[SWP] we're gonna start a fight

[Jahin]

J A H I N - - - He did not notice the girl with silver at her throat until now. Her voice had the resolve of someone who made good on her promises. The whispers stopped, an uneasy, apprehensive hush enveloping the room. The were wise not to smirk at her small stature and pretty eyes, but instead offered her the respect she demanded, knives glittering coldly in the firelight. What was her motive? Who was she? He did not recognize her as Seraphina's personal Ifrisol, but then again, those identities were often guarded and secretive, even amongst their own ranks and Jahin was not familiar with the new initiates as of late. The collar hugging her throat spoke of a darker story, a story he knew Seraphina shared but did not care to discuss. He wondered at it; had she shared similar imprisonment such as he had in those dark days? But of course, he was not one to pry or make new acquaintances easily. Though it would seem they were on the same side (for now), Jahin did not lay his suspicions to rest.  He offers her a glance of respect. She has fire in her; Davke fire.  He is almost content to leave the scene and return to the shadows when he hears a haunting voice, alluring and deadly as a siren. Makeda. He could not breathe, could not think. Surely his eyes were decieving him. She was dead, gone...as were the Davke, a relic of a bygone age. He had finally put her memories away, into the shadows of his mind where he could not longer dwell and pine for her. But the smell of her skin was as he remembered it; the unmistakable mischievous, cunning glitter of her violet eyes, the venom dripping from her tongue. She is a flame, a snake, a siren, she is Makeda and she knows how to break him. She always has. He is a plaything to her, and she discards him over and over again; only to decide she is not yet done torturing his heart.  Her breath is hot in his ear, demure and teasing. He pulls away, not knowing whether he was angry at her cold, casual appearance, her lack of warmth, or relieved to find her alive and well. Could he feel both? He was never any good at deciphering his emotions, or knowing how to deal with them. He loved and hated her. He thought he had let her go, but could he ever? She stirs the intensity of the room as only Makeda can. She is the electricity crackling in the air, a storm on the horizon and she has chosen to wreak havoc here, of all places. The whispers start again, in earnest this time. She is the tipping of the scales. Someone throws a glass (he is not sure whether it was aimed at his head or Teiran's) and all hell breaks loose. Fights and shouting and gathering the the pitchforks to storm the castle. He cannot hold back the tide Makeda has unleashed. He pulls her aside in the chaos, forgetting the threat of riot or raiding. He has only eyes for her; the smell of her skin is divine and maddening. "Why," he says, desperately angry, nearly trembling. "Why have you come back, Makeda?" She has never loved him, and never will, so why do you torment me so? these scars long have yearned for your tender caress to bind our fortunes, damn what the stars own ---

@Makeda @Teiran