[Gossamer]

The darkness laughed fluidly at the jest that was about to be played on the jester. Death stalked the night, though it wasn't a foreign menace. It was a natural part of things, complex and forgiving... usually. Tonight, however, the darkness had issues, and the shadows danced as their human target was about to be inducted into their macabre priesthood. One never could tell why a single brightly burning flame of life was chosen over another. Was it that the soul inside was far more than it manifested to the world around it? Quite possibly. Such decisions and factors couldn't possibly be accounted for in human standards. But humor was universal. As the mask was pushed back, unbenownst to the wearer, its grim visage broadened into a leering grin as the shadow clinging to it reacted. Oh, it had sentience alright... far more than the mere mortals that glided through its embrace gave it credit for. It saw all time, all places... and every single place a finger of darkness touched, it bore witness.

Demonic? No... such things rarely were. It was only that the world was full of far more than oblivious people suspected. And that 'far more' often reached forward, embracing those it found somehow appealing. There was darkness in Mikhail Vashael, but it wasn't the sort of raw cruelty that appealed not at all to it. No, his darkness was the deep intellect of a brooding soul bent on a plan far vaster than his subconscious had allowed his conscious to view. His was a soul of burning passions, tightly reined and acknowledged for what they were... weaknesses. Oh, he indulged all right; cards, booze, whores. But he didn't let himself become attached nor addicted. His was a pleasure that allowed himself to walk away when it was for the greater reasoning of common sense.

But he lacked.

He lacked a great deal, as the shadows stared into his heart and mind, finding it lacking. They could teach him control, even more than he had now, and to channel the energy that no shadow could replicate for itself... the pure burning flame of a living soul. But they'd need his willingness, and that wouldn't come easily. To them, they saw a tool... a bright glittering sword they'd sharpen to a surgeon's precision and wield when the time was right. Until then, they'd seduce him with something more... something better. The seed had already been planted like a man carelessly spending himself in the body of a ripe woman, and that seed had begun to grow. It was time to feed it, and to begin to teach him. It would be the first stroke of whetstone on finely forged steel. Alone in the night, the darkness shivered with pleasure.... almost human in its anticipation.

And they would use Cale. How thoughtful he was, providing a vessel that already had language skills and intelligence.

The darkness detached itself from the mask as the man stooped to pick up his discarded drink and turned away from the prone form in the grave. The boy still breathed, therefor he was accessible. They took the easy road, leting the prone form absorb them with his breath. They repaired the damage, quickly, and even as the boy started to wake, they took control. Blackness seeped over his eyes, and the essence used his vision and his limbs, crawling to its feet. It crawled from the grave as well, but not in the way of a child... in the way of one of its own kind, stepping into the black shadows, and back out again intercepting Mikhail's path.

Drink was poised to hard thin-stretched lips as the boy simply appeared. It wasn't a new skill, it wasn't even particularly isolated. Other's used it, even as the shadows of the land granted their gifts here and there. Cale waited, straight in Mikhail's pathway... his tiny form stoic as he watched the butcher of prime's approach without any whites to his eyes. Darkness called to darkness, and as Mikhail drew a single pace away, that which was in him roared quietly to life, and his own eyes lost their whites, darkening even as Cale's were.

"You are the priest." The boy said softly, in a voice that was not his own. He had no choice, and decidedly no awareness of events. That which was within him didn't allow him to understand, or even see. Mikhail however, was different. He was still fully in control. He could still blink, still feel, still think. Truth be told, the shadows hadn't tried to rectify this yet, for there was a noticable fear that his will would be as strong as they desired, unabling him to see.

Cale was not himself. Not any longer. And as Mikhail halted, assessing... bottle to his lips... the boy held out his hand.

"Come."