a titan that is rising
*
Calliope watches the other unicorn and there is a predatory gleam in her silver eyes. There is nothing horse, nothing mortal, nothing forgiving in that gaze of hers as she watches the mare tense and pause. She wonders what it might be to feel uncertainty, to feel like a unicorn with something more than purpose and justice in her bones.
Always has she been instant in her choices, fierce in her convictions. All her steps have been full of a drive for the end, for the end she can't quiet seem to reach.
The world is not done with Calliope, nor is she finished with it. There are still more monsters to pluck out from the seems of the universe, more walls for her to crumble down to dust. Where there is evil and sin there will be Calliope, ready to build a graveyard with the bones of beasts.
She watches the unicorn and answers with a blaze to her eyes and a flick of her tail. “There is something I have been searching for.” It is easy to believe that there is no universe that could keep her from her quest, no fate she could not bend before that iron of her will and horn. Even the trees seem gentle and fragile where her eyes looks out past their shadows, as if even now she can not be kept from her searching.
“Novus might have need of me.” She turns and looks out over the forest, out to where a fire blazes with the destructive power of a dragon. Inside that old, dead lion roars for it remembers how scales felt against its claws. Calliope too remembers the way that dragon fire could not slow her rage as she turned them to ash, bones and warnings made of death.
But here in the forest, in a moment between two unicorns and shadows, there are too many things to think of than dragons and monsters to be put down. Later her judgment will come, when she knows the entire story.
Later will be brutal.
Now she only lowers her horn to tap gently across that hollow just below other unicorn's eyes. It's a kiss of a weapon, gentleness from something stained in blood. There is nothing vicious in her movement, in the way she leans just close enough to be considered brash. “You could be unstoppable.” Calliope holds a promise in her voice. All the mare would have to do is but to ask Calliope, ask her what that silent echo in her words might hold.
“How did you get your scars.” It's not a question, not really. The words cannot be anything so kind with the way they echo with old lightning, old rage.
@Pavetta
