Cyrene
she spun herself a crown of gold,
thrones of bones and citadels.
—
“Fine. Follow me.."
There was no hesitation in her step as they slid into the gaping mouth of the fallen castle. Cyrene said nothing as she trailed after him, her eyes straying from the gold that flashed in his braided mane to the gold that gleamed in the torn tapestries that lined the walls like skin.
The moon’s glaring glow bathed them in slivers of silver light, cold and bitter through the shattered windows. The click of their hooves echoed like chattering skulls against the slick, blood-soaked tiles. If Cyrene had not seen the bone-white smile of Death for herself, she would have shivered at it all.
But she had, and her dull eyes turned from the congealing blood like it was nothing more than wine spilled from a careless glass.
Velorca paused suddenly — so suddenly, that if Cyrene’s hooves had not been so quick to catch, she would’ve fallen into him with a stifled gasp. Tensely, he stood in front of a room, its wooden door torn from rusted hinges. She tried to see what he saw in the abyssal darkness beyond, but it was something that lived only in memories and the stench of history.
The sand that cushioned her footfalls was a welcome relief to her weary legs as she stepped in after him. Besides the most basic of furnishings, the room was bare — not a trace of its previous occupant, if it had ever known one, remained.
Though the room puzzled her, Cyrene’s gaze returned always to Velorca. To eyes of the brightest gold, reduced to embers by the ghost of a king and the weight of a war. She held her breath as he returned her stare, an intensity she had not seen before burning like a red sun against a black ocean. Slowly, she drew towards him like a lamb to a lion — though she wasn’t sure who was who, wasn’t sure why she felt that if she touched him right now, he would crumble into sand and smoke and ash.
"So tell me, is this the Solterra you dreamed of?" His voice was painfully light, painfully controlled, and Cyrene looked down as she lowered herself onto the floor like he had, tucking her wings against her sides like a fledgling.
“If I passed judgement on her now, I do not think it would be fair.” She swallowed a bitter laugh, and merely smiled weakly. It was maddening, how she wore her smile like a shield. A shield that cracked with each body that cooled beneath her touch. “Solterra… is a hungry land, savagely beautiful. Nothing is ever permanent in a kingdom made of sand. They are resilient. They rebuild, time and time again.”
As she spoke, her voice a rhythm to the slow beat of her heart, Cyrene nudged open the flap of her satchel and drew out her last bandage. Sable curls, bleached silver by the moon, fell across her eyes as she leaned forward and pressed it on the wound that still leaked fresh blood from his neck.
Her telekinesis, normally swift, was now hesitant. As white stained to crimson, her brow knit as she silently willed for the blood to slow its conquest. Because once she was done, she would no longer have an excuse to stay so near.
A request pushed at her tongue, heavy and insistent. “Will you tell me?" The bandage stilled against Velorca’s chrome pelt as she tilted her chin up towards him, her lashes a fan to conceal her gaze. “About your people.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. There was so much more she wanted to say. About you. About what happened to you, to the Davke.
Cyrene did not believe that hearts turned to darkness as easily as day turned to night.
@Velorca | "speaks" | notes: THIS DELAY PAINED ME, so sorry for the wait ;__;
she spun herself a crown of gold,
thrones of bones and citadels.
—
“Fine. Follow me.."
There was no hesitation in her step as they slid into the gaping mouth of the fallen castle. Cyrene said nothing as she trailed after him, her eyes straying from the gold that flashed in his braided mane to the gold that gleamed in the torn tapestries that lined the walls like skin.
The moon’s glaring glow bathed them in slivers of silver light, cold and bitter through the shattered windows. The click of their hooves echoed like chattering skulls against the slick, blood-soaked tiles. If Cyrene had not seen the bone-white smile of Death for herself, she would have shivered at it all.
But she had, and her dull eyes turned from the congealing blood like it was nothing more than wine spilled from a careless glass.
Velorca paused suddenly — so suddenly, that if Cyrene’s hooves had not been so quick to catch, she would’ve fallen into him with a stifled gasp. Tensely, he stood in front of a room, its wooden door torn from rusted hinges. She tried to see what he saw in the abyssal darkness beyond, but it was something that lived only in memories and the stench of history.
The sand that cushioned her footfalls was a welcome relief to her weary legs as she stepped in after him. Besides the most basic of furnishings, the room was bare — not a trace of its previous occupant, if it had ever known one, remained.
Though the room puzzled her, Cyrene’s gaze returned always to Velorca. To eyes of the brightest gold, reduced to embers by the ghost of a king and the weight of a war. She held her breath as he returned her stare, an intensity she had not seen before burning like a red sun against a black ocean. Slowly, she drew towards him like a lamb to a lion — though she wasn’t sure who was who, wasn’t sure why she felt that if she touched him right now, he would crumble into sand and smoke and ash.
"So tell me, is this the Solterra you dreamed of?" His voice was painfully light, painfully controlled, and Cyrene looked down as she lowered herself onto the floor like he had, tucking her wings against her sides like a fledgling.
“If I passed judgement on her now, I do not think it would be fair.” She swallowed a bitter laugh, and merely smiled weakly. It was maddening, how she wore her smile like a shield. A shield that cracked with each body that cooled beneath her touch. “Solterra… is a hungry land, savagely beautiful. Nothing is ever permanent in a kingdom made of sand. They are resilient. They rebuild, time and time again.”
As she spoke, her voice a rhythm to the slow beat of her heart, Cyrene nudged open the flap of her satchel and drew out her last bandage. Sable curls, bleached silver by the moon, fell across her eyes as she leaned forward and pressed it on the wound that still leaked fresh blood from his neck.
Her telekinesis, normally swift, was now hesitant. As white stained to crimson, her brow knit as she silently willed for the blood to slow its conquest. Because once she was done, she would no longer have an excuse to stay so near.
A request pushed at her tongue, heavy and insistent. “Will you tell me?" The bandage stilled against Velorca’s chrome pelt as she tilted her chin up towards him, her lashes a fan to conceal her gaze. “About your people.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. There was so much more she wanted to say. About you. About what happened to you, to the Davke.
Cyrene did not believe that hearts turned to darkness as easily as day turned to night.
@Velorca | "speaks" | notes: THIS DELAY PAINED ME, so sorry for the wait ;__;
