Rhoswen ►
The trees watched this fated ritual with ancient impervious eyes, knowing the beginning and the end of a story as twisted as theirs. As her words fell onto the tight air, born of acid and anguish, she broke away from the sight of Raum to gaze up at the boughs that leaned in as though craning to listen to the storm that was brewing between the sun and her moon. They considered her and she considered them right back, closing her eyes momentarily as a cool breeze swept her fine auburn curls from the planes of her face, breathing in the scent of early autumn baited by anticipation. Rhoswen was not a woman laid bare beneath the sun for her armour glinted in the light to seal herself away from prying eyes and probing hands. She was not often vulnerable, but -- she felt it now. And when she opened those flints of steel and ash, they still did not flicker upon Raum, but instead gazed on at the trees, her expression dark and nebulous. Tell me, how does our tale end?
But then, of course, her brief tranquility was broken. The sound of his rasping feathered voice defiled her ears to pose a question that disturbed all the mud and debris that lay at the pit of her loch-like stomach, clouding the clarity into an opaque brown sludge that ignited something new within. Incredulous, her eyes at last shot back to the ghost at her side, spearing him with their hostility. Seven short words to break a bond that had, already, thinned to a few weak fibres. Perhaps moments ago she might have been softer, lighter, but in a heartbeat, that small mercy is dead and cold beneath the ground. How dare he desecrate the trust and safety she had offered him during a time that had almost broken her, a time when he had plagued her every waking moment with guilt and uncertainty. As she listened to him move on through words that felt like a bullets to her head, Rhoswen burned from the inside out: born again under the baptism of her own fire.
"Your arrogance is synonymous with stupidity," she wanted to laugh, to scream, "one word. That's all it would have taken to end your mission." For the first time in a long time, Rhoswen felt alive, "I should have watched Maxence string you up by your neck when I had the chance," a sickening disgust swelled as his silver skin pressed against her own, though she did not flinch - did not lean away - not this time. "and this is how you repay me?" She was a thousand forestfires under a veil of cocaine-fuelled justice, her eyes assaulting him over and over again with holy loathing. Blistering, she lifted her chin in defiance; feral and metal and controlled. "Your beloved Crows," she spat, grinning and bloodied by macabre amusement, "where's your loyalty now, Ghost? For here you stand, miles from Denocte, having left your precious King of Thieves to rot in the shadow of a dragon."
But then, of course, her brief tranquility was broken. The sound of his rasping feathered voice defiled her ears to pose a question that disturbed all the mud and debris that lay at the pit of her loch-like stomach, clouding the clarity into an opaque brown sludge that ignited something new within. Incredulous, her eyes at last shot back to the ghost at her side, spearing him with their hostility. Seven short words to break a bond that had, already, thinned to a few weak fibres. Perhaps moments ago she might have been softer, lighter, but in a heartbeat, that small mercy is dead and cold beneath the ground. How dare he desecrate the trust and safety she had offered him during a time that had almost broken her, a time when he had plagued her every waking moment with guilt and uncertainty. As she listened to him move on through words that felt like a bullets to her head, Rhoswen burned from the inside out: born again under the baptism of her own fire.
"Your arrogance is synonymous with stupidity," she wanted to laugh, to scream, "one word. That's all it would have taken to end your mission." For the first time in a long time, Rhoswen felt alive, "I should have watched Maxence string you up by your neck when I had the chance," a sickening disgust swelled as his silver skin pressed against her own, though she did not flinch - did not lean away - not this time. "and this is how you repay me?" She was a thousand forestfires under a veil of cocaine-fuelled justice, her eyes assaulting him over and over again with holy loathing. Blistering, she lifted her chin in defiance; feral and metal and controlled. "Your beloved Crows," she spat, grinning and bloodied by macabre amusement, "where's your loyalty now, Ghost? For here you stand, miles from Denocte, having left your precious King of Thieves to rot in the shadow of a dragon."
