[P] fresh poison each week

[Seraphina]

The Mors, she had learned, were quietest at night.


When it became too dark to read and too confining to wander the ramparts and winding hallways of the Day Court, Seraphina had slipped away from the looming towers of crumbling sandstone and returned to the desert from whence she came like some ghostly, fluttering apparition, a specter of pale silver dancing across the dunes with the grace and single-mindedness of a snake prowling after a rabbit; each step was careful and deliberate, so as not to send her cascading down a ridge in a cloud of gold that would catch and flurry in the starlight, her crown raised to keep her eyes on the seemingly-endless sea of starlight that ran from horizon to horizon. There was comfort in solitude, free of her bonds and duties, and comfort in the simplicity of motions that she had repeated one time, a hundred times before, paths worn from years of patrols, years of guarding, years of mechanical repetition. With choices came the frightening clutch of indecision, a churning emotion that she was oh-so sure that she was beyond, but with orders came guidance, came comfort, came security. (You can never be wrong if it’s never you.)


Her mane tumbled behind her in a plume of snow-white, free of the braids that normally kept it captive; faint, cool wind wound its way through her coat, a pleasant transition from the hellish heat of the day. Behind her, a trail of sand, caught like dust in the rays of light that found their ways through the ornate windows of the court – but, rather, illuminated with soft silver and a bit less airy. She didn’t stop until the Court was far behind her, not even a smudge on the horizon, didn’t stop until a navigator of lesser skill might have lost her way. (But Seraphina knew the stars – for a creature of the day, she always knew the night sky.) She came to a halt on top of a ridge, cool gaze transfixed on the rise and fall of the desaturated, depthless dunes that jagged the horizon like a great line of teeth, but seeing nothing.


@Velorca <3

[Velorca]

glitter and gold is the man in the chair
rings on his fingers, and a hardened harsh stare

---

LANGUAGE WARNING

Lorca rarely left the Keep, preferring to spend his time on silk sheets and wrapped in gold rather than out in the hot desert sand. Yet he was so irritated tonight that he left the stones and their tap, tap, tap in exchange for the silence of the sand, slipping out into the desert like a silver serpent. It was getting harder to be lazy around this damn Court, everyone was up in a flurry following orders as if Maxence was one of their own. Ha. A foreign commander leading Solterra. Who would have thought Avdotya would have followed him. The idea set his plump lip curling into a sneer - she had murdered the last Solterran King, why did she hesitate at this one? 

If there was one nice thing Velorca could say about their new Sovereign it was this: he was not Zolin. He didn't cover himself in jewels and gold, dressed up like some pompous asshole as he ordered everyone around. No. Maxence was at the other end of the spectrum - he cared for warriors and warriors only.

So far Lorca hadn't met anyone of the same opinion, but with upcoming war that Maxence had provoked, he was certain there would be some discontent. Why start a fucking war over nothing? Did that mean nobody could leave Solterra without this new King (the word sent disgust shuddering down his slick spine) clapping them in irons? Did nobody see the injustice of it?

Injustice. He scoffed. It was a malleable word.

His golden gaze stopped upon a dainty woman, looking her over with disinterest underneath the starry sky. He made to take another path but paused - perhaps meeting others of the court would be advantageous. Besides, the woman was the Champion of whatever - he remembered her from the meeting. 

"Going somewhere? You know if you leave Maxence will just clap you in chains and drag you right back."

---

@Seraphina

[Seraphina]

It seemed that her peace was not meant to last.

At the sound of hooves in the sand, she turned, mismatched eyes creeping apathetically over the delicate creature approaching her; it was that perhaps ornamental man that she’d noticed in the last gathering. She racked her brain for anything that she knew about him. They’d never actually met, though she did seem to recall that he had been around for a while – and he was one of the sages, wasn’t he? Seraphina didn’t know his name, but she was relatively sure of his profession. She had caught sight of him in the Keep from time to time as she went about her duties, draped across heaps of silken fabric. She supposed that lovely things suited a lovely creature, and he certainly was a lovely creature, with a coat that gleamed like precious metals, long, dark tresses, and eyes of pure gold. He could put the starlit desert sky to shame, if it weren’t for the look of displeasure constantly etched across his elegant features…

Her expression did not shift when she perceived the venom in his smooth intonation, nor the harsh implications of his words. “It would do him little good to lock up his Emissary,” She replied, without missing a beat, voice bleeding the dialect of Day - no trace of a foreign tongue here. (She noted that his voice reminded her of Avdotya's, colored with that intonation that is not-quite the Day Court proper. What is it? Where are they from?) “And what about you? Should I expect to wake up tomorrow morning and discover another prisoner in the dungeons?” Seraphina would be lying if she were to say that she didn’t harbor any anger towards Maxence for capturing Rostislav, especially considering that he hadn’t bothered to inform her of his plans beforehand. This was the sort of action that could lead to war without proper diplomatic intervention, and they were in no position to fight one right now – drained of resources and void of allies. She feared that the Day Court would find itself embroiled in yet another conflict that it wouldn’t see the end of; the thought of death or failure (often two and the same) had never particularly bothered her as a Warrior, but now her job was peace, alliance, to steer the court free of such rash actions. The realization that she may very well have failed so early on had hit her like cold water, and she was left with an itching sensation whenever she thought about it, like ants crawling beneath the skin.

Her chief concern was not particularly with the righteousness or the justice of Maxence’s actions; it mattered little to her now. Past actions could not be changed, so she had to keep her eyes on the horizon-

As ever.


@Velorca <3