Finally he boils as she does, lit alive at the stake of their emotional fury. Calliope welcomes his rage, his blade as it strikes viper quick to that point where her heart throbs the strongest through the curl of her throat. This thing, this rage, this pain consumes her, smolders in her veins.
This is nothing to the dragon-killing rage, nothing to the mad sorrow that tore her alive when she dealt the mercy blow to her sister. It would be a mercy now, she thinks, to feel that sharp edge of his scythe dive into her flesh like a shark to the seas. Calliope feels as if she is torn just as wide open as Shrike was, bones snapped like wheat stalks in an ocean of blood and gore.
“We should have done this together.” She injects like a shot. Her voice roars to make up for all the stillness of her violence while he holds his blade poised to kill. “And if you had fallen there is not enough blood in every universe to avenge you.”
Calliope leans into that blade, just enough to feel the edge of it make pearls of her blood on the black of her skin. The cut stings enough to keep her here, now. She needs the pain to keep from burning them both alive with this suffering she feels. Had she wings it would have felt that he plucked them out one feather at a time to keep her from the war that lives in her veins, stronger than any beat of her heart.
Just as she's ready to lower her horn, to promise that there is no war she will be kept from (dragon or not), Raymond delivers the killing blow.
And Calliope crumbles, shatters to glass-dust.
Her soul knits around his blow, taking the words like surgeon's knives that dive deep to rearrange all her organs. The very fire of her feels changed. It's both an inferno and watered down embers that she burns with now. Her heart thrums like a earthquake even while it turns to dust and decay.
Is this love? It feels strange for her to think, to ponder emotions as one ponders the clouds and the stars. Her horn tip clatters to the ground and her head bows, everything about her melts and reforms to something worn and wrecked.
“My love would not have kept you from danger.” There's anger there, anger and heartbreak, but she can't look at him. Calliope cannot bear to see the love there, love that sends letters and protects when to protect is to destroy.
Raymond is perhaps the biggest monster of them all-- to love the wild Calliope, to tether her with that blazing cosmos of feeling.
“My love would have welcomed danger, baited it as long as you were by my side.” Her blows of words are no less deadly than the blood-thirsty horn between her brow. She wishes she had the hate and coldness to still run him through, to send herself far from this hell of a court and all it's demons that plague the shadows still.
And when she raises her eyes the are hollow as much as they are lightning bolts and ice-cold seas. “We are not things to be saved and sheltered. I love you so much that I would never think of trying.” Calliope delivers her own killing blow and the words are more like falling icicles than the bold and bright offering of her entire being should be.
The words should fall like stars from the sky and dust with him caresses full of space-dust. They should tangle together with the words.
And yet, when Calliope speaks them, the words feel like miles of chasms spreading out between then.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
This is nothing to the dragon-killing rage, nothing to the mad sorrow that tore her alive when she dealt the mercy blow to her sister. It would be a mercy now, she thinks, to feel that sharp edge of his scythe dive into her flesh like a shark to the seas. Calliope feels as if she is torn just as wide open as Shrike was, bones snapped like wheat stalks in an ocean of blood and gore.
“We should have done this together.” She injects like a shot. Her voice roars to make up for all the stillness of her violence while he holds his blade poised to kill. “And if you had fallen there is not enough blood in every universe to avenge you.”
Calliope leans into that blade, just enough to feel the edge of it make pearls of her blood on the black of her skin. The cut stings enough to keep her here, now. She needs the pain to keep from burning them both alive with this suffering she feels. Had she wings it would have felt that he plucked them out one feather at a time to keep her from the war that lives in her veins, stronger than any beat of her heart.
Just as she's ready to lower her horn, to promise that there is no war she will be kept from (dragon or not), Raymond delivers the killing blow.
And Calliope crumbles, shatters to glass-dust.
Her soul knits around his blow, taking the words like surgeon's knives that dive deep to rearrange all her organs. The very fire of her feels changed. It's both an inferno and watered down embers that she burns with now. Her heart thrums like a earthquake even while it turns to dust and decay.
Is this love? It feels strange for her to think, to ponder emotions as one ponders the clouds and the stars. Her horn tip clatters to the ground and her head bows, everything about her melts and reforms to something worn and wrecked.
“My love would not have kept you from danger.” There's anger there, anger and heartbreak, but she can't look at him. Calliope cannot bear to see the love there, love that sends letters and protects when to protect is to destroy.
Raymond is perhaps the biggest monster of them all-- to love the wild Calliope, to tether her with that blazing cosmos of feeling.
“My love would have welcomed danger, baited it as long as you were by my side.” Her blows of words are no less deadly than the blood-thirsty horn between her brow. She wishes she had the hate and coldness to still run him through, to send herself far from this hell of a court and all it's demons that plague the shadows still.
And when she raises her eyes the are hollow as much as they are lightning bolts and ice-cold seas. “We are not things to be saved and sheltered. I love you so much that I would never think of trying.” Calliope delivers her own killing blow and the words are more like falling icicles than the bold and bright offering of her entire being should be.
The words should fall like stars from the sky and dust with him caresses full of space-dust. They should tangle together with the words.
And yet, when Calliope speaks them, the words feel like miles of chasms spreading out between then.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
@Raymond
