Israfel
Israfel is reminded, once again, of the cruelty and pathetic irony that comes with the minds of Gods and Goddesses. They are selfish, cruel creatures, manipulative and so eager to start a war between their worshippers, cast asunder and within chaos, undirected, like pieces upon a chess board. It made her sick, and watching as Vespera finally grew a pair and revealed herself to them, to her own fucking Court, standing there bathed in the colors of Dusk in a form that should have been beautiful, the Daughter of the Sun finally broke her silence.
“There is only one God to me,” she began lowly, letting her anger and ire shine through in guttural words, the bite of her tone scathing and scalding, as hot as the flames that burned within her very blood and the fires that crested upon Solaris’ still simmering frame. Ivory ears tipped back, vermillion eyes nearly glowed with precarious anger, and her lips, rose-kissed, were pulled back in an unattractive mixture between a grimace and a scowl. “And he is far more worthy a God than you will ever be.”
Vespera was a coward. She was not noble, she was not fierce, and she was not worthy to call herself the chosen deity of Terrastella. She was not worthy of their prayer, nor for them to shed their own blood or lose their lives in her name. Quite suddenly, Israfel felt that her journey to and as Warden of Terrastella was a mockery, a worthless cause, her own title slapping her in the face with a cold, brutal smack. Why did this witch deserve her noble ambition? Her fire? Her strength, cunning, and guile?
She didn’t. Oh, but she didn’t. Israfel would never bow to a God so cowardly, so spineless, nor so avaricious.
Instead, Israfel would use her title as Warden to protect her Court. Not in the name of Vespera the Coward, but for Asterion the Noble, Theodosia the Fierce, Fiona the Gentle, and Atreus the Sly. She would use that position to protect those worth protecting, not in the name of a spineless Goddess intent on teaching them a lesson they already knew. Perhaps she should have been the one to open her eyes sooner.
Letting her eyes speak for her, beacons of simmering vermilion, Israfel turned away with a flick of her lily-strewn tail. “Solaris. Let’s put your flames to better use. We have our own to tend to.” The Phoenix, fueled by her bonded’s ire, left the side of the gopher and propelled herself into the air, her colors growing into that pallor of ivory and gold as the flames began to disperse.
Perhaps Vespera’s ambition had been a noble one. Perhaps the lessons of ‘helping yourself also includes helping others’ could have been taught, but the end result appeared to have backfired completely, and Israfel would not stand in the presence of lies and deceit any longer.
“There is only one God to me,” she began lowly, letting her anger and ire shine through in guttural words, the bite of her tone scathing and scalding, as hot as the flames that burned within her very blood and the fires that crested upon Solaris’ still simmering frame. Ivory ears tipped back, vermillion eyes nearly glowed with precarious anger, and her lips, rose-kissed, were pulled back in an unattractive mixture between a grimace and a scowl. “And he is far more worthy a God than you will ever be.”
Vespera was a coward. She was not noble, she was not fierce, and she was not worthy to call herself the chosen deity of Terrastella. She was not worthy of their prayer, nor for them to shed their own blood or lose their lives in her name. Quite suddenly, Israfel felt that her journey to and as Warden of Terrastella was a mockery, a worthless cause, her own title slapping her in the face with a cold, brutal smack. Why did this witch deserve her noble ambition? Her fire? Her strength, cunning, and guile?
She didn’t. Oh, but she didn’t. Israfel would never bow to a God so cowardly, so spineless, nor so avaricious.
Instead, Israfel would use her title as Warden to protect her Court. Not in the name of Vespera the Coward, but for Asterion the Noble, Theodosia the Fierce, Fiona the Gentle, and Atreus the Sly. She would use that position to protect those worth protecting, not in the name of a spineless Goddess intent on teaching them a lesson they already knew. Perhaps she should have been the one to open her eyes sooner.
Letting her eyes speak for her, beacons of simmering vermilion, Israfel turned away with a flick of her lily-strewn tail. “Solaris. Let’s put your flames to better use. We have our own to tend to.” The Phoenix, fueled by her bonded’s ire, left the side of the gopher and propelled herself into the air, her colors growing into that pallor of ivory and gold as the flames began to disperse.
Perhaps Vespera’s ambition had been a noble one. Perhaps the lessons of ‘helping yourself also includes helping others’ could have been taught, but the end result appeared to have backfired completely, and Israfel would not stand in the presence of lies and deceit any longer.
Israfel is out.
