Darcy/Lux's Entrance

"Fine!" snarled Lux, twisting in the dark, empty stairwell to glare at his shadow, frozen against the wall. "Damn you, that you ever learned to speak!"

The words lashed across the distance between elf and shadow and the creature flinched away from his master. 'I ...' he started to say. An icy glare silenced him and he shrank back into the shadows so that even Lux's sharp eyes could not make him out apart from the other shadows.

"Go then," spat Lux. "If it pleases you. Then maybe you'll be quiet and leave me in peace!"

He spun about, thoughts on the belongings left above in the gathering hall as he made his way to the underground passages and his spell room. He could feel that the protections had not been disturbed, but his ever suspicious mind would not rest until he made sure with his own eyes.

There were tunnels beneath and connecting every building on the ancient campus, and Lux knew them well. The volatile substances with which he worked did not react kindly to the shifting environment which was the outside. So entranced did he become in his studies that the onset of winter, or of spring, often took him by surprise.

Darcy fled, and quickly, before his master could change his mind. He flowed as one with the shadows back up to the grand, echoing room wherein all the other students were filing. The teachers easily sorted the new ones into the foyer, where the scarred man who had so entranced Darcy was there to intimidate a new generation.

These new students were what interested the shadow so. He easily integrated himself into the shadow of a large, rotund boy, slipping with him like an eel to silently observe. Years of watching had taught him to pick out the ones who would thrive, the ones who would merely survive, and the ones that would leave. He dreaded the day when his master would choose to be quit of the place. He liked to threaten Darcy with such, telling him that he needn't return, that he'd learned all he could, and the shadow dreaded the thought of being penned up with his cold, distant master in that tower of his, for eternity -- or howsoever long he chose to live.

The dark potions Lux drank extended his life; there was very little of his elven ancestry left in him now. He did not care. Deciphering the secrets of sorcery held him spellbound such that he would go days, weeks without speaking, hardly eating or sleeping or stepping away from his workbench but to pore over moldy tomes in the ancient library. Whatever tormented creature had built that lonely castle in the mountains, Darcy pitied them, as ever pitying himself for what little life he held to, mocking the growing desire for something more, forever out of reach. Still he treasured each moment he could pretend to some mortality, because he knew that his time was finite, and growing less in proportion to the increase in his self-awareness. He had until his master discovered the mystery of his creation, and rectified the mistake.

He waited and he watched the familiar routine, reminiscing on his master's arrogant dismissal of the food their first night. Pick out his own food? That was not to be borne. The elf had sat and waited for servants to come to him. They hadn't, and the scarred man had stared at them seemingly for hours, locked in a battle of wills with the elf, as everyone else chose and was taken away. They might still be there, had not Darcy made an err, fidgeting in his own impatience, and brought the teacher's eyes to him.

The teacher beckoned to him, as one might a timid or frightened animal, asking him what he would choose, and Darcy, sensing his master's hunger and stubbornness and pride, stretched from his master's feet towards the feast. He'd watched all evening long as the students picked and chose and ate. He had never experienced such variety in his short existence. He determined that a small, fuzzy, brown fruit was what he desired, overlooked and unimposing. The fruit remained in large quantities; it was not a popular dish.

He stretched out over the table, but he yet lacked the strength of will to touch or grasp and merely looked longingly at substance he could not share in until at last his master spoke, as if the words were acid in his mouth: "The kiwi."

Plucking the fruit from its bowl, the teacher held it out and Darcy yearned to touch it, to explore its plain but intriguing features.

"You are such a worthless creature!" Lux cried then, upset enough by his creation's sorrow and desire to speak to it directly, his own arrogance dismissing the scarred man as unimportant.

"There is worth in every thing on this earth," said Professor Bhas solemnly, for that was his name. He replaced the fruit on the table and beckoned to them.

That was yet the beginning for Darcy and Lux, and now the same formidable man afforded the shadow a small, secret smile, hidden from the new students as well as Darcy remained hidden. He had learned much of stealth and mimicry here, and few ever so much as suspected his presence. The professor himself never told, Darcy was forbidden to reveal himself, and Lux too embarrassed. The shadow was a weakness, a mistake, and must not be known for to do so would reveal that weakness in his master.

He sighed to himself, glad that his training and growth now allowed him his own thoughts separate from Lux. He could feel what the elf felt; his distraction and satisfaction over the security of his work room, but those feelings no longer bled from Darcy to his master uncontrolled. He was more himself with each passing day, and more in fear for what that might mean, for if Lux ever suspected the independence that Darcy had achieved, the hour-glass that was his life would drain faster and faster.

Observing others, however, was a past-time the shadow enjoyed. He ought to, he supposed, seeing as that was the reason behind his birth. He settled into a corner, slithered under a chair and stayed out of the way, secure in some inanimate object's shadow, returning when bid to his master and waiting. Always waiting.

Professor Bhas saw to it that all the new students had been taken care of before he returned to the head of the table, catching a glimpse of the Shadow, towards whom he cast a secretly amused look, before he took his seat at the table, glancing towards the empty Head seat, the master of the school had managed to miss the Welcoming Feast again. This was the 29th year in a row. Though he was sure that the good doctor would be back just in time for classes to start. That wasn't for a couple days yet, either way. He ate selectively, a little here, a little there, enough to satiate, but not enough to fully satisfy.

He glanced up as Lux returned, remembering the eternal battle of wills that had given him some insight into the Elf, though he would not reveal he knew, as was his edict, for now, he watched, waiting for the storm that had been brewing for a good long time, ever since the castle was built, he should know. He ran a hand over his smooth head, rubbing one of the scars that littered his face, he wasn't ancient, not by any means, appearing somewhere in his fifties, he preferred the term 'well-rounded' rather than 'old', besides which, he'd looked this way for a very, very long time, though he didn't drink blood to keep his 'youthful' facade. He looked up at the doors and around the hall, searching for the little shadow that escaped his master 9 times out of 10 and he liked the presence of the small shadow, finding it amusing, moreso than his master, anyways.

((continuing from here))

<<Lux>>

The enthusiastic boy was now gone; there were many other familiar faces, but none could give him what he wanted. What that was he didn't know exactly, but instinct dismissed the people he saw as ineffectual.

Then his eye fell on the scarred man and there he found calm enough to soothe the chaos in his breast. He slunk unseen through the shadows to wrap tightly around the professor's leg.

Something burned in his throat and his eyes and his chest. The more he struggled against it, the harsher the feelings became, sending shadowy tears to trickle down his cheeks and vanish back into the shadows. Nothing mattered anymore, not his master's commands, not the need for secrecy or darkness.

Just let it stop! Let it end.

Whatever was happening to him, Darcy didn't know how much more he could bear. No one could help him. He was doomed, but he didn't want to die! Why oh why did he feel this way? Could nothing stop it?

Instinct caused him to lunge forward and sink his teeth into the fabric of Bhas' trousers and the flesh beneath. Hurt to express hurt, he didn't know and he had no voice to attempt any explanation, even if his mind wasn't in ribbons.

Anything, anything to end this misery!

But then he could feel Lux calling to him, and that he could not ignore. He released his hold in an instant, flowing silkily back into the shadows and disappearing.