Calliope becomes the lion, the wolf and everything about her suggests a predator caged. Her body snakes back and forth. Her horn sighs through the silence that grows like disease around each echo of her hooves as she steps from one to the other and back again. She is a storm and her body is only the eye of all that violence and rage and fury.
“Take.” She growls in time with her steps. “It.” Her horn feels like flint upon her brow and for a moment when she looks at the stone walls she wants to light the entire castle ablaze with a mere breath of her anger. “Back.” All it would take is a spark, she thinks, a simple spark to light all their temples and vanity and burn then down to cinder and dust.
She could be a flame. Her hooves spark with white-lighting as she drags them across the stone floor and the carpet closest to them singes and burns. “Take all your faith back. Swallow it.” Calliope breathes out a storm in rolls of thunderous roars and sparks. The otters tremble and hide themselves beneath the table and the devout lower their eyes before the inquisition boiling in her gaze.
“We could drown them in disbelief.” And those words fall like a guillotine and all her movement but that hiss and spark at her hooves stops. Her eyes could be a blade for the sharpness of them when she watches only Asterion, only a king.
Calliope is a still as the storm-eye then, loveliness surrounded by a brutal storm-wall that threatens to chew up the entire world.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
“Take.” She growls in time with her steps. “It.” Her horn feels like flint upon her brow and for a moment when she looks at the stone walls she wants to light the entire castle ablaze with a mere breath of her anger. “Back.” All it would take is a spark, she thinks, a simple spark to light all their temples and vanity and burn then down to cinder and dust.
She could be a flame. Her hooves spark with white-lighting as she drags them across the stone floor and the carpet closest to them singes and burns. “Take all your faith back. Swallow it.” Calliope breathes out a storm in rolls of thunderous roars and sparks. The otters tremble and hide themselves beneath the table and the devout lower their eyes before the inquisition boiling in her gaze.
“We could drown them in disbelief.” And those words fall like a guillotine and all her movement but that hiss and spark at her hooves stops. Her eyes could be a blade for the sharpness of them when she watches only Asterion, only a king.
Calliope is a still as the storm-eye then, loveliness surrounded by a brutal storm-wall that threatens to chew up the entire world.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
@Asterion
