Runic/Vire - Vixie's Fun Run

Unaware to the castle's odd family, Vixie has crafted a toy that can control one's love for another. Her little game in fun at first, that is, until matters slip out of hand.


1. Vixie's Fun Run





Copyright © Crimsos









Vixie's Fun Run








So there Vixie stood, all stiff postured and petty in thought, the young lady wearing her icy blue dress and algid eyes, and a boredom in need of fixing. It was her favorite attire because it was so blue and maid-like, so bright and stark so she stood out among the night, just like now. Oh, it was such a lovely night to be standing out here under the starless canopy, merely thinking all sorts of thoughts that darted off, then focused in, before darting off again. It was just her and the gentle gloom absorbing through her vision, the fresh open air feeling smooth as she passed it in and out her lungs. From high above, the harsh purple moon gave her body an odd overtone, as if being doused in dim-lit candy. It romanticized her features, her neon topaz colored hair, eyes, and dress. Come to think of it, every key ingredient in her complexion was blue, with a hint of black, and just enough white.

Oh wait, that was three colors. Her thoughts must have been darting once more.

Standing tall before her was the homely castle she indeed called home, that of which was very dark and spindly, but it was the roof she shared with her wacky family nonetheless. About forty or so windows peered down like whitened ghost eyes that never blinked. Dearest her, being stared down by so many pale glowing eyes, with the castle being so small, and her so little. But it felt more comforting than intimidating. This monolith of dark steel and marble was a giant creature whose belly protected all who dwelled within.

Now, what was dear Vixie doing out alone in front of the castle during the night’s later hours? Well, the answer laid in her smile licking up her rose-dashed cheeks, and in her dress pocket weighted down by something inside it. With her smile white as ice, she reached down there and happily pulled out a silvery glint that caught the moon’s embrace just right. Justly so, the blade’s curved sharp steel was heavier than one might expect, which made it all the more satisfying to swing around, to go whoosh, swipe and whack. You see, she had grown board recently with creating normal knives and things that stabbed or sliced. Boredom was such a troubled fellow to please, for he was a silent beggar who wined irritably like an infant until genuine entertainment proved true. So yesterday, she had been hard at work making a very different kind of weapon to play with, one that was sharp but never cut, one that inflicted souls with a very different effect. It took a patient one’s time melding potions and elixirs with the right kind of metal.

Vixie gave her toy a quick practice slash and admired how it arced so fluidly in the night. Its power was quite simple- just get two people with this knife, and instantly those same people would be infatuated with each other, tied by the hip, woven by their hearts, just like that. She could mix and match every sort of relationship like her favorite simulation video games. It was, to put it simply, a love knife, with a hard of cold metal.

“I’ll name you Tillet, O’ me I will,” Vixie quipped. “Yes, my little Tillet knife.”

In hindsight, she should’ve warned the four others dwelling inside the castle of her upcoming game, only that would ruin the fun, and fun was golden for the strange.

But enough squabbling, it was time to play. This space outside was the starting line, and the castle’s inside was now her hoodwinked playpen.

Like a coasting ice flow she eased through the front door and skipped along the opening foyer, in search of someone to gash or nick. Her feet tickled the floor tiles, past the foyer, through the entry room, along the dining hall, around the corner, down the first hallway, all the while keeping her eyes peeled for subtle stirs. Skipping was jollies more fun than running. Running was merely a way to get someone tired. Her dress flew about in silken waves that danced in tune with her hair. From afar, it might have looked like a blueish blur going around and about the castle’s organs.

And then, a subtle movement was spotted near a staircase, a splotch of white and green and a man’s snarky grin. It was Zafer, one of the castle’s indwellers, her first victim. Perfect! Marvellous! The man’s stylish white hair and rugged-ish face melded stood out like a venerable opportunity.

“Mr. Zafer! Oh Mr. Zafer, watch how my game is done!”

Vixie gave Tillet a good swipe.

But all Zafer felt was a little pinch to his side, then nothing. Confused and caught off guard, he could nothing but watch Vixie run off to somewhere unknown. What was she holding? Was a knife in her hand? What a silly lady, with her silly ideas.

Vixie's feet tapped along the staircase steps which spiraled up towards the upper floors, where hallways intertwined in lattice-like grids. She peeked into many open doors for someone hiding among these small bedroom bodies, with one soul in mine. Oh dear, her next player had to be here somewhere. She wasn’t a hard one to miss, all with those brass toes of hers, and those dense plum filled eyes.

Now where would she be?

That way?

Or this way?

How about over here?

Who was I looking for?

Oh yes, that’s who.

I’ll try this room.

And there her next victim was, sitting by the bed, polishing her toes with a nylon rag. Sigit, that was her name, a best friend, or more so even, all flaxen haired and somehow mixed with a brass unicorn, all with a horn like one sticking out from her forehead, and or course, her brass toes.

“Sigit? Sigit!” Vixie didn’t wait for a response as she hurried on in the bedroom and gashed Sigit across the back, no blood, no wound, only magic. Vixie ran out like a fairy just visiting, gone within seconds.

As for Sigit herself, well, she just had confusion making her face. What was Vixie doing now? Was that a knife in her hands? Did she hit me with it? What a silly lady, with her silly ideas.

Silly or not, it took a meager amount of time for Sigit and Zafer to give each other their good sides, their good eyes, and their best looks. They had now been cursed with mystic love that never gave way, strike by the cursed knife. Vixie watched them walk around the halls as if bound by a tether just short of four inches. A frozen storm could blow through only to do little in unbounding those two as they roamed about. It worked, like a charm.

Giggling in her first victory, Vixie gave little Tillet a grand o’ hug as a thanks for providing more enjoyment than possibly imagined.

And this was only a start, a first platform, an initial act within her realistic simulation devotee. Now then, it was off to a standoffish room where only one visited in routine, a woman whose hair divided between large locks and black and white, alongside soft ink eyes and calmed complexion no matter what hysteria came about. Vixie followed her feet to such that room, a short and narrow cut out within the northmost hallway wall. At its far end, a fireplace burned silently among the logs, and watching the flames was a woman wearing a dress coinciding with her checkerboard hair and eyes. Creen, that was her name.

She, she was the next player.

There was a light shuffling, a silver arc, and a floating pair of feet coming and going like a shortly lived glimmer. Vixie's swipe had been swift and keen. Creen was left nearly unfazed, but confused.

From here, it was off the castle’s dungeon catacombs, where light trickled down like slow moving lightning drops down cobblestone chambers and hard cracked ceilings. It was just down another staircase, only this one lead downward into that gloomy world where a particular someone always hung out. Well, perhaps “someone” was a word meant for living ones which considered themselves very much alive and aging away. No, not this man, for the “some creature” was a sort of blend of a vampire, ghoul, and fiend who laughed out loud all this fun churning in his chest, that heartless cavity of Halloween-like commotion.

Down, down, down Vixie went on through the dungeon corridors under the castle in search of the one named Barben, who, if in broad daylight, would be easy to spot, him wearing opulent, vampiric garments almost at all times, red and black robes. Classic. But here in the dimly lit space broken only by the torchlights, finding her next and last remaining player wouldn’t be such a snitch after all.

That was why her grin was all the more welcoming when she found Barben lounging on his favorite treasure pile of gold and great riches. His eyes were dull fireflies and his bald ghoulish head was just the right type to fit them. She approached with Tillet held behind her back, a present, a gift for the eon’s old monster.

“You don’t visit here often, girly.” Barben’s own smile was exclaimed his by two pointed teeth. “And what’s that behind your back. Is it special?”

Vixie went up close enough before whirling Tillet from its hiding place and slinging it across Barben’s face. And then, there was nothing but a cool draft as she scurried up the staircase towards the upper floors, leaving the monstrous man awestruck at such an unexpected turnabout of events. No blood? What a strange knife. What a strange attack.

There was no need to wait for attrition or gradual development to occur. Magic could speed up those aspects and make them blurs across time, a spectacle, a show made just for the one who wielded such a magical device. Acting first and having an edge to normal means meant that results could come about almost instantly. Thus, Vixie's happiness felt like a solid mass in her brain as she watched the two mixed up couples shared lovely tidings. Creen and Barben were hand and hand, sometimes in bed, other times in broad limelight making way to and from destinations seemingly aimless. What a site- a vampire ghoul creature and an inked eyed, ying-yang haired woman joining together as if all odd things were normal. On the other end, Sigit and Zafer were very much an odd combination, with their conversations ranging from obscure to decisively esoteric. It was his snow white hair and her brass shining horn that punctuated each word divulging from their voice boxes.

Next came the part where rules were just malleable notions. Vixie whacked a nearby urn and made Creen fall in love with the pieces. The woman hugged them and loved those fragments so. This power even worked with inanimate objects. Perfect. So naturally, she made all the other players fall head over heels with things without a souls to speak of. Soon, Barben was tossing up a spoon as if it were a pretty little damsel made of silver. Sigit was kissing a wall, lovingly. It was by and large, mind control, utter mind control. Taking the harnesses of such a significant part of one’s character had inadvertently disturbed other aspects as well, like favoritism, desire and by extension, lust.

Another twist was in order. Vixie did a few more swipes here and there. Now, Sigit and Creen were both drawn to a gargoyle statue, love at first sight, or perhaps before even that.

“Can’t you tell? He’s all over me. Just look at the way he acts!” Sigit’s face was frenetic and in disarray.

Creen waved her off, not looking away from her marble crush. “You hold shallow notions of love, young lady. Please, go enjoy something else, elsewhere.”

“I’m not that young!”

“And what of it?”

Their back and forth was a loophole of taunts and jeers.

Vixie watched them well enough to see that this wasn’t any phony charade. It was real. She went about giving the remaining players Zafer and Barben a soft fluffy pillow to fawn over, to fight over. The both drew up weapons in arms and committed to swordplay mixed with magic and mana and sometimes lethal maneuvers, once enough time flew by.

And as time did fly by, a few weeks in fact, matters seemed to grow more gruesome. Vixie found her hands had clasped hard together upon seeing that the banter and feeble swordplay between the two men evolved into spiteful taunts and violent wounds. Sigit and Creen were no better as they traded in their own banter for devastating insults. More knots came about when she tried switching all their love patterns to make up for hostile times, making everyone love something else entirely. Only, she has long lost track of which soul Tillet held and who exactly loved who. Swapping became a frantic search for the right pattern, the right configuration for a stable relationship between all four players.

Another day…

Another day…

Another day passed, and more, and more.

It was all a tangled heap of emotions coiling like cobras in a trance. There was blood marks on the floor where Vixie walked now, searching for someone, for all the players had left her sight, off to love something living or dead. Sigit, Creen, Zafer, Barben- none of them were found in the castle’s halls. Where had they gone?

Oh dear me. Oh my. Oh dear.

Wearing hearts on sleeves had ended up creating hidden fabric and false intentions. No. No! What had little Vixie done? Who loved who? Or what? Who didn’t? She tried inflicting wounds on herself in hopes of rerouting the curse to just one person, but it fell to deaf magic. Tillet refused to ail its master.

And so she ran, ran, ran away and into every room while her feet stumbled along with every other thought. Ghosts jumped from walls. Spirits hopped off the ceiling. Everything seemed haunted now. Everyone loved the wrong thing and everything was topsy-turvy. Did she know that one could not turn emotions belly up and play with them in a silly game of tag? Silly girl, with her silly ideas and crafts.

Vixie looked down at Tillet, giving it a good dose of icicle eyes. Well, oh well, it was the only way.

“I’m going to rid you from the world,” she said to the knife. The object didn’t reply. Oh dear, her thoughts must have been darting once again.

“I have to end my game.”

“So in my name.”

“You must return from which my idea came.”

“I must destroy you.”

So Vixie's merry steps scurried to the place where she first crafted Tillet, the small forgery where most of the castle’s silverware was made. Hot steam guzzled up from the floor vents which made hazy clouds about the space. Orange burning heat made the pipes glow, as this room held burning blood through its steel and cast iron body. To undo the curse, the initiator had to be broken. She set Tillet down on an anvil and readied the hammer, about to swing, and smash, and whack. All the player’s memories of tied up love would be removed. It was a safety feature she included when constructing this plaything of a blade. But then, it would be back to normal chit-chat around the dinner table. Oh dear. She had grown tired of such talk, but at least it wasn’t least.

The hammer went down.

Steel shards shattered.

Tillet breathed no more.

Vixie took a sharp breath upon seeing her most recent little toy in fragments. Another fine toy had been ravaged by too much madness, again. Guess it was back to the drawing board, or else it was back to mundane conversations bearing no meaning.

No more chasing habits, at least, not until the next one comes around.

She walked out the forgery, past the steam and smoggy metal blood vessels coming from all around and the screeching gears that sang a siren’s song as disenchanted echoes. It was time to find her family and explain what happened, by saying nothing. They wouldn’t remember a thing. Oh dear. Another night wasted. But at least what transpired here would be good a laugh in the near future, a little inside joke for empowering strange dreams later on.

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