“I had to know.” Calliope growls just to break up that endless fury boiling inside her. Through sheer will does she force herself to speak in vowels and words instead of bolts of hungry, savage lightning. Her skin quivers with the force of it and bits of blood fall like salt and dust unlike the rain that drips from their soaked bodies.
She's a war among revelers and she feels sacrilegious when they speak of Vespera in a dark corner. Calliope craves to answer them with talk of blood and bone and hate. Under the ceiling that has not caved she remembers them screaming 'repent' on the roads and she can hear whispers of it in the broken silence that comes after her and after their king.
Calliope wants to turn to them and say I have come and brush her horn across their brows and ask them who will repent for all the death and war and flooding? Who? Her bones quake for justice for vengeance, for Tempus and all his children.
Her horn wants to drink, drink, drink and not of rain.
“Always god-sent.” And now the lightning feels more fury than Calliope when it echoes in her voice for all of them to hear. The magic remembers her almost death, the way she felt so weak and it almost snuffed out like fire before the storm. The magic in her bones feels like the Riftlands and Ravos, wild and hungry and broken.
“Do you remember now Asterion? Do you remember when I queen?” And now! Oh now! Now she speaks with sparks of white-light crackling between her teeth and pouring like angel-fire from her eyes.
Her old magic remembers just as her dead lion bones do.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
She's a war among revelers and she feels sacrilegious when they speak of Vespera in a dark corner. Calliope craves to answer them with talk of blood and bone and hate. Under the ceiling that has not caved she remembers them screaming 'repent' on the roads and she can hear whispers of it in the broken silence that comes after her and after their king.
Calliope wants to turn to them and say I have come and brush her horn across their brows and ask them who will repent for all the death and war and flooding? Who? Her bones quake for justice for vengeance, for Tempus and all his children.
Her horn wants to drink, drink, drink and not of rain.
“Always god-sent.” And now the lightning feels more fury than Calliope when it echoes in her voice for all of them to hear. The magic remembers her almost death, the way she felt so weak and it almost snuffed out like fire before the storm. The magic in her bones feels like the Riftlands and Ravos, wild and hungry and broken.
“Do you remember now Asterion? Do you remember when I queen?” And now! Oh now! Now she speaks with sparks of white-light crackling between her teeth and pouring like angel-fire from her eyes.
Her old magic remembers just as her dead lion bones do.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
@Raum @Asterion
