and who cares if i'm coming back alive
so what, at least i had the strength to fight
too much, too much, too much, too much
is never enough
Far far below her, Dusk breathes to life; a sleeping dragon that awoke from the slumber of grey winter, under the fading light of the sun above. She soars through the icy winds that were chased along the waves of the sea; each swoop of her wings cocooning her in snowfall and clouds. The sky was an uncommon riot of color with the promise of spring, all deep umber and violet and shocks of red as bright as the blood in her veins. She revels in the heavens as she flies; the tickle of frost on her feathers a most welcome bite of cold, and the kiss of sea spray on her legs cool against her burning skin. The stormsinger whirls, tucking her wings in close, as if she can paint the skies herself with the paintbrush of her mane, before her wingspan snaps open and she ascends the great cliff face of Terrastella.
Bonfires flicker to life along the edge of the world, reaching skywards in licks of flame and woodsmoke and cinnamon. Her nostrils flare with each hidden undertone that fills her lungs as she circles the revelry below. Spices and sugar and drink, and the sweet perfume of pine and snow. The strong salt and brine wind from the sea at her back. Each inhale brings with it a new sensation, and with it, a twist of emotion akin to hurricanes. This land is not as foreign to her now as she once believed. For these cliffs, these hidden alabaster stones beneath the snow.. they have tasted her tears, her sorrow, her anguish. They are no stranger to her own regrets, her nightmares, her betrayal.
And once again, she has returned to these same stones. No matter how hard she tries.. she cannot stay away. A ribbon has been tied around her heart, tugging, relentless — a pull that draws her here. Again and again.
Her hooves dance along the earth as she lands in a flurry of snow that swirls around her legs and tosses the fine threads of her mane. Crystals cling to her as she stills — a breathing star map beneath the discord of colors staining the sky above her. Under the setting sun, she is so so alive. For every second that her heart still beats, the darkness of her goddess grows. A gathering of shadows and stardust and ink that steadily claim the heavens in splotches, like a spilled pot of paint over a canvas. And with it.. the waking of stars.
Too long had she been away from her kingdom of stars and smoke; but also, not away long enough. She is a gypsy, after all; a wandering heart, a nomadic soul. Unbound by physical boundaries and forever a tempest to the breeze that calls her next adventure. But she did not leave her homeland for mere adventure or whim; but something that struck a seed of darkness far inside her. A pain that gnawed and cleaved her open. A raw kind of agony who wears a crown of stars and writhes in shadows and smoke. A man who's skin is kissed by the very same darkness she holds dear; no matter the havoc that has been caused in its wake.
The Rahilah Maiden, and stormsinger to the Court of Dreams, did not run from her kingdom because a phantom wind sang to her in lullabies. The storm in her has taken root; a monster slowly clawing at her insides, threatening, more prevalent with each passing day. In her time away, she realized that the demon might have a name; but she dared not breath life to such things, although the thought never left her. Once upon a time, each breath that graced her lips was his name; each heartbeat was the whisper of his kiss on her wing. She believed that there was a string of fate that tied them together; for she had seen all the signs. She had left for a reason; the linger of her broken heart still kindling deep in her chest. A ghostly pain that shattered with the beats of the organ, like a sword of starlight twisting in between the curves of her ribs. And suddenly, she realized that maybe her demons were all one and the same.
Her pain is a manifested beast; a shadow that not even her beloved goddess could make clear. At the earth's edge, she hangs over the balance of falling into the sea, like she had once done many moons ago. The rush is her escape, a temporary release that fights the darkness rooted in her core. Instead of tumbling, she waits, her gaze on the ascension of the moon as darkness falls. As the stars begin to glimmer, Calligo holds her stormchild close; wrapping her in a blanket of shadows as stardust begins to fall, clinging to her skin. The deep ebony of her coat brings out the gauze of silver that twinkles along her lithe frame, and suddenly, she has become a breathing night sky. A true Child of the Night, and daughter of darkness. And only when the stardust follows her, bringing with it a comfort of her goddess's blessing — despite her faults — does Aislinn melt into the festival.
Her legs pull her elsewhere, through the crowds of party goers that pulse at her sides and lounge on the pillows overlooking the sea. Heat sends shivers along her spine where she walks too close to the pyres, only to glaze over with frost as she steps further from light's embrace. The night sings to her, calls to her, in a way that the sun could never touch. Aislinn is too much a mistress of war, too much a tempest of the secrets that come out to play when Calligo takes over the skies. She thinks of this comfort as she moves like a wraith, until her gaze falls on a familiar figure. A man who embodies the stars and shadows and smoke that felled their skies.
She did not come back entirely empty handed.
The storm in her cracks and sizzles; lightning lacing in her blood and the bright blue of her eyes are gemstones that shine in the dark. Each step draws her closer and closer, until all at once, she stops, the coins at her neck tinkling softly at the movement. Inhaling, she raises her chin, as her lips form the name that has haunted her for too long. The same name that also brings with it a salvation that she cannot begin to understand. Her voice is a whisper of thunder and words left unsaid as she remembers to breathe.
"Reichenbach."
@reichenbach -screams- ahhh i'm too excited omg here you go babe ♡ ps. this turned into a book, I wasn't planning on this imsosorryitssolongpleaseforgiveme D: "Aislinn speech."
For the first time in his life, Reichenbach wished the night would end.
Either that, or swallow him completely and be done with it. Remove the last Rommel from the earth and all stains of his father and mother with it. Alas, he was here representing a Court and... truth be told he wasn't ready to go back to Denocte, not with so many words running through his head, his skin near to bursting with the torrent inside. He'd found his own space near a bonfire, near enough to other groups that he would not be conspicuous, but not close enough to engage in conversation — indeed any that ventured too close were warned away with snaking shadows and deadly eyes. He wasn't entirely sure if staying was to punish himself or save himself — the longer he stayed the deeper his mind delved into too-real flaws, but to leave would be to accept the events of the Festival, make them real.
A murmuring thickened the air around him, the whisper of a hurricane brought home. He could see others looking upward, feel the excitement thrumming from woman and man alike as something caught their attention — someone beautiful no doubt, blessing the party with their presence. It's more than that, said the voice of reason, but Reichenbach turned his back on it, not interested in lightening the darkness of his own troubles. Was it over? Did tonight mean that Florentine no longer... no longer loved him? No longer wanted to be with him? He'd said some terrible things in the heat of the moment.
Curses and black words filled his head but stayed behind his lips, a little of the vibrancy he carried winking out quietly. That silence that was not silence shifted closer, and he knew who would speak before the sound of her voice coiled around his gold ringed ear. Aislinn. The bleakness within him turns, momentarily, to hope. Aislinn Stormsinger, a woman made of storms — perhaps the only woman aside from Rhoswen that truly knew what chaos lay beneath his dark skin.
But he had damned her, too. Not so long ago in a fragile time.
Was it to be two heartbreaks tonight, then?
He turned, shadows hovering uncertainly about him, as if unsure what they made of the woman who bled Calligo into the sky. The bonfire scattered light over his mahogany skin, casting him half in shadow and in flickering orange light. He simultaneously wanted to embrace her and turn away from her, knowing too well that she was to be his discipline tonight, that she would not waste time on paltry words of comfort.
"You're home.."
He began, unable to hide the relief and remedy that she had unknowingly brought with her. Too soon to say the dreaded words, to begin the dreaded conversation that lingered crookedly over his every word and movement.
"How was...?"
The Night King did not want to say funeral, not when he felt the presence of his own not so far away. There was so much to tell her — the appearance of his shadows and the sense of deeper magic, the status of inter-court relations and the secrets gathered, Florentine... Isorath.... Lysander. Rage echoed within him, strong and true, glinting in the corners of his long lashed eyes. Reich turned those eyes to his Champion, offering a strained smile.
and who cares if i'm coming back alive
so what, at least i had the strength to fight
too much, too much, too much, too much
is never enough
There is a hairsbreadth of a moment where she feels the same bliss of that summer night again; with the roar of thunder chasing across the angry sea and the crack of lightning showering from the heavens. A moment between breaths where her lungs pause, and her heart remembers another night laid under an ocean of stars. But this one.. this one is the high of touching the sky with outstretched fingers, and a kiss planted on a wounded wing. This memory is the hope that sings lullabies, soft and sweet, before reality twists its ugly blade between her ribs where her heart should be.
She remembers too much, and this is her curse. Her Night King is also the ghost that holds the blade buried in her chest. And now, she watches as he turns, her orbs meeting his own. A small part of her cannot help but be glad to see his familiar face, even if the pain threatens her so. For they share something that cannot be described; save for twin, untame hearts that feel too much and breath carnage on the other half of their coin. But despite this, Reichenbach's words taste like ash in her mouth; she remembers the reasons why she left. She cannot forget. No manner of apology can undo the pain she has endured.. not now, at least. Now, she is a pillar of stone that stands rival against a ruthless sea of rain. It is the battlefield her emotions war in her soul.
He is still the handsome man she had fallen in love with, once upon a time. But he is also the assassin who struck her, cleaving her swollen heart into pieces.
You're home..
"For now." The words leave her as quick as a dagger in darkness — cold and brutal. Her plea to the Dusk Queen, her new friend, still lingers on her lips. The spring goddess's pain is equal to her own, and their sister hearts share a cavity of havoc whose eyes meet her own now. Reichenbach is many things; a lover, a gypsy, a warrior, and a king. And his hands have not only crushed her heart in the fists of his shadowed grip, but now her beloved friend's. She cannot stay silent.. and her storm answers so, with the expanse of an ocean laid with darkness and stars between them growing more and more.
How was..?
"Don't," she interrupts, "you do not get to ask me how I've been after all this time." Her words are even, but wrought with chaos — like the hush of quiet before a star dies. She is fatally calm, despite the electricity that sizzles deep in her muscles like a beast chomping on it's chains. Memories flood her in glimpses like swords of lightning flashing across her eyes; his kiss on Florentine's cheek as she stood nearly broken at the sight of them; his proclamation of love for another, although he played her own heart like a drum. Then Florentine's embrace, as their weeping hearts bled onto the snow at their ankles in unspilled tears. He made her out to be a fool; had made Florentine — sweet, brave Florentine — a fool. Damn him for it, and the allure of Night's embrace that once ensnared them both.
I'm glad you're back, Aislinn.
The smile that strains at the corners of his black lips is tainted, and she knows it as much as he. She notes the darkness that curls beneath his skin, well hidden, but there nonetheless. Be it rage or uncertainty or anguish, she does not falter to think of it. Her own broken heart bleeds — just as it had since summertide. I'm in love with.. No. His words do not bruise her anymore. Because now.. now, she stands before him. Not only for herself, but for her flower queen, and for every heart that might taste his sweetness and be shattered by his wildness. For she knows the price of a gypsy soul all too well.
She notes the strange magic to him that she cannot deny; akin to the storm that builds in her bones and blood. A violence wrecks inside her as the symphony of her emotions roil. The bonfire showers unwanted heat on her skin, and she is sweltering beneath it's orange glare. Under the flickering light, the Champion wars with her own desires. Her relief to be home is a truthful one, but with it, the demon in her claws. There is a price to be paid for her return, and it begins and ends with him, in this very moment.
"I have been asking myself why since that night at the mountain temple," she breathes, her words full of ruin and a wickedness that stirs hurricanes from quiet slumber. "What in the hell were you thinking, Reich?" Not 'my King'. Not 'Your Grace'. No titles will be born on her lips, for her rage has tumbled over. The shreds of her long held anger and sorrow spark — a flame that kindles and burns brighter than any sun. And in the shadows that cast from the fury that shines in her blue eyes, Calligo grasps her closer. Aislinn is a storm barely constrained in the black silk of her frame; her emotions swirling dangerously, intimately. Ever word left unsaid, every wish made on the stars of her tears, and the pain left in Reichenbach's wake have now built into a crescendo.
Months have passed and she had said nothing. Months have passed and she still served him; a loyal protector of her kingdom and his Court. Months have passed while she wallowed with a cleaved heart beating in her chest. And still.. she said nothing. She did nothing. If her time away from Court had taught her anything, besides the gift bestowed upon her by Calligo, it was to speak before it was too late.
Too late had gone and passed long ago.
Murmurs of snow whisper along her burning skin and toss stray strands of her mane. She can hear the hush of voices around the crackling fire as her temper begins to flare, but she ignores it. Let them see the stormsinger for who she is — a woman who is not afraid of any man, not even a man she once loved, not even man who is also her king. A muscle twitches in her upper lip. For she can feel, with an unmatched hyper focus, the thunder that begins to roar in her blood. But Aislinn does not back down. Instead, her gaze bores into her king's. Where once, the liquid silver of his eyes made clear the shadows that kissed her skin, now.. her knees do not shake, her spine does not waver from nervous shivers.
Aislinn is a beacon of hurricanes, and the brightest blue of her gaze is a mirror of that fact. Her irises swirl with the lightning that laces her blood; her heart racing. "You broke my heart." The words are fire and ice on her tongue, clipped and seething under the facade of self-control. Daring, Aislinn steps closer to the shadows that writhe along the mahogany of his skin; the firelight catching the planes of his face in the moonlight that begins to shine. She needs to see his face, and those eyes that her heart once melted for, and now, they are the eyes she meets without waver.
They are dangerously close, and the swirl of storm in her center is near its breaking peak.. so so close to tipping over and unleashing a hell of lightning and rain. He deserves her rage; deserves every ounce of unleashed poison to shower down upon him in reality. For her king has hurt her, and now Florentine, and Aislinn will not stand to let his wildness latch onto another soul with no query or consequence. She thinks of this, as she steps into his shadows, and the dark of him encompasses the stardust that shimmers along her skin in silver.
That gauze of stars is the only beautiful part of her in this moment, as her mouth curves into a strained whisper of promised chaos. "How dare you. Just because you are king, does not mean that my feelings — Florentine's feelings — mean nothing. When will you answer for what you've done?"
The words cut through him like ice, a threat or a promise, a warning.
He took all her words in silence, all her accusations like sandpaper as she rubbed on an already raw temper. True, he was a King. The choice of his people had made him that — but he was still just a man, as capable of making mistakes as any other being in this gods-damned world. He'd known she was suffering for his choice, had known but gods be damned he had made that choice to ease her heartbreak. He had stood within the Temple trembling to take her, to kiss the storm humming over her wings and to provide everything she so desperately wanted from him — but he hadn't.
For her sake, for Florentines.
He'd given himself one kiss.
He hadn't built a life with her, had not professed his undying love or took her hand and promised her the world. He had tried to follow what advice Iscariot would have given him — kind, understanding Iscariot, the man whom had taken in a hard-eyed orphan boy without question. Save her the pain, Reich, he would have said, You have to tell her before things get out of hand.
He'd been damned all the same.
Nobodies heart is as fickle as yours, said the girl who was already in love with another man, said the Queen who posed desirous looks at an old friend. They were right, of course. He had fallen for Aislinn after one mesmerising evening, had not been able to stop thinking about her as if she were a brand upon his soul — even now there was a part of him that could see a future of storm and song, star and shadow. He loved too freely, stranded amongst too many emotions and too few boundaries.
Florentine, too, he had fallen for even while he was lost amongst the storms and stars of his warrior girl. There was a difference between he and Aislinn, though. She was straight and true, and he as crooked as they came. With Florentine, their paths had been so labyrinthian and twisted that he'd felt a kinship — they both loved fiercely, leaping into every emotion with abandon. Their love had been doomed from it's very beginning, no doubt.
Aislinn stepped closer, and Reichenbach straightened slightly, silver eyes bright amongst their thicket of black lashes. She is swallowed by shadows, turned from argent star to midnight murderer, a coldness emanating from her that had not been there before. If she had not been raised so righteous, she would have made an excellent Crow — but perhaps that was why he needed her, that difference between them keeping his toes above the darkness.
"What would you have me do, Aislinn? Tell me. If you loved another, would you remain with your chosen? Or would you tell them of your traitorous heart and release them before further harm comes to them? Or do you presume to tell me how I should love, and who? Are you now the judge of sinners and heartbreak, the deity that decides atonement?"
He cast the words at her without any real venom, looking away in frustration at the fire. Did she think he was evil? Did Aislinn truly lay blame only to him and no other? He hadn't realised her hatred of him ran so deep. Reichenbach began to feel an inkling of the hurt his Caligo had felt, when her family had turned their backs upon her.
Because for an orphan boy with little concern for titles, Reichenbach held his Court as his family — and Aislinn was an integral part of that family.
@Aislinn ugh sorry this is awful I didn't know where to go with it and it just kind of flopped at the end, sorry lovely!
and who cares if i'm coming back alive
so what, at least i had the strength to fight
too much, too much, too much, too much
is never enough
They are the night's children, amidst the snow that falls and the firelight that dances along the dark of their skins. In their closeness, she is a hurricane's waves crashing against the walls of her body. Breaking, bleeding, bursting. And in the shadows that flirt with the deep mahogany of his frame, Aislinn has become a shining star swallowed in the black hole of his darkness. The stardust that had followed her, hugged her, and cloaked her in silver is now extinguished in the vibrating air that burns between them. And she doesn't care.. she welcomes it.
She had never been afraid of the dark.
Now, Aislinn did not realize how much more she would have rather him equal her rage with his own. After all, she was a stormsinger, a warrior, a guardian, a soldier. She craved bloodshed and bruised knuckles and sweat stinging her eyes. Aislinn needed more, and his silence only coaxed the storm inside her to build and build and build. Further she climbed, and swirled, and wrecked havoc on her soul. The walls of her skin would burst with the hurricane that churned in her center.
And far, far above them, violet billows began to choke the light of the stars as her fury grew and grew. The winds pick up, swirling flurries of ice around her ankles and tossing her mane. They are caught in an invisible funnel, under a building storm. No sounds have rumbled from her throat, save for the silence of her anger and frustration and every tear that has fallen in Reichenbach's name. All she needed was to hum, to sing, to rasp a few notes from the deep of her throat. Even in the dark contrast of night and firelight that encompasses them, the bruised clouds churn dangerously above them. Deep and wonderful and wickedly chaotic. Much like the bright blue of her gaze as she blinks upwards at him through a thick of lashes. A knowing look, one of both beauty and a wildness and a once-love that scorned her.
Her revenge sits on her lips, waiting waiting waiting for release. For thunder to roar in answer to the sobs she had wracked on these same cliffs not moons before. All she needs is a cause.
He finally answers her, and his words break the dam of her self-control.
"Your traitorous heart is an arrow that has pierced many, and you have never once picked up the pieces of the harm you've caused," she seethes, her breath hot through her nostrils, steaming. A musical hum burns in the back of her throat, a welcome rasp that deepens the sky above where they stand. Thunder claps in the clouds that hide Calligo's stars; deafening and an equal match to her blind anger. The lightning that sizzles beneath her skin is like a sweet, sweet drug. Her storm builds, as her gaze locks onto his. Her orbs are blue fires that meet the silver of Reichenbach's. How once, those pools of liquid silver stars made her heart swell.. but now, they are perfect targets for her rage.
Rough winds tangle her hair across the curve of her neck, her face, but still, she doesn't break contact with his eyes. If only he could see.. truly see the pain that he had caused. Not only for herself, but for Florentine, and potentially any other that would fall to the whim of the King of Stars and Smoke. Rain drops slowly fall as the sky opens, kissing her skin in icy pricks that she swear could steam against the heat of her skin. Her lips crack open in a snarl, untamed as another roll of thunder roars. "Will you ever sit back and pick up the pieces of the damage you've created? You are a king, and yet you have treated us like we are no more than playthings."
Aislinn is blind to her anguish, her sorrow; long kept in the cage of her ribs where her broken heart lay mended with twilight strings. Her chin raises, and they are so so close; close enough to share breath. His shadows hold her, drowning her stardust but not her storm. Her hurricane is the mistress of their fates now. And Calligo damn her if she wasn't careful now.
But she would not be careful, not with him, not now. Just as he was not careful when she had offered her heart to him on a silver platter under Calligo's sea of stars. "Answer me, Reichenbach," Aislinn demands, her breaths shallow. Violent. "Or do the people who have loved you mean nothing to you now?"
@reichenbach no worries darling ♡ and here, have a temperamental Ash xD "Aislinn speech."
Her rage was a beautiful thing — and at any other time, Reichenbach would have marvelled at it, cheered it on as he watched whatever poor soul was on the receiving end of her thunder... but this time it was him, and The Night King had a temper to match, even surpass, the stormsinger before him. He could feel it catching with each breath, a red film that coated his lungs, his throat, his vast heart.
"you have never once picked up the pieces of the harm you've caused,"
They were too alike, Aislinn and he — proof lay in the man she had fallen for now, a Dusk boy, gentle to her wrath — what Florentine had been to him. They raged and they sang and they danced, they adored bruised fists and bloody lips, couldn't stand to be indoors or in the same place for too long. It was true, Aislinn was more noble than the King of Thieves, possibly had more purpose than he... and had a noticeably more loyal heart. It only served to anger him further, her righteousness.
Perhaps the most frustrating thing, the thing that turned his breath to flame and set his shadows writhing, was the fact that he had no idea how to pick up the pieces she asked for him to collect. What pieces? For what apology could he say that had not been, or would not be, thrown right back into his face? His bone white teeth glinted in the firelight as he flicked his ears back, seething as she dared say;
"Or do the people who have loved you mean nothing to you now?"
Caligo help him, Aislinn did not know the man before her if she could say such things. Did she not know that he felt every emotion as if it were that hurricane brewing above their heads? That he felt everything deeply — love and guilt possibly more than any of the others.
He snarled, shadows enveloping them both, bringing the scent of jasmine and woodsmoke, the tang of magic brewing. His own magic was responding to hers, excited as it swelled and pushed against his resolve — after what had happened with Florentine, he wasn't going to risk releasing the dark magic against his Champion of Battle. Reichenbach felt his chest go tight, tight, tight;
"You know that is a foul thing to say,"
He spat, infuriated — how did you say sorry to someone whose heart you broke? "Oh apologies for falling out of love with you, that was a terrible thing to do." Right.
"I don't know what answers you seek, Aislinn, but know this — I have loved, and continue to love, all of my family. I love Florentine, still. I love you — I always will. But I am not in love with you, or Florentine, or even Gods damned Swallow."
The name sent a hot flush through him, he'd not thought about her for so long. He recovered himself swiftly though, eyes flashing as his thunderous voice filled the shadowy air.
"I will atone — but will you? It is easy enough to point fingers and blame, Aislinn, but you loved me then, after weeks. I never offered you a life together, I never even gods-damned kissed your lips. And how long did it take you to find Asterion? Your heart is as dangerous and fickle as mine, stormsinger. Don't pretend you're innocent in this."
@Aislinn have a douchey Reich in return haha She can hit him / maim whatever you like at any time also xx
and who cares if i'm coming back alive
so what, at least i had the strength to fight
too much, too much, too much, too much
is never enough
You know that is a foul thing to say.
But yet, she didn’t care. She no longer knew the meaning of careful. Aislinn does not balk at his snarl; her own lips crack into a growl of her own in answer. With her titles stripped clean, she is a temptress. She is not afraid of him, and never has been, nor will she. They are too alike; their anger too unpredictable. Too equally matched. Too much apart of their goddess’ night as the night was apart of them.
They would have destroyed each other, him and her. In the end.
I love you — and I always will. But I am not in love with you, or Florentine, or even Gods damn Swallow.
Once, those three little words were all she wanted to hear. But no more. The fires of her gaze only flare, her own shattered heart swelling. She does not know the other name, yet her own darkness cradles that kernel of knowledge close. For on this night, this moment, she is her heart’s protector. She is Florentine’s guardian. She is even Swallow’s voice. And now, she does not weep for what could have been. Instead, Aislinn is the stormsinger that will stop the man she had loved from hurting another unsuspecting soul. That is all she wanted.. to stop the cycle of heart ache. "Am I supposed to believe that now? How am I supposed to believe you, Reich? After all this time?"
The song of her storm is night eternal; darkness everlasting. Passion and rage unforetold. Calligo’s starry fingers dance along her skin in drumbeats that match the wildness of her heart. The symphony of her wrath only builds and builds, waiting waiting waiting for it’s conductor to break the walls of her self-control. Reichenbach’s shadows only flirt with her own darkness, her own night-kissed skin. She welcomes it, consuming it, for she is no longer a star swallowed in his chaos. Aislinn is the mistress of their fate then; her lips curling into a knowing, cruel smile.
And it is his words that bring the final blow of her crumbling walls. It is the mere mention of her lover, her prince, that drives the shrill notes of her rage’s orchestra to it’s peak.
Don’t pretend you’re innocent in this.
Then, she roars.
The note is shrill. Guttural. Animal. Her neck curves backward as the sound ignites from the back of her throat, and with it, a strike of lightning falls. A sword of shining starlight, the blade of electricity pierces the ground not mere inches from where they stand. She can feel — she can taste — the rawness of her power as it sizzles across her skin. Ivory sparks strike the ground and flare, whipping dangerously with the wilds of her mane as the winds cradle them intimately in her hurricane’s embrace. The skies open up with her fury, screams and shouts of surprise and fear surrounding them, although she does not hear it. Lightning dances in her eyes; her orbs burning brightest blue as they hold on to the silver of his own.
Her gaze does not falter, does not break. A muscle twitches violently in her upper lip. She is the untamed eye of the storm; and he, Reichenbach, her king, was at it’s center. "You can say whatever you want about me, but do not” — thunder claps, deafening — "bring Asterion into this." Aislinn steps back, but not enough to escape his shadows. Icy rain dribbles upon her skin, swallowed by the ebony of her galaxy. "I never said I was innocent in this," she seethes, before her lips part, and at last, she sings. Crying out, ethereal and unreal, as she launches forward, with her teeth bared for the dark of his neck.
There is nothing beautiful about her rage.
@reichenbach ♡ ooh boi. Permission granted for anything (to include hypno-singing, should you wish) except death xD tehe
P.S. please excuse me while I knock off some rust. Other note, she won’t be able to maintain her storm for long, so she’ll have to either force herself to cool down or something after a few minutes ^u^ Or she’ll fall into a restorative sleep, whatever works haha "Aislinn speech."
