☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
but I do wonder how they know
cause they don't die if they don't grow
Silver emerges from the curve of snaking sandstone paths like a stalking tiger.
The Day Court’s Queen is no stranger to the outskirts of the capitol; as a guard, she spent most of her days wandering these pathways, on patrol. Now, even in spite of her elevated status, she tries to keep an eye on everything that happens in the city, futile as it might seem. (For a moment, the sneer of a winged woman lingers in her mind like a searing brand. You don’t know? She pushes it aside, swallowing down quiet, simmering disdain. She has a stranger to speak with – now is no time for that.) She smells woodsmoke and night-flowers among the sand and heat that radiates off of everything Solterra touches; night.
Just a boy, but tall and familiar – she can see what she thinks is Torstein in his pale features, in spite of his gentle stance and the wings protruding from his skull in the place of great horns. Seraphina curves her brow at the boy. “One of Torstein’s children?” An observation, but her tone implies a question – it isn’t as though she’s met any of the brute’s children, save for Jaxis, though he looks like he has to be related. “What brings you to Solterra?” She knows that he is Denoctian from his scent, if nothing else, and Denocte had closed their gates; she has no idea why the boy would even be allowed out, but she supposed it made sense enough that he would seek out his father. (Then again, she has a loose understanding of how familial bonds work.) She observes him with a gaze that is almost eerily cool and unreadable, neither distinctly welcoming nor disapproving; in spite of his mixed heritage, she has no particular prejudices against him, only the Regime he serves.
(That said, welcoming behavior is not Seraphina’s strongest suit, and she still seems frigid and impassive, at best.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @Cynix
notes | very quick reply 4 u. you got your wish, cynix.
but I do wonder how they know
cause they don't die if they don't grow
Silver emerges from the curve of snaking sandstone paths like a stalking tiger.
The Day Court’s Queen is no stranger to the outskirts of the capitol; as a guard, she spent most of her days wandering these pathways, on patrol. Now, even in spite of her elevated status, she tries to keep an eye on everything that happens in the city, futile as it might seem. (For a moment, the sneer of a winged woman lingers in her mind like a searing brand. You don’t know? She pushes it aside, swallowing down quiet, simmering disdain. She has a stranger to speak with – now is no time for that.) She smells woodsmoke and night-flowers among the sand and heat that radiates off of everything Solterra touches; night.
Just a boy, but tall and familiar – she can see what she thinks is Torstein in his pale features, in spite of his gentle stance and the wings protruding from his skull in the place of great horns. Seraphina curves her brow at the boy. “One of Torstein’s children?” An observation, but her tone implies a question – it isn’t as though she’s met any of the brute’s children, save for Jaxis, though he looks like he has to be related. “What brings you to Solterra?” She knows that he is Denoctian from his scent, if nothing else, and Denocte had closed their gates; she has no idea why the boy would even be allowed out, but she supposed it made sense enough that he would seek out his father. (Then again, she has a loose understanding of how familial bonds work.) She observes him with a gaze that is almost eerily cool and unreadable, neither distinctly welcoming nor disapproving; in spite of his mixed heritage, she has no particular prejudices against him, only the Regime he serves.
(That said, welcoming behavior is not Seraphina’s strongest suit, and she still seems frigid and impassive, at best.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @Cynix
notes | very quick reply 4 u. you got your wish, cynix.
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
