[P] head full of fantasies, dying like a martyr

[Marisol]

WITH SWORD AND SALT -

For all her anxiety, even someone standing right next to her would be hard-pressed to recognize how much effort it is taking to act normal. It is not the kind of nervous that makes her muscles twitch or her head shake, not the kind of nervous that swishes her tail against her hind legs - Mari has been trained better than that. And so though her mind moves a million miles an hour and her heart thrashes against her ribs like it wants to scream, it is impossible to know that the shine in her eyes is not merely the intense glare of duty. It is impossible to know that the way she stands straight-backed and square-legged is not just a display of power. It is impossible to know that the stony lines of her face are not merely the mask of a well-broken commander.

She thinks that Isra might be the only one in the world who could tell otherwise. It scares her a little.

Kind of a hush settles over the crowd, and Mari raises her chin to look over the sea of bodies, and lo and behold there she comes, Isra dressed in silver and gold and rushing down the staircase like water rushes over rocks. Relief blooms in her throat, coupled with apprehension. The feeling is so overwhelming, so bright-white and sparkling, that it takes her a moment to realize it’s not just Isra coming down the steps. A dragon winds serpentine around her spine, dressed in shades of green and blue like moss-covered rocks at the bottom of a lake; she should be scared of it, maybe, but instead she looks at him with guarded affection, recognizing that he is still a child, as much as any monster can be.

The thought of that tugs at her a little bit, at the closed space of her throat, but she pushes it down with ease. As Isra closes the space between them she feels the pressure in her chest ease like a stone has been lifted from her lungs, and an almost-smile breaks over her lips. For all Isra’s glamour, her mask, her robes, Marisol still sees nothing brighter than the blue of her eyes or more attention-grabbing than the sharp spiral of her horn.

Of course, she says, and the smile cracks open deeper and wider. I wouldn’t travel all this way for anything else.

---

<3

aimless | kokovi