☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
and you run from it then
now you can't escape
He says nothing, while she is more than open to speak; but Seraphina is not a woman who cares much for secrets. She learned quickly – and painfully – that it was far easier to admit a mistake than let it linger, let them sink their teeth into it and tell her that she hasn’t learned. If she says it herself, it prevents anyone else from saying it for her. Seraphina is the sort of creature that grasp desperately at control whenever she feels that it is out of her hands, and, in a way, it makes her feel like she’s regained it. She doesn’t like him, she thinks, but she especially doesn’t like him so quiet; it’s abnormal and jarring, like a snowstorm on the Mors. At her words, he offers her a drunken grin and a wink that somehow set her on edge – but there’s something off about this entire conversation. “Of course you wouldn’t,” She says, still with that dry, knowing tone.
His eyes aren’t on her, but she doesn’t pay his wandering stare much mind until he speaks again. She notes the way his lips curl up at her words, the slight narrowing of his orange eyes – and she’s closer to him, now, practically at his side. Close enough to know that it was no trick of the light, at any rate. Her mind slips back to his abnormal presence, his newfound citizenship in Dawn of all places, and she prods, ever so slightly. “Have you been betrayed, Acton?” Open-ended enough to dodge, and she expects that he will. Even when he’s sober, Acton strikes her as the kind of man who can’t take things straight. Besides, he’s a spy, an assassin, a crow. She’s not sure that his drunkenness will loosen his lips a fraction, and she’s not sure that she cares about what he has to say, either.
But she’s nothing if not thorough, like a spider spinning at a web. If there’s something to be picked apart and examined, she’ll make her way to it.
She notes the way that he stumbles at the mention of Raum, then quickly corrects himself, and says nothing. His next words are startling; a strange and well-meaning vote of confidence, paired with a grin. (Not like those olive branch smiles he’d offered her at their first meeting, though. It still provokes a faint knot in her stomach.) She has a feeling that, in spite of being older than she, – though not by much - and in spite of the confidence he seems to have in his own words (that could quite easily be the result of the alcohol), he doesn’t know the weight of the matter at all. Then again, maybe he does, but the solution he offers her is all too easy – and perhaps that’s the one that he’d take. She turns her head to stare at him, those odd eyes catching like twin flames in the torchlight, and they narrow, examining him with a surgical accuracy. “Hmm. Isn’t it?” There is an edge to her voice, and she eyes him with a seriousness that, while not unusual, is somehow eerie. “Solterra is my kingdom, and it is my responsibility – any harm that comes to my nation, or my people, is my burden to bear. Fault is irrelevant.” And I haven’t suffered for it, she almost says. Not really. It was not her body buried beneath her stones, and it was not her corpse left to rot on Solterra’s streets. “Perhaps I have more influence than many voices in my nation, but my fate is more subject to it than most anyone else – and it is a fickle thing.” Calm one moment, and in a rage the next, like the sandstorms that descend upon the Mors ever so often. She hangs in the balance of her nation, and isn’t she aware of it? Her gaze tears away from him, and she looks out into the darkness of the crowd.
“It seems that people often long for power, Acton – but it comes at its loss.”
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tags | @Acton
notes | I still have lots of muse for this thread.
and you run from it then
now you can't escape
He says nothing, while she is more than open to speak; but Seraphina is not a woman who cares much for secrets. She learned quickly – and painfully – that it was far easier to admit a mistake than let it linger, let them sink their teeth into it and tell her that she hasn’t learned. If she says it herself, it prevents anyone else from saying it for her. Seraphina is the sort of creature that grasp desperately at control whenever she feels that it is out of her hands, and, in a way, it makes her feel like she’s regained it. She doesn’t like him, she thinks, but she especially doesn’t like him so quiet; it’s abnormal and jarring, like a snowstorm on the Mors. At her words, he offers her a drunken grin and a wink that somehow set her on edge – but there’s something off about this entire conversation. “Of course you wouldn’t,” She says, still with that dry, knowing tone.
His eyes aren’t on her, but she doesn’t pay his wandering stare much mind until he speaks again. She notes the way his lips curl up at her words, the slight narrowing of his orange eyes – and she’s closer to him, now, practically at his side. Close enough to know that it was no trick of the light, at any rate. Her mind slips back to his abnormal presence, his newfound citizenship in Dawn of all places, and she prods, ever so slightly. “Have you been betrayed, Acton?” Open-ended enough to dodge, and she expects that he will. Even when he’s sober, Acton strikes her as the kind of man who can’t take things straight. Besides, he’s a spy, an assassin, a crow. She’s not sure that his drunkenness will loosen his lips a fraction, and she’s not sure that she cares about what he has to say, either.
But she’s nothing if not thorough, like a spider spinning at a web. If there’s something to be picked apart and examined, she’ll make her way to it.
She notes the way that he stumbles at the mention of Raum, then quickly corrects himself, and says nothing. His next words are startling; a strange and well-meaning vote of confidence, paired with a grin. (Not like those olive branch smiles he’d offered her at their first meeting, though. It still provokes a faint knot in her stomach.) She has a feeling that, in spite of being older than she, – though not by much - and in spite of the confidence he seems to have in his own words (that could quite easily be the result of the alcohol), he doesn’t know the weight of the matter at all. Then again, maybe he does, but the solution he offers her is all too easy – and perhaps that’s the one that he’d take. She turns her head to stare at him, those odd eyes catching like twin flames in the torchlight, and they narrow, examining him with a surgical accuracy. “Hmm. Isn’t it?” There is an edge to her voice, and she eyes him with a seriousness that, while not unusual, is somehow eerie. “Solterra is my kingdom, and it is my responsibility – any harm that comes to my nation, or my people, is my burden to bear. Fault is irrelevant.” And I haven’t suffered for it, she almost says. Not really. It was not her body buried beneath her stones, and it was not her corpse left to rot on Solterra’s streets. “Perhaps I have more influence than many voices in my nation, but my fate is more subject to it than most anyone else – and it is a fickle thing.” Calm one moment, and in a rage the next, like the sandstorms that descend upon the Mors ever so often. She hangs in the balance of her nation, and isn’t she aware of it? Her gaze tears away from him, and she looks out into the darkness of the crowd.
“It seems that people often long for power, Acton – but it comes at its loss.”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
tags | @Acton
notes | I still have lots of muse for this thread.
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
