The Mad Warlock

The moonlight filled the window of the warlock’s quarters, atop the tower.  Brushing his white hair from his face, he stopped his work and bathed his eyes in the glow.

“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the light?”, he asked.

There was no answer.

“Have it your way”, he said.

The warlock turned from the window and continued sculpting.  A  twisted, snarling dragon was coming to form from the marble under his enchanted knife, the blade glowing a faint frozen blue each time it met the stone.

“You can’t stay silent forever”, the warlock said.

No answer.

“I’ll eventually force you to speak...and to love me”, he said.

The warlock put the knife down, and turned in his chair.

“I do have that power, Vanessa”, he said.

Facing the warlock, bound to a chair with white rope was a green-eyed woman in a black dress, many years younger than her captor.  Her hair was the red of dark blood.  She didn’t move or struggle with the rope, her only emotion was a smile at the man seated across from her.

The warlock rose from the chair, and took his cane which rested against the desk.  He pointed it at Vanessa and recited a language she didn’t understand.  When her eyes closed, he loosened the ropes and lifted her up, hugging her body.  As he danced with her in the moonlight, Vanessa’s eyes opened and she bared her ivory white fangs.  She sunk them into his neck and sucked the life from him.

When he was dead, Vanessa picked up his cane, wiped the blood from her lips and walked towards the door to the staircase.

“Your magic was worthless, madman”, Vanessa said leaving the tower.