you collect scars because you want proof you're paying for whatever sins you've committed
Mournfully the little townhouse rumbles, restless in its slumber just as its owner was. Castalla thrashed wildly in her sleep, tossing and turning, reaching and kicking. Beneath closed lids her eyes rolled madly, her face the picture of horror as she fought the nightmare.
Catapulted awake her body convulsed as she oculars snapped open, her eyes that of a predator as they searched the shadows for any sign of the threats that consumed her sleeping moments. The sheets were ripped, torn to shreds by the clawed paws that replaced her hooves, her body coated in a thin film of sweat as her chest rose and fell rapidly with ragged breaths. Images still swirled before her eyes, the ghosts of her nightmare still haunting her. The Tyrant King cackled, his dagger rising up, up, up. And then it was Adrian, a sneer on his face and the dagger already coated with Skender’s blood. Still sucking air thirstily into her lungs she blinked to clear the visions, hating the way her body shook as she forced her paws to phase back into hooves.
Moonlight streamed through the crack in her curtains, chasing away a small shaft of the darkness. Knees still quivering Castalla untangled her body from the damp sheets, focusing on the feel of the cool wood beneath her hooves and the cold night’s breath as she slipped between gossamer curtains to stand on the small balcony. Denocte stretched out beneath her, bathed in silver and dancing with the flames of the lanterns that constantly illuminated the picturesque streets. The moon was high, the deep of night nigh and the city slept soundly, unperturbed by the Wolf’s haunted gaze as she watched it.
Discontent with simply observing and desperate for the freedom the open streets promised, Castalla left her abode, a silent predator in the night as she paced the cobbled roads agitatedly. Drawing in a deep breath the air was freezing as it filled her lungs but she relished the discomfort of it, attaching to anything that swept away the scenes that lingered. She could still feel that dagger, the hot trickle of blood over her skin and the taste of bile in her throat. Sighing heavily the warrior took the wide street to the training pavilion, deciding the familiar ache of her muscles was a better reprieve than the toxic burn of alcohol. The latter would likely only make her feel worse.
She stares out at the moon through her window, but her thoughts are somewhere else. They're reliving the past season and all that has changed. Not only has the cold air and the snow come and gone, but there were many who also came and gone. Isra, Eik, their daughter Avesta and then Michael all went away on a voyage at sea. How lame.
Morrighan has found some comfort during her times with Al'Zahra. Although she's still wrestling with her emotions, her feelings are too strong to ignore. She's fallen pretty hard for the woman and, judging from how she'll frequent Denocte, she wonders if Zahra has too. Either way, there's a kind of fiery chemistry she can't get enough of. It makes her want to be closer and causes her to feel sad when they're not together. It's kind of pathetic the more she thinks about it, but it's nothing she can push away. The emotions are too strong.
Is this what being in love is?
The word stings a little. She always scoffed at the couples that she saw in passing. They always seemed disgustingly obsessed with each other and fake happy, but now… now she's not so sure.
A movement brings her out of her thoughts. It's someone leaving their home to head out onto the streets. Her eyes narrow as she carefully watches them go. Morr's insomnia is nothing new, but typically she's the only one up at this particular hour. They also don't seem familiar, so she decides to follow them. One could never be too careful anymore.
When Morr opens the door, she's immediately greeted by unexpected cold air. Apparently winter hasn't completely left the night. It doesn't bother her too much being a child of fire. It has a way of keeping her body temperature up, so she feels quite comfortable. The other equine, however, seems to have a strange gate about them. Since they're facing away from Morr, she can't see their expression so it's harder to tell why they're acting this way. But instead of hiding in the shadows and waiting, she decides to go ahead and make her presence known.
"Can't sleep either?" she asks, picking up her pace to be in step with the other. They seem familiar, like she's seen them in the markets before, but they're no one she's had a chance to speak to. They look almost like a warrior and this makes her feel even more suspicious about why they're going out tonight.
Unbeknownst to both mares, as they watched and wandered the moonlit streets, their thoughts took a similar turn. It was nights like these when love seemed little more than a fantasy to Castalla; so desperately, impossibly far from grasp. It was a gift given to those whose souls were not stained so irrevocably with the blood and death of others, whose histories were not sewn with the seeds of their own destruction. Love was but a chance and Castalla had already had hers.
Lost in the mire of her own transgressions, caged in the images swirling before her mind’s eye, Castalla did not notice tan and ivory mare until a voice permeated the winter night’s frigid breath. In that moment when the faces of her enemies haunted her visions she could not help but whirl around to face the other, alarm sending her adrenalin spiking as instinct took over. She half expected Adrian to behind her, his skull crushed and blood leaking from his head and throat- an unholy ghost. But upon spying an unfamiliar face Castalla caught herself, slowing her turn and letting her shoulders fall- in defeat or relief, she cannot say.
“My apologies.” She offers, uncharacteristically meek. Rarely did the assassin allow her nature to bely her conscience and control, but at times like these it was difficult to tell reality apart from the nightmares. It was thanks to her training that she could lash out and defend herself before she knew who from- and thanks to training that she could stop herself from doing so.
“Yeah.” The single word is accompanied by an empty laugh, her breath forming a cloud of pale mist in the air. She hadn’t been able to get a full night’s sleep in many years. “But I suppose this the best Court not to be able to sleep in.” A wry smile creeps along her lips, though it fails to reach her eyes. “I’m Castalla,” the wolf offered, giving the fireborne mare a side long glance. “I was heading for the training pavilion if you want to join?” Though Castalla wondered what kept this woman awake too, she gave her the privacy of not asking. Castalla longed for someone who understood the burdens she carried, even if she wouldn’t wish it on anyone. And yet she was always so reluctant to shine light on the skeletons in her closet and the spectres that haunted her every breath. The Wolf doubted there was anyone who had led a life like hers, but she was not conceited enough to think she was the only person in the world suffering beneath the weight of their past.
It seems Morrighan has startled the mare as she comes up behind her. Not sure whether she will lash out, she's about to ready her fire, but relaxes when she hears an apology. At least for now, there's nothing to fight and she can lower her weapon.
Insomnia appears to be their unwanted mutual friend. However, the woman is right, this is practically a Court for insomniacs with Caligo and their connection to the moon. She can't remember ever feeling as alive during the day as she does at night. It's as if the nightfall and moonlight fuel her fire more than the sun.
"You've got that right," she replies with the faintest of smiles on her face- or maybe it's a trick of the shadows.
Castalla, she says, a name still vaguely familiar. Perhaps she's heard Isra or Antiope mention her in passing. For now she seems okay and not like an idiot, so Morr will give her a chance. She nods, watching her breath turn to mist in front of her. "Morrighan." She oddly doesn't bother with her title, either from laziness or the assumption that Castalla would already know of the Warden.
The invitation is a bit unexpected, but she finds herself agreeing to it. After all, if they both couldn't sleep, why not do something productive? "Sure," she says and continues on beside the woman.
"I take it you're a soldier? How long have you been here?" Morrighan asks, surprised by her own willingness to engage in small talk. Maybe she really was tired and delirious.
war does not decide who's right it decides who's left
Despite her prolonged issues with insomnia, there was something about the night that sung the song of her soul. The moon called to her heart, to her wolf from its blanket of ebony amid the sparkling stars. Though amongst the shadows were her darkest moments, beneath the light of the moon she also felt most alive. It brought her memories the forest floor beneath her paws, the trees blurring as she races through them, of listening to her father’s orchestra from a cavern behind a waterfall stained with silver light.
Morrighan- a woman of fire and fight, or so Castalla’s sources had told her. In the absence of her concentration the Wolf had not identified her on site. Inwardly she curses herself but the corner of her mouth curves up in a slight smile. “It’s a pleasure,” she offers though the wryness in her voice suggests she wishes it were under different circumstances.
Soldier. The word sat oddly with her. All her life she’d been a pivotal power in Alanaris, revered and feared and always known. Being a soldier, being another cog in the wheel where her face was unknown, her name just a name- it would take some getting used to. And the Wolf had yet to decide whether she preferred it, the anonymity and lack of responsibility that came with simply following order. Though doing what she was told was not exactly the woman’s forte.
”Yeah, and about a couple of months now. Were you a soldier before you became Warden?” Castalla was glad for the distraction of her thoughts, appreciating the other woman’s presence despite being practically strangers.
It feels so uncharacteristic of her to be so calm towards this woman. Granted, she's not as dimwitted as many others she runs into. Morrighan has no reason to treat her that way. It's almost a sigh of relief to finally meet another who has a good head on their shoulders -- is this what making friends feels like?
Castalla mentions she's a fairly new soldier, which would explain why Morr doesn't know her too well. "Yes," she answers the mare's question, recounting just how many years of her life she's known nothing but fiery combat. "For a while, actually. Since long before I came to Novus."
There had been a time where her magic almost failed her and she felt useless to her kingdom for not being a worthy fighter. Once she was able to really hone in on her abilities and prove everyone wrong, it had been a relief. The power felt exhilarating. Even though her magic is not nearly as strong as it had been then, it's still something she holds dear to her. War is in her veins just as her fire flares inside her heart.
"Were you born here? In Novus?" she asks, once again surprising herself at the small talk. There have been others she's met that were from other worlds, so it's no longer as far-fetched as she once thought. Still, part of her is always wondering if she'll ever come across another from Ourania, or someone who has heard of it.
She stares out at the moon through her window, but her thoughts are somewhere else. They're reliving the past season and all that has changed. Not only has the cold air and the snow come and gone, but there were many who also came and gone. Isra, Eik, their daughter Avesta and then Michael all went away on a voyage at sea. How lame.