Sebastian Ellington-Aragona

His Royal Highness, Prince of Italy

The sapphire hue of the Englishman's irises were all but trained upon that fleeting fabric of his wife's gown as she was dragged away from him. The dark chestnut hue of her gaze never left him, the woman glancing over her shoulder as one hand reached out to him. Sebastian never thought he'd see her tender face again, he never thought he'd hear her gentle soprano voice or his name fall from her sweetheart lips. Finally, after two hundred years he was given a chance to just...make things as right as he could, if it was even possible now that she was dead. How desperate he found himself to reach her, following both her and Serafina into the depths his own music room - even if it required him to face a spawn of hell itself. He had ignored that begging utterance of Dorian's voice, the vampire all but abandoning the Italian King in the only place he was assured Dorian might be safe. Although the fae had brought to life those distinctly possessive instincts, the vampire's territorial impulses felt peculiarly at ease with the knowledge that he would be between the Monarch and that demonic presence. That was, however, before the Englishman found himself face to face with the monstrously disgusting insect. The clash of his claws was grating to the vampire's overly sensitive ears. His nose was assaulted with the stench of sulfur from the goo-like blood that slicked the once pristine marble floors. His eyebrows furrowed, the subtle gesture the only sign the taunt vampire gaze of his irritation as he stepped fearlessly into his own music room.

Sebastian's gaze immediately sought out the petite figure of his wife, disregarding the demon that smashed through wooden paneling and shattered the glass of his beloved music room. He found her slender frame was entangled in the arms of the equally as dainty witch and yet the woman's serpentine soprano voice seemed to echo against the hard surface of the room. How he abhorred that very venom within those genteel whispers - his own strides all but purposeful as he skirted the boundary of that room in an effort to retrieve his wife from that malicious little witch. A scowl crossed his usually pleasant features as she whispered within Isabella's ear. Replaced her?! His Isabella?! How could he ever replace her?! That vow he had made to her - on his knees before God, before her entire family, before his own once limited staff. Those promises, the sanctity of marriage, it was something Sebastian had always held in the highest regard. He had stayed, in sickness and in health. He had remained true to her, despite those fears that had once gripped her heart so strongly. For centuries after her death, he had struggled to create any lasting intimate connection again -- because of her. His gaze, however, remained entirely trained upon his wife, watching as those whispered words each dug their sharpened daggers into her heart. How effortlessly the witch preyed upon those fears he had once worked tirelessly to assuage! The vampire's steps halted abruptly only at the very sight of his piano levitating before Isabella and Serafina, the Englishman hardly anticipating the very horrors which might soon unfold to his beloved instrument.

For a precarious moment, the piano seemed to wobble as it floated in the air as if whatever energies had prompted its movement were still testing whether or not it was even possible to shift that heavy piano. Sharply, Sebastian's gaze shifted between his piano and his wife, his own voice so distinctly pleading, "Isabella..." The soft sound of his distinctly British accent seemed to draw those deep chocolate eyes of hers towards him for one poised, breathless second. He watched as the young witch drew closer towards his wife's ear, whispering her spiteful lyrics of deceit. Whatever words she spoke seemed to decimate the hesitance his own voice had prompted within the woman as, suddenly, that piano went flying across the room - slamming into the carapace of the insect, sending splinters of wood and ivory keys in all directions as the strings snapped with a twang that prompted even Sebastian to flinch. He watched as those instruments fastened upon the walls came flying off their meticulously placed stands, a violin nearly clipping the vampire's head before it too was thrown in an outright ghostly rage at the beast that had invaded his once pristine home. Those blades chipped and sliced at the creature, spraying blood in their wake. It was Brennan's shout of Dorian's name above the clamor of those clanging, breaking, and cracking instruments and the beasts wild animalistic screams that drew the vampire's gaze sharply towards the door - his navy irises falling with a glimpse of horror upon the very sight of the Fae Monarch.

Sebastian pivoted upon his feet, Dorian's affinity still wholly grasping the vampire as the wounded beast reared upward. Brennan was already jumping towards the monster, that shadowed blade poised as the Warlock shouted over the stillness that seemed to exist in that precarious moment. That cry of Dorian's alarm filled Sebastian's ears as the vampire reached for his own affinity, those red threads only he could see rearranging at his very will to protect the fae King with their near unbreakable satin. He was hardly prepared for that sudden rush of his lover's own affinity, the fae Monarch suddenly seeming to glow with such a brightness that it almost hurt the vampire's own decidedly sensitive eyes. The demonic creature, in turn, seemed quick to recoil from that light alone and yet how quickly that gleaming glimpse of life burst towards the scorpion-like hellspawn. The creature's screams began to fill the room, it's large appendages flailing frantically as it collided into the already fractured walls of the music room. It's thrashing hardly lasted long, however, before it abruptly froze - only to crumple onto the floor, curling in on itself in the manner that insects only could do as that very life was all but sucked away from it's very being. That very light slowly began to fade from its embrace of his lover and yet - there was no mistaking it that Dorian had all but obliterated the creature. That, he was assured, was a new usage of the King's ability. That sudden declaration of satisfaction from Dorian's lips drew Sebastian's gaze back towards the Monarch, his own threads easily falling back to the floor as those crimson strings faded into the background for even Sebastian's own eyes.

That distinctly confused, and perhaps even slightly overwhelmed glimpse hardly left the vampire's features, even as Dorian rushed to him. His navy irises watched the fae as Dorian all but threw his arms around Sebastian's waist. His eyebrows furrowed in consideration, the man altogether aware of that steady thudding of Dorian's heart, that adrenaline prompting that blood to flow in a way that usually would have called to the vampire, were he not entirely distressed about everything else. His lover's words were entirely cut off by Dorian's sibling, that Italian certainly....dated, though not entirely impossible to understand by the vampire. Several of those words hardly the same as the more modern Italian and yet, they were close enough that the general gist was well understood. Sebastian hardly bothered to answer his lover's concerned question, his own gaze instead following the tip of Alfonso's sword as the man pointed it first towards Serafina, cursing her for the devil she surely was. Frankly, even Sebastian was inclined to agree, his own gaze skirting towards the witch as the semi-transparent figure of his own beloved.

He hardly cared much, admittedly, for what Alfonso desired of the brutish pirate. Rather, it was those accusations against the Italian King himself that alone drew his attention away from his deceased wife. Those very allegations seemed to prompt Dorian to press further into the hard planes of his chest, the fae seemingly content to all but bury himself in Sebastian's shirt even despite his vague efforts to explain those foreign words to the rest of the party at large. That blank look upon both Serafina and Brennan's faces all but assured him neither understood Dorian's natural tongue though it was, admittedly, likely for the best. He had little desire, after all, for them to know how sacrilege Alfonso viewed his relationship with the fae, much less the detailed imagery of what hell would surely look like for both of them with Dorian being cast as both a murderer and a homosexual. It was that rise of that ghastly sword that prompted Sebastian's eyes to narrow, the vampire entirely inclined to see to the undoing of that ghost should it make any effort to attack the King in retribution for their father's life - an insinuation Sebastian could scarcely believe. It was, however, his lover's plea to send them away that finally prompted speech from the vampire - that panic altogether audible within the sharpness of his accented voice. "No, wait, Isabella, I'm--" Sebastian tried, albeit gently, to disentangle himself from his lover's hold. The Victorian dressed woman herself quick to understand what 'send them away' meant for her as she rushed forward, her own sweet soprano voice calling out. "Sebastian, why didn't you ch--" Those words the couple spoke to one another were abruptly cut off as her feminine figure all but evaporated, accompanying the very disappearance of Alfonso himself. Serafina, it seemed, was more than inclined to give in to the fae's request, much to Sebastian's dread.

"No, no, no, no." The vampire uttered as he moved away from the clinging grasp of his husband to stand before that very place his wife had once been. The very absence of her translucent feminine figure prompted the Englishman to turn upon his heels, his gaze immediately sought out the witch that had surely been the source of much of his distress. "Bring her back." He all but demanded of Serafina, that sharpness once again present within his voice. He watched as the lithe witch carefully positioned herself at her warlock's side, holding one hand within his as she placed his arm between the swells of her breasts, the action only furthering their visibility within that low slitted dress. "I think it best we go, don't you Brennan? Perhaps Dorian can walk us out." She responded in that same saccharine-sweet tone, the witch clearly choosing to ignore Sebastian entirely, carefully placing both Brennan and, in a less physical manner, Dorian too in between Sebastian and any hopes of seeing his wife again.