Olivia Green: Envy's Child [COMPLETED]

Chapter 14: Banshee's Breath

A tornado of blood, midnight and ash; the potent scent of burnt flowers, firewood and forests; coppery, a dangerous taste; whooshing, whipping, whistling wind; smouldering, singed, smoking skin.

I blink.

Releasing an equable exhale, I roll my shoulders back, lift my chin high and begin to slowly walk off the slightly raised platform where the teleporting sigil is placed. The room is finely decorated: high ceilings, intertwining leave designed wallpaper, gorgeous mahogany flooring with expensively furnished black leather seating spotted in different areas of the vast, nearly deserted room.

"Name," croaks the small, elderly demon. Her elliptical, icy pupils peer down at the heavy registration book laid central the oak desk, a quill in her wrinkled clasp, small glasses balanced at the edge of her nose. When I don't respond immediately she glances up and widens her eyes in surprise, "W-why, Princess, I apologise."

I nod once before continuing my way to the double doors, biting my lip in pain from my leg. I did fall on it after all, the intense throbbing causes my breaths to become shakier than normal and a small bead of sweat to form at my temple.

A swoosh sounds from behind me before a couple of steps, the receptionist's droning voice and then the student's reply, "Felix Fernsby."

Of course it is.

His strides resounds around the room as he meets my distance within seconds, stopping next to my sorry self. What? I hate other's sympathy, doesn't mean I can't feel if myself. "Quite the show you put on back there."

"I'm really not in the mood Fernsby," I ground out as I clench my jaw, making it to the double doors before indicating him to open them.

"I'm just saying," he chuckles slightly and opens the doors with a shove. "It was quite a fiery moment. Nancy Hodgkin ran with her tail between her legs."

"She always does that," I grumble.

"Still," he pauses and gives me a pointed look. "Then accepting Charlie Mauve's assistance. The students are whispering you know, ought to be careful in case they misunderstand his curious generosity."

"Rumours aren't reliable," I reply coldly, walking through the marble foyer. The entire building is practically empty, it's soul purpose to be an extravagant entrance into Envy's kingdom. It certainly lives up to the standards. A round, dark spruce table stands central to this magnificent room with a tall, emerald encrusted vase filled with Banshee's Breath. This is a gorgeous black flower with imbricate petals, long stems and a sweet, sugary fragrance. A beautiful bouquet, yet the perfect poison. "Are you aware of what this flower can do, Fernsby?"

He shrugs carelessly.

"If ingested, the victim's muscles will first seis, causing paralysis throughout the body. As the toxins slowly begin to react, the muscles will contract so violently it will cause the body to go into a fit-like state, without the mind of course. The person will have no control of their body whilst maintaining full consciousness, being trapped inside their own vessel. Only that's the beginning, as the poison continues it's job and the toxins finally unfurl to their complete potential, the victim will begin to scream in agony as the poisons scorch his insides. Hence the name Banshee's Breath. However you want to know the best thing?"

"What?" Fernsby asks uncomfortably.

"The survival rate is one hundred percent, so no matter what, the victim will remember the torture," I finish in a whisper, making it to the already opened grande double doors.

"And why is this a good thing?"

"Because it is usually served to people who disrespect the royal family," I reply firmly. "Those who forget their place and require a little reminder."

He blinks and exhales with a nod, "Right. Threatening me are we?"

I shake my head, "Not yet. I'll see you on Monday Fernsby, give your father my best regards."

"Ditto."

I slip into the back of the Royal carriage, a gorgeous dark green vehicle with large wheels and plush, cushioned seats. The air is cool with a prominent smell of damp that refreshes my senses from the horrid teleportation circle. I loathe those damn things. We've had centuries of magic and progression, yet we can't sort out those unnecessarily disorientating circles that make me sick to my stomach. Of course not.

The Nightmares (black-skinned, hellish horses with flaming manes and intelligent, ruby eyes) pull away from the curb, trotting at an appropriate pace through the cobblestone streets of this wicked kingdom.

We pass Victorian style houses with gothic twists, all dark and glum whilst discretely bragging about their riches. Fences stick up from the grounds like fanged teeth, each building particularly pointy and angular, whilst appearing haunting and somewhat foreboding. They look down on us judging, staring, calculating; the beautiful architecture examining my every move waiting for some sort of mistake. However I know this is only a tactic used by my mother, the person who helped designed these houses to execute her image of this kingdom.

"Your majesty, it is a pleasure to have you back home," smiles Mr Weasleton, a short, thin man with angular features and brown eyes and slitted pupils. "I apologise your mother couldn't greet you personally. She's very busy today."

"Mother never greets me," I raise a brow. "She can't even find the time to make sure I'm alright at school after breaking a bone, let alone in her own kingdom. No need for the excuses Mr Weasleton."

"Right, yes of course. The Queen would like to speak to you this evening in her greenhouse though, if you would be so kind to accept."

I look at him and smile, "I am sorry, I have to decline my mother's gracious offer. I have a date with my homework later today."

Mr Weasleton's face pales and he pulls an expression that I can only describe as constipated, "W-why Princess, you must accept. It's the Queen's invitation, she has a very tight schedule and wishes to fit you in—"

"Am I supposed to be ecstatic that my mother finally has time for me?" I scoff. "I said I'm busy. I think she should understand that everyone else has their lives too."

"She insists Princess," Mr Weasleton explains. "The Queen says that it is very important what she has to say."

"Probably trying to marry me off," I mutter distastefully.

"Perhaps, but aren't you curious to what she has to say?" He argues.

"I am not going," I say firmly.

He flinches slightly in response, no wonder his name is Weasleton. His family name describes him as a coward which he quite rightly is. Always wondering around aimlessly with his clipboard and pen tucked under his arms, his weird obsession with wearing v-neck jumpers and his addiction to using hair gel. "Right, well we are here now and I'll speak to your mother right away."

I don't respond, I simply open the door and place my good foot on the carriage step, shouldering my tote bag before limping off of the vehicle. I look up to the very tall, large Victorian mansion and can't help but grimace.

It's stunning. From the main roads, the entrance began through a pair of intricate, metal gates where a gravel path lay ahead, passing the perfectly cut grass with a variety of trees and aesthetically pleasing roses. How my mother has always loved her black roses. The gravel forms a thick strip in front of the mansion itself, allowing carriages to park when having guests- not that we have many.

The building is primarily made of either stone or brick, the colours complimenting one another by providing different textures and colours for contrasts; black and white. The main house is central with two wings branching off from it, spires create an extra dimension to the house, rising opposite one another from the main area. The building has a total of five floors, meanwhile the wings only have three; the roofing is particularly pointy, having various sections with different heights. Trimmed ivy grow on a thick, tall strip on one of the spires, reaching for Envy's flag at the tip of the finial.

Every flag or symbol representing each individual sin is presented by a certain animal. For Envy we are presented by a snake, due to some species poisonous qualities. There are two snakes intertwined, their bodies forming a complex knot of some kind with each other's tails in each other's mouths. I always thought it was somewhat disturbing.

"Do you need assistance to go to your room Princess?" Weasleton dutifully asks, his slightly hunched, bony frame peering up at me.

"No," I shake my head. "I'm sure I'll be fine. Plus you need to meet with mother anyway."

Weasleton opens the door. An almighty bark shakes the manor to its very core, I can't help but smile at the familiar voice of Lucy. A large head half the size of my mother's assistant barrels past the cowardly man as my gorgeous puppy rushes to me.

I only stand as she stops dead in her tracks in front of me, the same height as my five foot six self. Hellhounds have two forms, to put it simply the fluffy form and the killer fork. The fluffy form, such as this one, is when the hound does not feel endangered, therefore it's fur remains on the top layer and just appears as a very, very, very large dog for human standards. Killer mode is when the hound does feel danger; it has a layer of natural, midnight black scales that are hidden just beneath the surface of its skin. With time the hellhound adjusts to the pain and eventually becomes used to it that they do not feel a thing when transitioning; with this comes the dog's supernatural abilities. Hellhounds can teleport for starters and since their natural home is hell, they're immune to he harsh conditions outside of the empire. With this comes their  ability to breath fire and how they're unaffected by this element when in they're in their scaled armour.

Lucy has pointed ears, a dark brown coat and blood red eyes, a common trait amongst hellhounds. I smile at my one true friend and notice her huge wagging tail, petting her lightly on the head, "It's nice to see you gorgeous."

She licks my face in one swipe.