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Description
Malice's human form. They were once a child within a family of importance. I have a little short story about their origins as well - on TH but I'll copy it below:

It was so easy.
—
“ — , do you know where your parents are?”

I look up from where I’m kneeling in the garden. Acanthus flowers before me, meaning many things. Enduring life. Artifice. Sin.

I am not surprised to see Uncle — . Because I could feel that from a mile away. The shifting, roiling knot of dark intentions, hidden behind a mask of politeness, an artificial smile.

Malice.

—

It was everywhere. Everyone wished to improve their lot, everyone wanted a share of an inheritance so large that even the smallest piece would set them for years.

For that, they were willing to lie, cheat, to pull up some obscure dark pasts to get others exiled from the family. To get children disowned or sent off to foster care with parents “unqualified” to take care of them. None of them ever killed, but oh, they wanted to. The dark desires—I could feel them. The temptation.

My name is called, and I turn to my grandmother. She is lying in bed, and I am sitting next to her.

She has no malice. She…

“They’re fighting over what you’re leaving them,” I tell her, and she looks sad.

“I know,” she says, voice weak. Nearly a whisper. “But there's nothing I can do anymore.”

I open my mouth to say, surely she can—

“It is no longer my fight, — . Now come here, won’t you spoil your grandmother with your stories?”

I flush, embarrassed. But I tell her anyways—of the little people I imagine among the flowers in our garden, living peacefully despite the malice in the air.

—

I am to inherit a large portion of my grandmother’s wealth. It was kept hidden for quite some time, but eventually, others found out. And so it spreads, and so the malice grows, so it shifts. Towards me.

My parents, too. They are kinder on the surface. Each of them telling me that they know best. That I should leave it all to them.

It is…

Suffocating. So I reach out—touch the weave of malice. It bends to my will.

The next day, Uncle — is dead.

—

Grandmother never asks. Why I stopped telling her the stories. Why, I'm sure she can see, there is such an empty look in my eyes.

Why my eyes now glow a brilliant blue, pupils slitted and inhuman.

More are dead now. The malice grows and grows and grows, and I can redirect the flow to keep myself safe, but I cannot stop it. She knows, and is saddened, but…

She pets my hair as I pillow my head on her bed, humming softly. A gentle song I don't know the name of.

—

She dies. It was inevitable. But… it wasn't a natural death. Everyone was allowed to visit her, and she needed some to take care of her—opportunities were never lacking.

How did I not notice? Or perhaps—it was unplanned. A moment’s spark of temptation, surrendered to.

And for the first time, I feel it within myself. It stains my heart, my mind, my soul. Yet—it makes me feel powerful. It makes me realize my potential.

A little smile curls at the edge of my mouth. If they want to kill each other so badly… why don't I give them a little push?

—

No one is spared. One by one, they fall to each other’s malice. I hardly had to do anything—just a little push there, a little pull here, all the while directing away any sprouting malice towards myself.

No one seeks me out. I hide in my room, allowing the servants to bring my meals—and oh, how few remain.

And then. And then. My parents are the last ones. When everyone else is gone, they seem to remember me. Madness in their eyes. Sin on their souls. They see me, see my eyes, and ask me: “Did you do this?”

“No,” I say. “You all did this to yourselves.”

And with one final choking twist, I grasp the writhing malice deep within them. No less intense than that which they had directed to others, perhaps even more, but only hidden deep until now, when I pull.

They start arguing. Over me, over the power I must have, over my share of the inheritance that has only grown and grown. They each want me for themselves, but not as their child. As their thing.

I watch with empty eyes as they grow more aggressive. My father grabs the nearest sharp object, a three-pronged candelabra empty of candles, and my mother, eyes wide, pulls a blade from her sleeve.

There is red. Both fall. The malice fades away, and finally, finally, I feel nothing. No more writhing malintent, lurking and waiting to strike.

It was so easy.

I rise from where I’m seated. I step over the bodies, not managing to avoid stepping into the pool of blood.

I step into the courtyard, into the garden, and I kneel before the acanthus flowers.

There is nothing left here. But I… I close my eyes. I feel the power within me, the potential awaiting actualization.

I reach for it. Let it envelop me. Let it consume all that I was, and I—

I am Malice.

See also: Malice's TH Page

Folders: Edeia | Adopts | Commissions

The Edeia are an original species of mine.

They are manifestations of abstract concepts that have magical abilities based on their Idea.

I have a group for them:

See also: Info | Open Adopts | Masterlist | Discord Server | Edeia ToS

Procreate

My Projects:

Commission Info Twitter | Tumblr | SoundCloud | Youtube | Artfight Profile | Toyhou.se

Description
Malice's human form. They were once a child within a family of importance. I have a little short story about their origins as well - on TH but I'll copy it below:

It was so easy.
—
“ — , do you know where your parents are?”

I look up from where I’m kneeling in the garden. Acanthus flowers before me, meaning many things. Enduring life. Artifice. Sin.

I am not surprised to see Uncle — . Because I could feel that from a mile away. The shifting, roiling knot of dark intentions, hidden behind a mask of politeness, an artificial smile.

Malice.

—

It was everywhere. Everyone wished to improve their lot, everyone wanted a share of an inheritance so large that even the smallest piece would set them for years.

For that, they were willing to lie, cheat, to pull up some obscure dark pasts to get others exiled from the family. To get children disowned or sent off to foster care with parents “unqualified” to take care of them. None of them ever killed, but oh, they wanted to. The dark desires—I could feel them. The temptation.

My name is called, and I turn to my grandmother. She is lying in bed, and I am sitting next to her.

She has no malice. She…

“They’re fighting over what you’re leaving them,” I tell her, and she looks sad.

“I know,” she says, voice weak. Nearly a whisper. “But there's nothing I can do anymore.”

I open my mouth to say, surely she can—

“It is no longer my fight, — . Now come here, won’t you spoil your grandmother with your stories?”

I flush, embarrassed. But I tell her anyways—of the little people I imagine among the flowers in our garden, living peacefully despite the malice in the air.

—

I am to inherit a large portion of my grandmother’s wealth. It was kept hidden for quite some time, but eventually, others found out. And so it spreads, and so the malice grows, so it shifts. Towards me.

My parents, too. They are kinder on the surface. Each of them telling me that they know best. That I should leave it all to them.

It is…

Suffocating. So I reach out—touch the weave of malice. It bends to my will.

The next day, Uncle — is dead.

—

Grandmother never asks. Why I stopped telling her the stories. Why, I'm sure she can see, there is such an empty look in my eyes.

Why my eyes now glow a brilliant blue, pupils slitted and inhuman.

More are dead now. The malice grows and grows and grows, and I can redirect the flow to keep myself safe, but I cannot stop it. She knows, and is saddened, but…

She pets my hair as I pillow my head on her bed, humming softly. A gentle song I don't know the name of.

—

She dies. It was inevitable. But… it wasn't a natural death. Everyone was allowed to visit her, and she needed some to take care of her—opportunities were never lacking.

How did I not notice? Or perhaps—it was unplanned. A moment’s spark of temptation, surrendered to.

And for the first time, I feel it within myself. It stains my heart, my mind, my soul. Yet—it makes me feel powerful. It makes me realize my potential.

A little smile curls at the edge of my mouth. If they want to kill each other so badly… why don't I give them a little push?

—

No one is spared. One by one, they fall to each other’s malice. I hardly had to do anything—just a little push there, a little pull here, all the while directing away any sprouting malice towards myself.

No one seeks me out. I hide in my room, allowing the servants to bring my meals—and oh, how few remain.

And then. And then. My parents are the last ones. When everyone else is gone, they seem to remember me. Madness in their eyes. Sin on their souls. They see me, see my eyes, and ask me: “Did you do this?”

“No,” I say. “You all did this to yourselves.”

And with one final choking twist, I grasp the writhing malice deep within them. No less intense than that which they had directed to others, perhaps even more, but only hidden deep until now, when I pull.

They start arguing. Over me, over the power I must have, over my share of the inheritance that has only grown and grown. They each want me for themselves, but not as their child. As their thing.

I watch with empty eyes as they grow more aggressive. My father grabs the nearest sharp object, a three-pronged candelabra empty of candles, and my mother, eyes wide, pulls a blade from her sleeve.

There is red. Both fall. The malice fades away, and finally, finally, I feel nothing. No more writhing malintent, lurking and waiting to strike.

It was so easy.

I rise from where I’m seated. I step over the bodies, not managing to avoid stepping into the pool of blood.

I step into the courtyard, into the garden, and I kneel before the acanthus flowers.

There is nothing left here. But I… I close my eyes. I feel the power within me, the potential awaiting actualization.

I reach for it. Let it envelop me. Let it consume all that I was, and I—

I am Malice.

See also: Malice's TH Page

Folders: Edeia | Adopts | Commissions

The Edeia are an original species of mine.

They are manifestations of abstract concepts that have magical abilities based on their Idea.

I have a group for them:

See also: Info | Open Adopts | Masterlist | Discord Server | Edeia ToS

Procreate

My Projects:

Commission Info Twitter | Tumblr | SoundCloud | Youtube | Artfight Profile | Toyhou.se