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Short Story : The Story Of The Night '

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Gauging the relaxed, calm posture of the prince, Ramses waved at the empty space in front of him. "Didn't you kill him?" "He died from his disease two weeks ago," asked Aloysius, dismissively. The Elthemian man reappeared and his form reconstructed into the startlingly handsome man in the whorechamber. The one who gave Aloysius twelve names and received the order to eliminate five of them. "Ramses, meet Nyx. The King of Shadows and the master of a thousand faces." Right before a flattered smile fully formed on the Abyssal Shifter's face, Aloysius added, "He's Lyron's pet." With an exaggerated frown, Nyx said, "My prince is so mean." Ramses glanced around. Infested with eight-eyed rats, two-headed cockroaches and flying spiders, the slimy…show more content…
Compared to Prince Cyrillus's chambers, Aloysius's rooms were bigger and inconsistent in design. The prince's excessively embellished presence chamber rivaled his father's throne room, but his bed-chamber was austere. Chaste. Ramses allowed himself a bath in the diamond-crusted pool, but the "good behavior" desiccated when a servant came forth with his attire for the night. "You're not rubbing that crap on my body," said Ramses, pushing the servant toward a cabinet where he knocked over a collection of glimmering ornaments. The pock-faced servant boy who wanted to rub a pineapple-scented oil onto his body scurried backwards, toward the door where he bumped into- "Your Highness," said the servant. Aloysius was half-dressed, in robes that flowed like water down his body and revealed skin as he walked. After pursing his lips at the mess, Aloysius began to pull the rings from his fingers. One of the rings, gorgeous and oversized, had a basilisk's eye as the centerpiece. Taking the crock of oil from the pock-faced boy, Aloysius said, "Leave." Out of something unidentifiable that wasn't fear, Ramses stepped back, until his back found the wall and his hand clutched the corner of the cabinet he'd previously knocked the boy into. Once Ramses could move no more, Aloysius crouched in front of him, dipped his fingers into the oil and glanced up through lowered lashes. Back in Myksos, the slaves did that for their masters - oiling, massaging and
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