[center][h2][color=silver]Grey Skies[/color][/h2][/center]
[center][i]Themerlinhawk[/i][/center]
[center][b]Lazarus[/b][/center]
[center][i]Day 1, Morning[/i][/center]
A hard rain tapped against the closed windows as a storm blew by just beyond the panes of glass. The gust of wind threatened to throw the latched double windows open and disrupt the strange peace beyond them. The scattered beams of sunlight that sheared through the roiling clouds fell on a table with several empty breakfast plates on it. The teapot had long since gone cold and the cup that accompanied it had been abandoned half full as though something had pulled its owner away suddenly. 

The rest of the room was in a similar state of atrophy the dying flickers of the fire in the hearth cast dancing shadows across the workspace. A volin lay all but forgotten against the legs of a wooden stool; ideal for preventing the musician from slouching while playing. The sheet music had been unceremoniously stacked; Irish reels, contemporary works and the classics had been jumbled together in the stack as though they were all one in the same to the musician who played them. Perhaps in the end they were as they had been abandoned by him for other works. 

Light brushed against another half completed project. The tools of a sculptor lay unattended at the base of a piece of marble which was clearly being shaped into a human form. The carefully attending eye could tell that the rough strokes were in the process of shaping a female form before it too had been abandoned like some much else in the room had been. 

Taking up the lion’s share of the room was the spattered work space of an artist. The man was completely absorbed in his work. Deft practiced strokes were finishing up the last of a portrait; it was a woman. Like so much of the man’s life the brush strokes that had painted a fair skinned beauty were only the surface of the real work. Every curve, every stroke and every drop of paint had tangled layers of essence woven beneath its surface. To the average observer the essence would make her all but life life in her appearance as though her caring eyes were reaching into the observer's heart and plucking at its strings. Beneath the pattern of essence that made the woman so beautiful and lifelike was another tapestry of essence. To those who could see it and experience it was a tangle of sorrow and longing woven through with memories of the woman. 

[i]A backless dress in a crowd of students and teachers as she wove through them, a goddess among mortals.[/i]

[i]A single hand pressed to his chest as the open wound knit itself closed beneath caring fingers[/i]

[i]The feeling of warm bare skin beneath his as they lay on the soft carpet of her office[/i]

[i]An empty office devoid of the warmth that had once been there[/i]

[i]A longing void where once there had been light[/i]

Setting the paintbrush down the man twisted his hands as he finished the layer of memories beneath everything, tying in the last of the imprinted feelings. Eyes of quicksilver flicked over the painting, identifying and correcting defects at an alarming rate. With a final twist the man sealed the essence into the painting and dropped his hands to his sides as the mercury drained from his eyes as the essence sight was released. 

With a heavy sigh the man closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look at it anymore; slow tears dripped down his face as the feelings and memories rubbed at the wards around his mind. The feelings wormed their way around the protections pushing at him. Threatening to drag him back down. 

Flicking his left hand Lazarus pulled a white sheet over the portrait of his beloved Hazumi as he turned towards an arm chair which sat beside the guttering fire. As shuffled over to it melodic Gaelic rolled off his tongue and the fire surged as Lazarus picked up another piece of wood and added it to the blaze. Flopping into the chair he quickly wiped away the tears. It would be no good for Shaylee to see him in this state. Every since the girl had turned up on his doorstep he’d had to do things differently. Infact every since things had gone all to hell he’d had to do things differently.

With a practiced motion Lazarus pulled something from his right pocket and began to turn it over in his hand with smooth practiced movements as he stared into the fire in front of him. Suffusing his eyes with the quicksilver again Lazarus toyed with the molecules of the log on the fire rearranging them by memory, transforming the structure of the cells so they resembled: oak, cedar, ash, spruce, willow. The ring in his right hand continued to turn over and over as his hands turned the piece of violet and silver metal end over end. 

Finally blinking he tucked the ring away as he lowered the wards on his mind and began to search the house for his apprentice. Moving slowly down through the castle level by level he checked the kitchen, library, practice rooms, living rooms. When Lazarus finally found her he smiled. Shay was back at it again. Alchemy, she was no good at it but no matter how often she failed she always went back to it. Continuing to tinker and explore. Watching what she was working on Lazarus suddenly shot up off the chair. “Nononononono!” Turning he took off down the stairs out of his work room taking them two at a time in bare feet and fraying jeans as he raced down them. [i]How did she get her hands on a copy of that volume?[/i]