Did you forget your own words? Aislinn snarls against the weight of him, staring down bloody rubies with wicked fires of blue. Let him mock her. Let him think he has won. Her heart roars because of it, maddening and wild. Still, she pushes, straining to stand without breaking her gaze. It’s not safe to be alone with me. Like hell. Her mouth only cracks into her wretched song; a symphony of chaos that is unlike the poetry of ballads, but more akin to a banshee’s shriek. Bringing Death in her wake. The notes are the screams of hurricanes and winds that dare to ravage earth, wind, and sea. And the heavens open up in answer, splitting at their stormsinger’s call. She didn’t even blink as light showered down upon them in swords of electric flame. The lightning strikes against the snow in angry shocks, sparking in shining embers of ivory that send jolts down the length of her spine. But too late she knows the consequences of her song — too late until her own blood bubbles without abandon. Of her own undoing. In that moment between breaths, between heartbeats, the sky ignites and blots out all color, save for the brilliance of white blinds her. The power of her beloved storms — her beloved lightning — is the untamed mistress that shoots through the damp soil, seeping into the wet snow and sweat-stained skin. Aislinn bites down on her lips, denying herself the scream of her own agony. Copper wells behind her clenched teeth, shuddering with each wave of fire that overrides every nerve. From skin to muscle to tendon to bone. She had only been minimally spared from her onslaught; and the thought alone of the Warden’s torment curls her closed lips. The stormsinger sucks in a sharp breath through her nostrils; nearly hysterically laughing at the cruelty of it all. He hadn’t even begun. Aislinn’s orbs flicker with satisfaction. She spits blood onto the snow that separates them, marring the ivory sea with red. "That was for Rostislav. Want some more?" she cooes. YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT IN YOU, STORMSINGER? She only smirks in answer. Aislinn’s ears were ringing, singed with noise and the palpable anger that ripples off of the Warden. Her legs slip on the snow, muscles trembling with a newfound weakness wrecked from the shocks that jolt her bones. Yet, her eyes harden into slits, flirtatious with her dance with Death itself. She would not break. Not while he stood there, the perfect target of her chaos, of her crafted rage. He would be the pedestal from which she will enact every bite of her sun-drenched hatred. Every wrong doing done upon her, upon her people. Her throat hums as the light is swallowed by the bruising of clouds. Thunder rolls to her beck and call, drowning the surge of her heart in her ears. Let’s see you — She would not break. The Champion struggles beneath his weight, cold dripping into her bones when there is only fire in her veins. Aislinn watches him, daring him, her weight shifting as she attempts to stand. His third eye captures her, leaving her cleaved and naked under its gaze. Her soul writhing beneath its stare. It takes every part of her to tear her eyes away.. only to watch as his hooves begin to rise. Her lungs lurch with the intent plainly written across his face. — command the heavens — She would not break. He would not take Calligo’s stars from her. Aislinn couldn’t stop as hooves the size of boulders strike downwards, falling like meteors to the earth. And the Beast is aiming at her vulnerable wing — splayed on the snow in muddled ink. For a moment, only a moment, does her gaze slip to her wing, widening. Only a moment as she swears a voice calls to her from the gathering shadows. Stand. You need to stand. — that you can no longer fly in. She would not — Her wing cracks, stabbing through her with daggers of white-hot flame. A cry escapes her, clawing from her lips as the delicate, avian bones snap under the weight of the behemoth. She falls sideways from the blast, careening into the blankets of snow that engulf her in merciless cold. Just as thunder does not ask to roar, Solis’ protector does not ask to tear the stormsinger from Calligo’s skies. Fragile bones are splintered as she tries and fails to bite down a scream. Warmth pools beneath her, staining the snow with the only color in the world. Sharp crimson on a blanket of crisp white. Dark fingers reach out to grab her from her misery, lulling her, pulling her. Be it her Night goddess or the thralls of sleep, she doesn’t know. She has never been more weak. "F-fuck you." the stormsinger snarls, swallowing, as the shadows dance and grow all around her. No.. I can’t. Not like this. Still, she struggles to stay awake — to look the Warden in the eye. Every ounce of fury burning in her eyes. "I’ll kill you." @Torstein oml here, have a book xD @rostislav mentioned darling <3 "Aislinn speech." |
