It is a terrifying thought that Calliope understands this madness of his, this sickness of the brain. She has known bones that speak, beasts and stones that made words ring like a storm from forms that held no lip, so soul. Turhan is like the things of the Riftlands, consumed by magic and belief until it rots and festers in the body like a plague.
Perhaps had she been anything but a unicorn dressed in black with a storm soul she would have rotted from all the terrible things she has seen and the terrible things she has been made to do in the name of justice.
“I have come from all those places, thrived in places that are made of sea, fire, cliff and between. I have walked between moons upon a floor of glass. My horn has plucked a star out of the night-sky for love. Under a dragon's wing I have walked through a wildfire to promise justice where none were brave enough to do what is right.” Calliope leans closer, close enough to smell the smoke and death upon his skin. She can taste the rotten things in his hair, bones not left to bleach in the sun long enough to dry out the scent of sorrow.
The pressure spreads to that tip of her horn, just enough to feel the way his flesh caves before the gavel of her blade. She doesn't run him though, not yet, not with the madness in him so wild that she falters in passing her judgment.
But oh, how the next worlds make her rage and boil. It festers like his madness and crackles with fury along every cold, steel inch of her soul. This stallion speaks as the gods do and Calliope has every hated how gods are known to speak.
So she leans a little more, enough to make him bleed, enough to part the dreads of his forelock around her horn like a sea parting before a hurricane wind.
There is eradication in her voice now, rage muted only because it must come from mere mortal lips and she has no lightning now to carve the words into the very air about her form. “I am no rabbit, a thing caught and made to burn just because some devil thought to take the right of choice from it. There is no justice in that death. It suffered and burned for no reason at all.”
Calliope drags her horn down his old, gnarled face, turning the pressure of it light enough to sting instead of tear his flesh from his skull. “But tell me,” The words could be a noose for the tightness to them when they blaze from the sneer upon her face. “If you are a rabbit will you choose to burn? Will you chose to suffer just to serve mystics who have no appreciation for true sacrifice and misery when it is be taken from their flesh one piece at at time?” The storm almost seems to rage overhead as nothing more than an mere mirror of the fury that sparks white and hot, hot, hot inside her chest.
“Of course time has need of me in the now. I am no rabbit but a unicorn made to take justice in a world lacking it-- a world where there are killers like you.” The thunder roars like a lion and it trembles in her bones like an earthquake.
In that heavy, humid silence of both the storm and Calliope she turns to horn to run it down his cheek towards that tender, delicate curve of his throat.
A rabbit with no choice but fate indeed.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
Perhaps had she been anything but a unicorn dressed in black with a storm soul she would have rotted from all the terrible things she has seen and the terrible things she has been made to do in the name of justice.
“I have come from all those places, thrived in places that are made of sea, fire, cliff and between. I have walked between moons upon a floor of glass. My horn has plucked a star out of the night-sky for love. Under a dragon's wing I have walked through a wildfire to promise justice where none were brave enough to do what is right.” Calliope leans closer, close enough to smell the smoke and death upon his skin. She can taste the rotten things in his hair, bones not left to bleach in the sun long enough to dry out the scent of sorrow.
The pressure spreads to that tip of her horn, just enough to feel the way his flesh caves before the gavel of her blade. She doesn't run him though, not yet, not with the madness in him so wild that she falters in passing her judgment.
But oh, how the next worlds make her rage and boil. It festers like his madness and crackles with fury along every cold, steel inch of her soul. This stallion speaks as the gods do and Calliope has every hated how gods are known to speak.
So she leans a little more, enough to make him bleed, enough to part the dreads of his forelock around her horn like a sea parting before a hurricane wind.
There is eradication in her voice now, rage muted only because it must come from mere mortal lips and she has no lightning now to carve the words into the very air about her form. “I am no rabbit, a thing caught and made to burn just because some devil thought to take the right of choice from it. There is no justice in that death. It suffered and burned for no reason at all.”
Calliope drags her horn down his old, gnarled face, turning the pressure of it light enough to sting instead of tear his flesh from his skull. “But tell me,” The words could be a noose for the tightness to them when they blaze from the sneer upon her face. “If you are a rabbit will you choose to burn? Will you chose to suffer just to serve mystics who have no appreciation for true sacrifice and misery when it is be taken from their flesh one piece at at time?” The storm almost seems to rage overhead as nothing more than an mere mirror of the fury that sparks white and hot, hot, hot inside her chest.
“Of course time has need of me in the now. I am no rabbit but a unicorn made to take justice in a world lacking it-- a world where there are killers like you.” The thunder roars like a lion and it trembles in her bones like an earthquake.
In that heavy, humid silence of both the storm and Calliope she turns to horn to run it down his cheek towards that tender, delicate curve of his throat.
A rabbit with no choice but fate indeed.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
@Turhan
