The wrath in me explodes and the sins of men are found
*
Everything about this moment is a new feeling for Calliope. Her skin burns where it touches him and her muscles quiver like a coil wound too tight. The meadows are too kind for them. The flowers are too soft with out gemstone and metal edges. Dusk is too gentle a place, too lovely to hold the two of them and the way their bones promise righteousness and blood.
Raymond is perhaps the only one who knows the violence of Calliope's beauty, of the way there is a war in every step she takes. Even here, calm as she is with her tail twisted about his there is a blaze in her a eyes, an inferno of a promise.
It's a fire of a storm in her gaze as she turns to him, pressing her lips to his cheek. “What information will you gather?” Calliope doesn't promise to join him. She has always been the one to lunge at the shadows and see what monsters might be driven out from the darkness at the tip of her ravenous horn.
Calliope is a shark and she has never pretended to be anything than a predator. There is no current she can pretend to swim, no tide she has not tamed.
Perhaps that is why she has ever needed Raymond. He is the killing that hides, a viper in the grasses that strikes quicker than her lightning. Calliope likes her lightning too much to hide. Always has she wanted the monsters, the sinners and the crooked kings to know exactly what is is that comes for them.
“Who will you be here, Raymond?” Besides mine, she wants to whisper against the place where his crest blends into that mighty spine of his. To her he will always be of Velius and the only man who could brave the viciousness of her storms. Calliope wants to ask so many things of him now that her vengeance has settled and her sorrow whittled down to a dull ache.
In the end she only whispers with the rumble of a coming storm that is still too far off to feel in the bones. “There is a dragon here.” The blaze of her eyes drifts away, both in a dangerous sort of hunger and so that she will not be tempered by the cool logic of Raymond's gaze.
Her horn flashes in the moon light and the fires crackle and hiss all around them. The bonfires are too confined for her. Calliope prefers her fire to bite so that she might swallow them up with the ice of her purpose and rage.
Only the twist of their tails stills her and holds her body here in the soft fields with Raymond. Anyone else could never have stood a chance of holding her back from storming the gates and tap, tap, tapping the war drum ring of her horn against stone.
Only Raymond.
@Raymond
