stopped him with a hand gesture. "An answer later. Get these into the room and secure them both."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The Cainities nodded collectively. The kine were marched from the vast antechamber into an equally impressive antechamber. There were rooms far less welcoming in the manor house, but those dark cells would be saved for later. The parlour was dark and dusty, as if had not been used for years. There was a large oval portrait of an elderly man of noble blood on one wall, whilst a dresser of yellowed china and ornaments rested against another. A birdcage stood in the corner, occupied by a ex-parrot, stuffed.

Once inside their new temporary home, the two mortals were gagged and bound securely at the wrists and ankles, then cuffed to the sturdy chair they had been sat upon. Sergei oversaw the entire affair, making sure that the London Lasombra didn't make any bumbling errors. They worked well, and he allowed them to remain on guard of their prisoners, while he departed to find Katarina.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Sergei nearly bumped into her in the hallway, and Katarina snapped, "I ask for one kine and they bring me two? Could they not tell the difference between them in the darkness?"

[Sansa]

Emilie blinked slowly, turning her head to look at Sansa. There were voices in the hallway, but they couldn't hear what was being said.

Sansa felt like she was going to hyperventilate, but with her mouth taped shut she could only breathe through her nose. Her flatmate moaned against the gag, leaning over and resting her head on Sansa's shoulder, her arms held away from her at an angle because of the handcuffs. They were seated on an antique loveseat of some kind, with sturdy arms and legs. She worried for a moment that Emilie would overbalance and end up falling off and hitting the ground. With their arms bound and cuffed to the chair, there was no way to catch themselves.

She leaned her head against her friend's, smelling the citrus shampoo they both shared. Across from them there were two men - one sitting on a dusty chair, the other standing. They were both watching the girls with the intensity of scientists regarding lab rats.

There was a woman behind them, but Sansa couldn't turn her head to see where she was exactly. She looked at the men again, and changed her mind about the way they were looking at her and Emilie. It was more like a starving man regarding a sandwich.

Sansa closed her eyes, and thought about Gabriel.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“They thought she might be useful,” Sergei replied, not in the slightest taken aback by the Archbishops irritated manner. “That we could use her to get information out of the Prince's toy.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The Archbishop raised an eyebrow. "She may. At the very least we'll find another use for her."

Katarina swept into the room, pausing to remove her suit jacket and to carefully lay it across the back of a chair. "Hello girls." She smiled an unfriendly smile.

[Sansa]

Sansa's nostrils flared with fear as the woman from the staircase came into the room. What did they want with them? Who... or what... where they?

"I am going to ask you some questions," her accent was light, but distinctly Russian. She was looking into Sansa's eyes. "And you will answer them truthfully, without a fuss, or it will go badly for your friend."

Emilie made a choking sound, muffled against the gag, and the flatmates looked at each other, their fear mirrored in the other's eyes.

"Look at me." Sansa turned and looked at the woman in the red shirt, unable to stop herself from doing so. "Do you understand me?"

She nodded her head shakily, yes.

"Good." The woman turned to one of the men who'd been watching them, "Remove the tape from her mouth."

He walked over to her, and Sansa winced as the tape was ripped free, taking a bit of her lip with it. She licked her lips, tasting the iron of her own blood.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Sergei watched everything in silence. The whole world was about to come crashing down around these two young women. Their lives as they knew them were over. Unlike the Camarilla, the Sabbat did not take time to tie up loose ends. While the Ventrue soothed the confused kine with the lies of the Masquerade, the Sabbat simply killed those who were useless or a liability. They hadn't asked for it, simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but such was the lot of kine, getting themselves tangled up in things they didn't understand.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina took a seat across from the kine, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. "Who are you?"

The dark haired girl blinked, but seemed unable to reply. Katarina snapped her fingers, and the Lasombra female who was behind the mortals strode forward, using a key to unlock the blonde's cuffs. She effortlessly yanked the girl to her feet, and the brunette shook her head, her eyes pleading. "S-sansa. Sansa Martin. Please, don't hurt -"

"You do not get to beg, Miss Martin." Katarina cut off the girl's plea, but nodded to the Londoner, who sat the French girl down on the rug, her fingers twisted cruelly in the girl's blonde hair. "What is the nature of your relationship with Gabriel Rodermark?"

[Sansa]

Who am I? Who are you?!

Sansa's thoughts were a mess, jumping from one place to another. Emilie was crying, her sobs unheard as she was placed roughly on the floor. Now the woman was asking her about Gabriel, for some reason. He was well off, but surely if he had dangerous enemies he would have told her.

She didn't hesitate, but tried to answer as quickly as possible to spare Emilie. "We're friends... I just started seeing him a few weeks ago."

"Only friends?" The woman raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"N-no, we..." Was he her boyfriend? Calling him that seemed like it would cheapen their relationship. "I love him."

"She loves him." One of the men in the room mocked her, but was silenced by the woman in red.

"You have only known him for a matter of weeks?" She leaned forward slightly, intent on Sansa's every word, every nuance of her expression.

"I - I met him on New Years... at the Barbican Art Centre. Please, what is going on? I swear I don't know anything about anything." Sansa felt her eyes welling up with tears to match Emilie, but strangely enough the worst part of it was that she felt she would never see Gabriel again.

The man who'd brought her into the house was still standing by the door. He exchanged a look with the woman in red.

"You were at the Barbican on New Years?" Again, the raised eyebrow.

"Y-yes..." Sansa tried to choke back her tears. What was going on?

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

They had met at the Barbican. Surely that meant that she had been witness to the attack, yet the ignorance she confessed seemed sincere. The Camarilla had pulled the wool over her eyes, like so many before. Sergei did not speak – it was not his place to overstep the authority of the Archbishop – yet he wondered whether she believed that Rodermark loved her in return. It was a truly sickening thought and any respect that he had previously possessed for the London Prince evaporated with it.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The thought of loving a kine was mind boggling. When she'd first been reborn, Katarina had struggled for years with her new life. Her relationship with her husband had fallen apart. Her children had served as sick reminders of mortality, even more so when they were murdered.

It was only when she'd been given a clean slate, free from her mortal loves, that she'd truly been free to experience everything the Lasombra had to offer. To cling to such delusions, especially knowing that a mortal would die so quickly...

"She's a ghoul." Katarina narrowed her eyes at Sansa's whitened face. It was made sense - keep your plaything around for as long as you wanted, while ensuring loyalty. Well, it made sense for a Camarilla. She got to her feet, and walked towards the girl. "Miss Martin, tell me what you know about the London Camarilla."

"The... the what?" She seemed genuinely confused. "Is that... another art gallery?"

"No, you fool." Irritated, Katarina pushed away the female Londoner and pulled the blonde kine to her feet. She shoved her at Sergei, and the girl fell into his arms, unable to catch herself because her feet were bound. "The more you play these games, the worse it goes for her. Remember?"

[Sansa]

Sansa nodded frantically. She didn't think she could forget that. But on the other hand, she had no idea what was going on, and the woman who was questioning her was rapidly growing more and more frustrated.

The other woman in the room kept her eyes slightly downcast, but she said, "I do not think she knows anything, Archbishop."

Archbishop? Was she kidnapped by the Church, then? Sansa had never felt so frightened and utterly confused in her life.

"Then we shall have to open her eyes for her." The woman in red smiled a toothy smile, coming and sitting next to her. She took her by the chin, and raised that eyebrow again. "You're bleeding, Miss Martin. Such a waste, really."

Sansa's eyes popped wide as she realized that the woman had fangs. She was powerless to resist as her captor leaned forward, licking clean the blood from her split lip. Some sort of crazy gothic madness was going on, and Sansa felt real terror starting to grow in the pit of her stomach.

The woman leaned away, pursing her lips. "Much better. Sergei, that other one is useless to us. You may have her."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The vizier gave an obedient nod, and strode towards the young kine woman. With one foot he shoved her body hard, and she rolled onto her back. Her head was turned so that she was looking towards Sansa. Her make-up had run in black lines down her cheeks, damp from sobbing.

“Be still,” Sergei urged, as he knelt down over Emilie's body. Her wriggling ceased, but she continued to weep and protest against the gag on her mouth. Vishnyakov settled his weight onto hips and for a moment the horrifying thought that he might rape her flashed through Emilie's mind. The truth was far worse.

With a brutish hand he tore away the winter scarf that she wore. One hand held her shoulder pinned to the ground, as he buried his face into her neck. There was a wet crunch, as his fangs drove deep into her flesh. The girls face was a mask of pain. It was not the Kiss he gave her, not the sensual bite of the Camarilla. Carelessly, Sergei tore away the tape that silenced Emilie and a tumult of moan, whimpers and yelps poured from her lips.

Her body shook, convulsing at the unfamiliar sensation. Her eyes closed, as if she was trying to escape to some other time, some happy memory. In response, Sergei jerked his body against hers and dug his sharped fingernails against the skin beneath her eyes, pulling it downwards so that the lids had no choice but to open.

[Sansa]

Sansa stared into the anguished eyes of her roommate, her own body beginning to shake as the horror of what she was seeing tried to sink into her mind. Beside her, the woman leaned close, her lips tickling her ear. "Gabriel is one of us, you know. But he can't give you what I can."

Emilie's eyes were fluttering up into her head, but the man on top of her kept... doing... he was... Sansa moaned as her friend's eyes began to dull, still held open by the man's sharp fingernails. Little rivulets of blood were dripping down her face, mixing with her ruined makeup.

The smell of blood was thick in the air, so thick it felt like it was choking her. The woman in red abruptly slapped her, rocking her head to the side. Sansa responded by vomiting on the floor.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina rolled her eyes at the kine's reaction. Sansa retched again, saliva, stomach acid and her supper all puddling up on the floor. It was enough to turn her stomach.

"Clean her up," she snapped, pointing at the Londoners. They looked reluctantly away from Sergei and the blonde kine on the floor. "And if anything happens to her I will send you all to your Final Deaths."

The female Lasombra hurried out of the room, not daring to protest being used like a ghoul. Katarina got up, kneeling on the floor by Sergei and waiting for him to finish. The sight of him taking his fill of the kine was stirring up similar primal desires in her, but she satisfied herself by wetting a finger in the girl's blood and licking it clean.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

By then, Emilie had all but become a limp body – which was a shame, because there was something satisfying about feeling her struggling. The monster in Sergei, the Beast, had set him in a frenzy. He had drunk enough from her, but carried on regardless, relishing the sweet taste the kines blood had. The last drops of her life would be his soon, and he took them with a newly renewed vigor, every one seemingly increasing his strength.

With the final sup he threw his head backwards, Emilie's body collapsing to the floor, and closed his eyes. The Beast hungered for more. He felt the struggle within, as it demanded of him to drink from anyone, anything close at hand. His eyes opened and appeared filled with a desperate, ravenous hunger, the irises stained red. He said nothing, his mind not yet calm or coherent enough to form anything beyond Neanderthal grunts.

[Sansa]

Sansa closed her eyes, trying to forget everything. She had been shopping with Emilie. For new clothes to impress Gabe with. They had eaten while out at a Chinese restaurant that had the best fortune cookies. The cookies were crap, really, but the fortunes were hilarious.

The gut wrenching odor of Emilie's blood hung in the air, and Sansa gagged again, leaning weakly over the arm of the seat she was cuffed to. She refused to look up. If she didn't look, it wasn't real.

Cold hands touched her, pushing her upright and wiping her face with a cool cloth. Sansa kept her eyes closed until they were forced open by the woman in red. "You see? You see what the love of your life is?" She twisted Sansa's head roughly so she had to stare at the man on the floor by... by Emilie's body. Blood stained his face and the front of his shirt, even his eyes appeared tainted by it.

"Gabriel has hidden his true nature from you, Miss Martin. But you deserved to know the truth." The woman was speaking as though she'd just done Sansa a huge favor. While Emilie... god, Emilie!

[Katarina Gordislava]

The girl was in shock, which wasn't really a surprise. Sergei was still calming himself, and quite a mess. Katarina wanted to lick his face, to clean every last drip of the kine's life blood off of him. They had been together so long, there was certainly a passion of sorts between them, but it was saved for moments when they were alone.

His frenzy had aroused her blood lust, and the girl was not responsive. Katarina gave her another hard slap, and Sansa blinked, her body still trembling. "I am going to let you think about this, Miss Martin. But I will be back."

She walked past Sergei, who's eyes were returning to their normal color, and addressed the male Lasombra who were still in the room. "Get that body out of here. Dump it at their flat, and whatever you do, don't be seen by anyone."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

As the Lasombra stepped forwards, Sergei reluctantly got to his feet. The heady rush of feeding began to recede and he felt a pang of embarrassment, at having lost himself in the presence of the London Sabbat. It was rare that he allowed himself such an indulgence, and so he had gained a reputation as a Cainite with complete control over himself, making the sight of him covered in blood all the more alien to the assembled Lasombra. His eyes followed Katarina for a moment. He did not look back at the remaining kine woman but excused himself quickly and quietly from the room. He followed at a short distance behind the Archbishop, meaning to return to his chambers.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She heard his footsteps behind her, and paused, waiting for him to catch up. After a moment, he did, his expression one she very rarely saw.

"Come with me." He obeyed without question, the tug of their bond reason enough to do as she said. Katarina led him up the stairs to her chambers, and closed the door behind them.

He stood there, in the middle of the sitting room with his back to her, and Katarina wrapped her arms around him, not caring that the blood on him was soaking into her own clothing. She licked at his ear, and turned him around, kissing his cheek ravenously.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Without the prying eyes of the pack on him, Sergei felt the Beast keenly again. He remembered how he had been taught to resist it and deny it's ceaseless demands, and then how he had been taught to embrace and glory in it. It had been Katarina who had delivered this second lesson. Beyond closed doors, they would submit to its appetite together.

The blood on him was quickly on her too. It soaked into the fibers of their clothing, the fresh smell irresistible. It was on her lips, and he kissed her to steal it away, his fangs catching her lip for a moment. The urge to bite down filled him and he drew away for a moment, though not for long. Sergei pulled Katarina closer and the Beast sunk its teeth into the Archbishops neck, impatient to taste the powerful vitae it had been denied for so long.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She arched her back, her fingers clawing into Sergei's shoulders as he drank from her. It was a gloriously painful moment, but she allowed him to enjoy it for only a few seconds before she pushed him away.

Sergei bared his fangs at her, upset at being interrupted. Katarina tore at his ruined clothing, running her tongue over the bloodied tattoo that lay beneath. Her restraint vanished as he tried to get at her neck again, and the Archbishop grabbed him by his hair, pulling his head to the side. She wanted him as only another Cainite could, and she indulged herself, her fangs caressing his skin briefly before puncturing it and bringing his vitae to the surface.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The Beast did not like to be subdued. He wanted to throw her to the ground and take from her just like he had taken from the little blond kine, but he could not – the blood bond they shared instilled in him the want to please the Archbishop, to offer himself up on a platter to her. For a second, fury would fire up in him, and he would balk against her, before invariably tensing up again. She had control of him, whether he liked it or not.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She drank sparingly, though the taste was exquisite, and licked the wounds closed as Sergei's muscles tensed against her touch. Katarina usually kept her control over him apparent during these sessions, but she enjoyed it just as much when she allowed him to take the lead.

Sometimes, even more so.

Katarina released her hold on his head just as he grabbed her shirt with both hands, ripping it apart and sending the buttons ricocheting around the room. The punctures he'd opened on her neck still oozed vitae, and he returned to them hungrily, pulling her against him.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

It was as if they became entirely different people when set upon by the thirst. The hunger made the typically mild-mannered vizier into nothing short of an animal that, when free of its leash, knew no boundaries. It almost didn't matter exactly who he was drinking from – whether the Cardinal of Russia or some penniless whore, they were given the same respect by the Beast. It was indiscriminate in its hunger. Sergei's fingernails cut tiny crescent moons into Katarina's skin and he forgot all about Rodermark, London and anything else the world had to offer besides vitae.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Time passed. Katarina licked remnants of her own blood from Sergei's lips, her hands running down his chest, fingernails scraping at his skin. She did not draw more blood, stopping herself just short of it.

"Get dressed, Sergei. We must pay Miss Martin another visit."

He nodded obediently, the Beast receding from his eyes reluctantly. He bent over her for a moment, licking at the wounds he'd created on her neck and inner thigh to seal them shut. She had clothing suitable for him in her closets for such occasions as this, but she did not rise from her position on the couch for a few moments.

They had drunk enough of each others vitae to sate their hunger for the time being, and she called after her Vizier, "Bring me a change of clothes." Hers were littered across the sitting room floor, most of them in shreds beyond repair.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The vizier nodded once again and retrieved a black, full-length, figure-hugging dress, alongside the other necessities, from the extensive closet that the Archbishop kept. He laid them down on the couch and quickly dressed himself. “Shall I call for the ghouls?” he asked after a time, knowing it was usually their duty to dress Katarina and ensure that she looked just-so.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She nodded, and the Vizier moved to the door to get the ghouls. Katarina sat up, her hair falling to her shoulders. Unashamedly naked, she helped herself to the undergarments Sergei had brought her. The ghouls entered, and Vishnyakov slipped out of the room while they dressed her and brushed her her hair until it shone.

The Archbishop made sure they were going to clean up the sitting area while she was downstairs, and then swept out of her chambers and headed for the little room where Sansa Martin was being kept.

[Sansa]

This was a nightmade. It was all madness. Sansa's mouth was not taped shut, in case she felt the need to vomit again, but she didn't scream. She felt numb... even when Emilie's body was bundled up and carted away like garbage.

Tears dripped down her face. Gabe wasn't anything like this! These... She couldn't even think the word. Vampires. Sansa shuddered, bending down so her forehead touched her hands, her hair forming a protective curtain from her face and the things in the room.

But, even if it was true... and he was... he was not nearly as monstrous as the woman in red and her friends. Her heart ached for her lover, and she sobbed into her bound wrists like a lost child.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Sergei entered behind Katarina as they returned to Sansa's holding cell. The young woman was shattered now. Her mind had been awakened to something new, something it could not and it did not want to comprehend. She buried her head in her hands, trying to shield her eyes, as if that would make it all go away. Sergei's lips formed a tight smirk. He looked away, to the Archbishop, awaiting the line of questioning that was sure to come.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The Londoner in the room nodded respectfully to Katarina as she entered. It had been about two hours since she'd taken Sergei to her rooms, and the chamber where the kine was being kept had been cleaned thouroughly in their absence. The bloodstained rug had been pulled up, leaving a bare spot on the hardwood floor, and Sansa appeared to be crying.

The Archbishop tsked and walked over to the girl, kneeling in front of her and smoothing her hair. "Come now, do not cry Miss Martin." She lifted the kine's tearstained face - really a puffy mess, as opposed to the pale beauty she'd been on arrival - and pulled a handkerchief from her bosom to dry Sansa's face. "You have taken your first step into a much larger world."

The girl's lower lip trembled, and she sniffed loudly. Katarina gently sat her upright, and then took a seat beside her. "You have been mistreated by Gabriel Rodermark, Miss Martin. He has hidden himself from you, and used you horribly to please himself."

She smiled a fanged smile. "We have no such secrets here."

[Sansa]

Sansa forced herself to look at the woman - no longer in red, but in a sleek black dress that hugged every slim curve. The questions she should have been asking, who are you, why am I here, and why did you kill Emilie, seemed to fly right out of her head as Gabriel's character was brought into question.

"He hasn't used me!" New tears started rolling down her cheeks, and the woman carefully caught them with her handkerchief, dabbing lightly at Sansa's cheeks. "He loves me. He's not a monster... you are!"

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“He is a monster,” Sergei reiterated. “He has simply hidden the truth from you, very carefully.”

The fact that he spoke seemed to startle Sansa. Perhaps she had viewed him merely as some sadistic tool of the woman in red, as if he could not possibly savage Emilie and then only a short while later act as a normal human being would. He paced behind the couch, his eyes remained fixed on the young kine as he walked.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The girl trembled harder under Sergei's gaze, and Katarina enjoyed the moment as he quietly walked to a spot just behind their seat. She gently took the girl's chin and made her look into her eyes.

"Please, Miss Martin, do not presume to tell me what Gabriel Rodermark is or is not." Katarina kept touching the kine, tucking her long hair out of her face, keeping her pale cheeks dry. The strangeness of the moment seemed to take the girl completely off guard. "He is one of the Kindred - a vampire. As we are."

The Archbishop gestured to Sergei, and the girl visibly flinched. Oh, it was too good. The differences between Camarilla and Sabbat did not matter to this blubbering kine. She bared her fangs, running her tongue along the sharp points. "And he has most certainly taken your blood for his own, Miss Martin."

"No...no... he hasn't..." The kine started to weep anew, and Katarina thought that if she said how much Rodermark loved her one more time she would have to slap her again.

"Surely you can remember it. No? Then he is even more devious, and has completely fooled you." Katarina ran her hands down Sansa's neck, tracing the neckline of the scoop-necked top she was wearing. "It would have been like this..."

Sergei reached over, gathering up the kine's wavy brown hair in his hands, carefully arranging it out of the way of the Archbishop who was leaning forward and kissing the kine on the lips. Sansa was perfectly still, too frightened to move.

Katarina licked at the girl's neck where it met her shoulders, and then bit down. The blood came forth freely, and Sansa's body shuddered under the Cainite's ministrations.

[Sansa]

The pain of the woman's sharp fangs penetrating her skin ilicited a moan from Sansa's lips, but suddenly there was a flush of pleasure. She moaned again, but for entirely different reasons as the vampire held her, bent over her neck.

It was an utterly sensual experience, and she felt a pang of sorrow when the woman withdrew, licking at her neck and patting her face. Almost immediately the feeling evaporated, and her terror was back with a vengence. Sansa felt a wail building up from deep inside her belly.

She did remember. Vaguely, as though in a dream. But it was there. It was true.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

There it was. Behind the girls eyes, the pieces were beginning to fall into place. Times when her memory had been hazy, when she couldn't remember the exact details of a day yet knew she had been with Gabriel and had enjoyed herself. Doubtless, she could not yet draw comparison between her love and the Tremere warlock stood behind her, but it was only a matter of time before the lies unraveled into appalling truth.

“You are food to him,” Sergei intoned. “Nothing more.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina's eyes almost sparkled at the look on the girl's face. She kept her hand on the kine's throat, the edge of her thumb lightly rubbing Sansa's jawline. "Sergei is right, you know."

The Archbishop snapped her fingers and instructed the Londoner in the room to untie the girl. Using her powers of Domination, and after luxuriating with Sergei she felt completely recharged, Katarina commanded the girl not to try to run away.

Sansa nodded, mutely, not even rubbing her hands where the bonds had been too tight. "Good. I know you won't give me any trouble. Now, follow me." Katarina got to her feet to leave the room, and after a moment the kine followed.

[Sansa]

The feeling of numbness prevailed. Sansa followed the woman meekly, almost unaware of her surroundings. They stopped in the kitchens, in the middle of a large slate floor.

Sansa looked around a little blankly, and then the woman in the long black dress caught her eye once more. "Take off your clothes, Miss Martin."

There were others in the room, the man called Sergei, and someone who looked like a maid. She was preparing a large bucket of soapy hot water by the sinks. Regardless, Sansa felt compelled to obey, and was soon standing in her birthday suit next to a pile of neatly folded clothes.

"Good." The woman patted her head, and then pointed to the bucket of water and a brush. "Now, clean the floor. And do not stop until I have told you to."

She walked to the bucket, getting down on her hands and knees and dipping the brush she was provided into the bucket to soap it up. Then Sansa placed the brush on the ground and began to scrub.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

A rare smirk patterned over Sergei's lips, while he watched, with arms folded, as the kine disrobe and set about scrubbing the floor. Her obedience was laughable. How easily they were all manipulated. The degradation would wear down her resistance and in time she would give up all together, become a faded image of the vital young woman she had once been... the person that Gabriel Rodermark had supposedly fallen in love with.

[Katarina Gordislava]

She looked over her shoulder at Sergei, and laughed, knowing what was on his mind. "Get Fyodor for me, and have him watch her. I have some reading to do."

Once the kine's hands were rubbed raw and her knees battered and bruised from the hard floor, only then would Katarina allow her to stop her mindless work. She chuckled, it really was quite amusing. And the thought of what Gabriel's face would look like when he finally got Sansa back... priceless.

As morning dawned the kine was bound hand and foot and placed on the floor of a closet and the door closed, leaving her in darkness. Katarina made sure that the girl would be able to remember everything that had transpired in the night. The sobs that came out from behind the door were music to her ears.

[Sansa]

Sansa didn't get much sleep. Her wrists and ankles were tied together and she was in some sort of clothes closet. But worse than the muscle cramps was the distinct memory of Emilie's face as she... as she...

She moaned in despair, trying to keep her sobs as quiet as possible so as not to bring more attention from the other occupants of the house. She remembered a conversation that had been going on while she had been scrubbing the floor. The one watching her so intently, Fyodor, had been approached by another. Sansa had never looked up from the floor, but the voice had sounded distinctly non-human.

She closed her eyes as though that would block out the memory of what the second person said they had done to Emilie's body. It seemed to want to get its hands on her, as well, and all Fyodor had said was "When the Archbishop is done, you will."

Eventually Sansa could stay awake no longer, and passed into a fitfull sleep that was plagued by nightmares. She did dream about Gabe, but he was being held away from her by the woman they called the Archbishop.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The sun set, and the manor was awash with activity once more. Tzimisce were in the basements experimenting on a pack of dogs, the occasional howl reverberating up through the structure of the house.

Katarina waited until she was washed, dressed and fully presentable before walking over to her closet and pulling open the doors. The kine was on the floor, blinking weakly in the sudden light. She was still naked, her mortal skin bruised and her knuckles red and raw looking. The Archbishop almost closed the door again at the sight, but stopped herself and ordered her ghouls over.

Sansa was placed into a dominated trance as she had been the night before, and untied. The ghouls led the girl to the bathroom to wash her thoroughly while Katarina stalked down the stairs to see if there was anything to be heard about the Camarilla's movements.

[Sansa]

Sansa stared blankly at the two women who were cleaning her skin in the bathroom. After she was clean, her body pink and shining from the scrubbing it had undergone, she was led downstairs by one of the women.

The Archbishop was sitting at a desk in the room she was walked into, and she looked up at Sansa's arrival. "Perfect. You may go now." The other woman turned and left without a word, leaving Sansa standing in the middle of the room, as naked as the day she was born.

After a moment the Archbishop looked up from her reading, "Come over here, kine."

Sansa walked over obediently, numb and unfeeling to everything around her, and stopped beside the Archbishop's chair. The woman inspected her carefully, giving close attention to her raw knuckles and the bruises. She tsked, and then returned her attention to her paperwork, leaving Sansa standing like a mannequin beside her.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

t seemed there had been no news of the discovery of the kidnapping, or of any otherwise suspicious activities on the part of the Camarilla. The most prevalent topics of conversation, among the Lasombra loitering around the manor, were either discussing how filthy and idiotic the Camarilla were or wondering when they might once again be paid a visit by the Assamite, who had left a rather strong impression on the pack.

Sergei rose fairly late, having spent the daylight hours in an unusually deep sleep, a result of the previous evenings feast. Once he was up and ready, he made his way to the Archbishop's study. Stepping inside, he regarded the kine woman for barely a second, before fixing his gaze on Katarina and the papers she was studying.

“Any news?” he asked.

[Katarina Gordislava]

"No." She put her papers down and swiveled in her chair to regard the kine. "She does have some beauty about her, don't you think?"

Katarina smiled, and not in a nice way. "Of course, after the Tzimisce have her it won't last very long." She turned back to the desk and tapped the sheaf of papers with a finger, "There has been no activity among the Camarilla that I can tell, and no whispers about an Assamite assassin going after the Primogen."

The girl was still standing there, visible in the corner of her eye, and the Archbishop waved her hand at her Vizier. "I am sure you can find some use for the kine. Just keep her alive and don't mark her face."

She looked at the large mantel clock above the empty fireplace. "I have to meet with the bookeepers to make sure that - well anyway." Ghouls. She closed her eyes and hoped for patience. Finding ghouls to take care of accounting issues was hard enough without flying off the handle and needing to replace the ones she had.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“You want me to watch her?” He frowned slightly, but did not object. Although he had planned to spend much of the night reading, in preparation for the inevitable conflict with the London Camarilla, there was no reason that he couldn't do this with the stupefied kine in the room.

“As you wish. Perhaps I can find something in my books to test on her.” He turned to the girl, and spoke one dominating command. “Come.”

[Sansa]

She moved forward quietly, her bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floors. Behind her, the Archbishop got to her feet, readying to leave the room on some errand.

But Sansa followed the man who had torn Emilie's throat out, only vaguely aware of what was going on around her. Out in the hallways of the manor there were other vampires, none of which spoke to her new master, but they all seemed to stare at her. One male was even so bold as to touch her, his hand cold against her warm flesh.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

As one of the Lasombra reached out to touch Sansa, Sergei shot him a glare. She was not a plaything for the pack to toy with. Unlike the girl they had thrown away the previous night, she had a greater purpose, and until that purpose was completed, she had to be treated with a certain degree of restraint.

The vizier took her to his room and told her to stand against one wall of the room. For a moment, he looked her body over. The Archbishop was right. If she hadn't been defiled by the Camarilla, she might have had some beauty in unlife. He shook his head, chasing the thought away, and began to look through his books for a particular volume.

“Tell me, girl... what did Gabriel Rodermark do to you?”

[Sansa]

"He made love to me." The words came out smoothly, with none of the stammer and blushing that would have occurred had she tried to answer in a normal situation.

But there was nothing normal about the current situation, and Sansa felt content to do or say whatever the man in front of her told her to.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Ah. Then you are a necrophiliac,” Sergei surmised, though it seemed as if he was talking to himself rather than her. The mere mechanics of such an idea were repulsive. With the hindsight of centuries, the bodily functions of humankind seemed ridiculous – little more than a filthy struggle. Such things were below Kindred. He held a book up for inspection then frowned, resuming his search.

“How did it feel, to make love to a corpse?”

[Sansa]

She blinked. "I... I don't know." The question didn't make sense with her memories of what had happened, but she was compelled to answer. "It felt like nothing I've ever done before."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“And nothing you will do ever again... Ah!”

It appeared that he had found the book he was looking for. He took it to his desk, which sat against the same wall that Sansa stood. He opened it and before to search through the index.

“I'm amazed that he was able to erase the memory of New Years Eve from your mind. The Barbican was a bloodbath.”

[Sansa]

"I drank too much and hit my head." She felt like a robot, parroting out answers that she'd been given previously. Somehow the memory she had of January 1st seemed... wrong.

She was unable to contradict what she knew had happened, however, and lapsed back into silence.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“That's what he told you. You know that it doesn't feel right, that something isn't quite in place, but I can't force you to see the truth,” he replied, sounding distracted by the book in front of him. There was a ritual inside that he had recalled, on returning to his chambers, that he thought might be of benefit to the Archbishop. There was a big trunk in the corner of the room, which he dragged across to the desk, and flung open. The chest was in plain sight of Sansa, yet she found herself unable to look at it.

“Everything you think you know about him is a lie,” Sergei continued, as he sifted through the various reagents in the trunk. He pulled out a pestle and mortar, a small jar filled with opaque green liquid, a packet of some kind of shavings and a handful of pebbles.

“Haven't you ever wondered why you were only able to see him after dark?”

[Sansa]

She watched him move about the room, one that under any other circumstances she probably would have liked. The leather bound books and interesting looking curiosities that filled it made it seem like an old library, albeit a library in a state of disarray.

He pulled a large chest towards the center of the room, and Sansa found herself staring at her bare toes. She couldn't even bring herself to wiggle them without permission, and she didn't even feel the urge to try to walk out of the room.

Thinking about his question, she answered truthfully, her eyes still fixed on the floor. "No."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Mhmm...” Sergei was, at least temporarily, far more interested in the small book he'd placed on the desk. He arranged, beside it, the various items he'd found in the chest. The cloudy jar sloshed and bubbled as it was moved about. He sprinkled a small amount of the shavings into the mortar, taking care to use exactly the right amount as instructed in the book. One of the pebbles, too, he dropped inside and began to slowly grind the two together.

“If Gabriel was merely a normal man, an art curator and critic,” he murmured, over the sound of the stone and shavings being worn down, “...why do you think the Archbishop would have gone to such lengths as to kidnap you? A normal in his position would have no reason to be tangled in such webs.”

[Sansa]

Sansa couldn't think of an answer to that question. It seemed to be rhetorical, however, and she did not feel compelled to answer. Instead she remained silent, standing near a bookcase with her eyes still downcast.

She closed her eyes trying to imagine Gabriel standing in front of her, ready to fold her into his arms and tell her it was going to be alright. She missed him so much it was starting to hurt.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Open your eyes,” the Tremere ordered, without looking up from his work. In the mortar, a fine dust had formed, a dull lilac in colour. Picking up the bowl, he walked to where Sansa was stood and issued another command: “Give me your hand.”

She did as he asked, and almost instant he had cut her skin. She tried to flinch away but he held her wrist tightly, turning it over so that the blood weeping from the cut fell into the mortar. A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips as he saw the dust in the mortar turning blue. Satisfied, he licked at the wound on her arm until it had stopped bleeding – he would have simply left her with the pain, but Katarina needed the girl to be in fair condition.

Sitting back down, he continued to mix the blood and powder together. They formed a dark blue mush, which he scooped up in one hand and sniffed. Again, he seemed pleased with this for some reason and help the mixture in one hands while unscrewing the jar of liquid with the other. A repugnant smell escaped from the glass, a hazy green gas drifting into the air. The liquid itself began to move more vigorously, and almost sloshed over the edge as Sergei dipped his free hand inside and retrieved a wet length of something red and fleshy, no bigger than his little finger.

It wriggled in his grasp, as he brought his hands together, packing an orb of the blood-powder around one end of the featureless flesh worm. It suddenly ceased its squirming, and hung limp. Selecting another small jar from the trunk, this time empty, he dropped the bizarre thing inside and began to mutter quickly over it. His words sounded almost soothing, like a lullaby. After five minutes or so, he sealed the jar closed and dusted off his hands.

[Sansa]

Sansa held her arm where minutes before she'd been bleeding. The man she was with was paying no attention to her, but still she could not move. She stood meekly where she'd been left, naked and cold. The people who had kidnapped her didn't seem to believe in turning on the heat.

The part of her mind that could still think wondered over the sudden closing of the wound that he had cut into her arm. Sansa couldn't bear to wonder what it was he was doing at his desk.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

It seemed that whatever Sergei was doing, he was – at least temporarily – finished. He packed away the trunk and pushed it back against one wall. The jar remained on the desk. It would be a number of hours before the mixture had finished solidifying and Sergei didn't feel like more small talk with the kine woman. He glanced around the room, looking for something he could occupy her with, when his eyes fell on another large trunk in the corner.

It was much bigger than his supplies case, about two and a half feet wide, two feet deep and five feet long. There were narrow slits in the lid. He flipped the chest open – the wood inside was stained red in parts, an unfortunate consequence of one of the Tzimisce using it to contain an experimental ghoul, some kind of reanimated hound. Once the box was dragged to the centre of the room, he turned to Sansa.

“Get in.”

[Sansa]

Sansa moved forward woodenly, stepping obediently into the chest and lying down, her knees bent to allow her to fit. The wood was cold and hard against her back, and she turned her head so she would not have to look at the man who stood over her.

Despite the numbness that went through her to the bone, her eyes watered against the old smell of blood inside the box.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

When Sergei was sure that no limbs would be trapped in the process, he let the lid slam shut. Thin slivers of artificial light crept in. Though it was not really necessary, he fastened the trunk shut with a heavy padlock. With this secured, he relinquished his hold on her, so that she was no longer numbed by the Dominate discipline. If she wanted to panic or struggle, she would now be free to – though it would do her very little good, locked away in a box. “Are you comfortable?”

[Sansa]

The lid slammed shut above her, and Sansa flinched, the uncomfortableness of her situation becoming clear in her mind. The snake that had killed Emilie spoke to her from outside.

"Are you comfortable?" His voice was almost pleasant, which made it all the worse.

Sansa's breath came in jagged little gasps as the stink of dried blood assailed her nostrils, reminding her of the scene from the night before when Emilie... She squeezed her eyes shut tightly to try to block the memory, and abruptly saw Gabriel in her minds eye. The sudden thought of him awakened a feeling not unlike hunger, and she panicked at the thought of not seeing him again.

She reached up with trembling hands to lightly explore the inside of the chest she was locked into. What were they going to do to her? A sob rose up in her throat and she choked it back with effort. She hurt - not just from the scrubbing all night in the kitchen the night before, but deep inside in the pit of her stomach. There was a dull ache there that would not go away.

Gabriel will find me. Gabriel will find me. He was not a monster. He loved her. Doubts rose even as she yearned for his company, and she started to panic, shoving her open palms against the lid of the chest.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The lid would not budge. Even if she had been at her full strength, and twice as strong, she would have been able to escape, Sergei was sure of it. He watched the chest for a moment, listening to her struggle, before he returned his desk to read.

Time trickled away, minutes then hours. It was not long before the sounds coming from the chest became silence. Perhaps she had given up, perhaps she had fallen unconscious.. he did not know, or care. His interest was returned to the jar, in which a transformation appeared to have taken place.

The ball at the end of the flesh stalk had become bright white. The stalk itself seemed to have grown around the sphere, grasping veins covering the surface. In the center of the orb, there was a single red pupil. In the jar, the man-made eye floated motionlessly. Sergei removed it carefully, by the 'tail', and laid it in one open palm. The air seemed to stir the eye a little, as it twitched in the warlocks hand. Carefully, gently, he closed his fingers over the bizarre creation...

Everything went black. Sergei blinked, and saw nothing but darkness. Slowly, his vision moved and he caught a glimpse of two slim hands, clasped together. They appeared somewhat blurred, but he recognized them none the less as the hands of the kine girl. He blinked again, and found himself looking at the wall of his bedroom, his hand open. Quickly, he slid the creation back into its jar and set off to find Katarina.