Chapter Two
Salem's fingers intertwined as she clasped her hands in front of her, her crimson eyes surrounded by pitch-black darkness staring at me, her skin as white as porcelain veined with black. Her hair was in white curls, her dress snugging fitly to her frame as she slowly, but surely, walked closer to me. My limbs refused to fully obey me. Not that I would have been able to swing a claw at her, but the mere thought of doing such a thing became an impossibility. A part of me, a small, yet extremely vocal part of me refused the sheer principle of attacking her. It was the part that kept my claws still.
"What brings you here?" Salem asked, her expression not really puzzled, more like a mask of indifference. "Has a human entered the palace?" she reached with her index and middle fingers to touch the side of her chin, "I do not sense them." She furrowed her brows. "A semblance, perhaps?"
I swallowed, though there was no saliva to swallow in my throat. I shook my head, patting my chest with my claw.
"No?" she glanced at me, her fingers once more knit together. "Why are you not..." she neared, unafraid. Her right hand came for the side of my face, her fingers touching my Grimm mask. She kept a face of indifference even as she dutifully traced the crimson veins of the white bone-like mask, "There is something different about you, is there not?" she asked. "You do not feel like an Alpha."
I carefully nodded, a very slow motion since her fingers were still by the side of my mask, which doubled as my actual face. She removed her hand and as her lips twitched in a tiny smile, she turned her back on me. "If you desire to follow me, then so be it. Be forewarned that I do not tolerate disobedience." She glanced back towards me, "also avoid stepping on my dress. I guarantee you, it is a foolishness you will never be forgiven for."
I would have blinked, if I had had any eyebrows to do the motion. As it was, I found myself carefully avoiding the dress' train, clambering to follow the pale lady up a flight of stairs covered in thick, velvety carpets. I growled slightly as I followed behind her, my clawed right hand pressing against my throat. Salem chuckled. "Patience," she said. "There is no hurry. I will grant you speech."
Thus we slowly walked forward on a hallway large and imposing, suits of armor hanging by its sides as large windows showed the barren lands beyond with dark clouds looming, ready to unleash torrential downpour on the blighted crimson sand.
"You are newly born, and yet already wise as if hundred of years old," Salem mused as she came to a halt just outside a door. "It is the way of the Grimm to surprise," she remained still. She looked up at me, and I stared back down at her. "A lady does not open a door. A door opens for a lady."
I nodded, and proceeded to lunge for the truly offensive door who dared not open, and as I pushed down on the handle and pried it off, the door swung open. I gingerly made a bowing gesture as I extended both hands within the room, to gesture that the way was open.
"Less strength," Salem spoke in monotone, "The door will need to be replaced."
I hesitantly emitted a whine as if I had been a kicked dog, trying to close the door behind us with as much care as it was possible. The door's hinges burst, and with a sordid thunk, the door itself fell on the floor. Salem said nothing. She merely stared at the fallen door, then up at my sheepish face —was I even making a sheepish face? Was my mask capable of emitting sheepish shapes? I sure hoped it could.
I felt my tail brush against the ground. I had dropped it instinctively, but as Salem didn't seem willing to berate me, it rose back up and began to waggle slowly. This unnerved and angered me in equal parts. Was the body mine, or was I merely playing half-passenger and half-pilot? It could be that I was a sort-of parasite for the Grimm I was inhabiting, which would explain some of my reactions, but at the same time was this truly it? Could I move into another host if that was the case?
How did it even work to begin with?
The large, circular room had stacks of shelves everywhere, settled upon multiple levels connected by wooden ladders. Small Jellyfish-like Grimm floated while making crackling sounds up and down, their long tendrils gingerly plucking books and reordering them. As they slowly worked above our heads, Salem stopped in front of what could only be her desk, a large book with pages yellow from age in front of her.
With deliberate, but careful, motions she began to turn the pages. I watched silently from behind her shoulder, the pages filled with pictures of Grimm masterfully drawn. She came to a halt as she reached the end of the pictures, and the beginning of blank pages. Extending a hand, she grabbed from the top of the desk a black feather, and after dipping it into a small pot of ink by the side of the book, she began to draw.
I watched, silently, as she drew each line with flawless perfection, finishing in mere minutes what would have taken a world-famous artist months. She did it all without mistakes, or blotches of ink to ruin the paper. The ink itself was black, and yet it changed color as it stained the parchment to fill up the lines, crafting a Grimm upon the pages within mere seconds that felt familiar to my eyes.
"Here you are," Salem said, nonchalantly taking a step to the side to show me the picture. "What should I call you?"
I moved a hand to clutch my throat, and growled slightly once more. I'd rather say it myself, no?
Salem touched the tip of the book's page, lines of ink spreading from the tip of her finger upon it, reaching for the bottom of the picture where, in a neat cursive, a name appeared.
Beowolf Beta.
I snorted, and shook my head.
Salem raised an eyebrow with a slow, deliberate motion, and the name changed once more.
Beowolf Omega.
Once more, I shook my head. I pointed at my throat and growled. I repeatedly thumped my neck, as if to say, let me speak my name rather than play charades!
Salem simply smiled, and the name changed one last time.
Shade.
I froze.
Salem kept the smile on her face as she raised her other hand, touching my mask and gingerly patting it. My body betrayed me, immediately kneeling down to allow for her fingers to rub the top of my head, while my tail waggled happily.
"Now I will grant you the gift of speech, Shade," she spoke without any outward sign of emotion, a Jellyfish-like Grimm crackling as it came down, landing on her open palm.
Where are you directing those tentacles, Salem?
What are you doing—No—my purity!
