These violent delights
have violent ends
have violent ends
The salt of the ocean is still upon her. Dry and crystalline, it gleams like pearl. Above it, across her torso, are her painted sigils. Each time she rises out of the sea, monstrous, beautiful, she lays the white paint upon her skin as it dries. Every sigil whispers of ancient magic. There is a story of her people woven into all the swirls of paint.
The ocean roar fades to a whisper. Like a bonded it rages up across the beaches. Grasping, reaching, crawling its way after the girl it made, the girl it helped drown within its depths. Leto does not look back toward it. Not as the sound of his furious breakers fades to but a whisper. The cliffs of Terrastella are behind her, she has climbed and woven her way between them and only the citadel lies before her, shadowed by the gloaming.
Moonlight bleeds down across her torso. The stars blink awake and turn their white-hot faces to her. Her magic commands them and they obey. They tremble in their expanse of endless black. They rage and they keen. Like the sea.
The swamps groan as she passes them by. Upon the trees are the carvings of her people. The carvings she also made as a star-king beneath the wanton eyes of a once-king. But he had failed her, like they all do.
She reaches the gates of the citadel and lays her wants before the guards:
An audience with the king.
They pause, they are too slow and her lips twist into a terrible, radiant smile. The bells in her hair, the bones, they each toll. A warning, a calamitous warning. “I won’t wait.” And, oh, her star-bright eyes begin to glow. She is part star, after all. And so their fires alight in her blood and across her slim body she begins to glow. It is a warning as the stars above begin to rattle in their celestial places. This kelpie will pull each and every one out of the sky until they let her in.
And they do.
Steaming she moves toward the throne room. For she has known it all before. She has come before Solterran kings and queens, back when her teeth were blunt and clutching herbs and since they have turned wicked sharp holding stars, holding bones and flesh within their grasp; she is now the most monstrous thing within the Terminus Sea.
And when she reaches the throne room doors, when each door is opened for her she stands within their frame and says, softly, “Your Majesty.” And oh how those words snag and bleed upon her canine teeth.
@Liam
The ocean roar fades to a whisper. Like a bonded it rages up across the beaches. Grasping, reaching, crawling its way after the girl it made, the girl it helped drown within its depths. Leto does not look back toward it. Not as the sound of his furious breakers fades to but a whisper. The cliffs of Terrastella are behind her, she has climbed and woven her way between them and only the citadel lies before her, shadowed by the gloaming.
Moonlight bleeds down across her torso. The stars blink awake and turn their white-hot faces to her. Her magic commands them and they obey. They tremble in their expanse of endless black. They rage and they keen. Like the sea.
The swamps groan as she passes them by. Upon the trees are the carvings of her people. The carvings she also made as a star-king beneath the wanton eyes of a once-king. But he had failed her, like they all do.
She reaches the gates of the citadel and lays her wants before the guards:
An audience with the king.
They pause, they are too slow and her lips twist into a terrible, radiant smile. The bells in her hair, the bones, they each toll. A warning, a calamitous warning. “I won’t wait.” And, oh, her star-bright eyes begin to glow. She is part star, after all. And so their fires alight in her blood and across her slim body she begins to glow. It is a warning as the stars above begin to rattle in their celestial places. This kelpie will pull each and every one out of the sky until they let her in.
And they do.
Steaming she moves toward the throne room. For she has known it all before. She has come before Solterran kings and queens, back when her teeth were blunt and clutching herbs and since they have turned wicked sharp holding stars, holding bones and flesh within their grasp; she is now the most monstrous thing within the Terminus Sea.
And when she reaches the throne room doors, when each door is opened for her she stands within their frame and says, softly, “Your Majesty.” And oh how those words snag and bleed upon her canine teeth.
@Liam
