☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
I have burned & burned, but is it burning
if there’s no one there to see?
He has her close, and it is only a split second’s reflex that keeps his relatively-powerless kick from connecting with the frailest portion of her leg; his hooves slam into the flesh between the knee and the shoulder. She lands heavily, a dull, throbbing pain running up her leg, but she ignores it. (She is vaguely aware of the copper tang of blood.) It is nothing too awful, and the least of her concerns at the moment. Her priority is that toothy shadow, and, as he springs forward, she does not follow. Her eyes narrow. He is pure speed and agility, and she has no desire to chase him down. He is quick, but he is also fragile, and his movements contain neither her force nor her stability. If she can bring him in, tempt him to her, she might be able to use his own recklessness and rampant fury to her advantage. Seraphina was all but born a soldier, after all, and, in spite of her title, her mind remains that of a soldier. The chance of a wound and the risk of allowing him the next attack could be mitigated for a greater reward.
She steadies herself, cool eyes wandering his frame. Her poise is defensive, tense as a bowstring drawn taut, and every inch of her skin crawls with adrenaline. In the back of her mind, she whispers a prayer to Solis. Surely, even if this is his will, – even if it is his will that she loses - he would not let his kingdom fall to the whims of a monster. She sees that wicked smile, and, within it, ash and smoke, burnt buildings, the dead.
In the momentary lull, she speaks.
“I might fall, Raum,” she says, quietly, in a voice as calm and certain as cold steel. “Perhaps my idleness will be the end of me, this time. Perhaps you will undo everything that I have created. I know just how quickly fate can change...how easily the sands can shift. But know this – you will never be enough to bring my people to their knees.” She does not speak of their loyalty to her, or even, in truth, to the concept of the Day Court – she speaks instead of their incomparable resilience, far greater than any other nation in Novus. A tyrant had held her kingdom before, and still her people had not fallen to him or his accursed line. It would be her most egregious failure to allow it to fall to a tyrant again, particularly like this, but, even if she failed, as she had so many a time before, someone else would rise. Day would not bow meekly to the whims of a crow, clever as he surely thought himself and burning as he was. He ran from his kingdom, from his lover, from his daughter, from his king, from his people, from everything; his destruction, which his vengeful implications seemed to place to squarely on Solterra, could only be attributed to his own weakness. Her people tolerated rampant violence and volatility, but they did not tolerate cowardice, even if it seemed to be hidden behind a convincing mask of unrepentant fury and reckless abandon.
She waits for him like a crouching panther.
“Come get me,” those empty eyes taunt.
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tags |
notes | it's the first day of classes, and I can physically feel my soul draining out of my body, so have a post where nothing really happens.so all hell can break loose next, I guess.
I have burned & burned, but is it burning
if there’s no one there to see?
He has her close, and it is only a split second’s reflex that keeps his relatively-powerless kick from connecting with the frailest portion of her leg; his hooves slam into the flesh between the knee and the shoulder. She lands heavily, a dull, throbbing pain running up her leg, but she ignores it. (She is vaguely aware of the copper tang of blood.) It is nothing too awful, and the least of her concerns at the moment. Her priority is that toothy shadow, and, as he springs forward, she does not follow. Her eyes narrow. He is pure speed and agility, and she has no desire to chase him down. He is quick, but he is also fragile, and his movements contain neither her force nor her stability. If she can bring him in, tempt him to her, she might be able to use his own recklessness and rampant fury to her advantage. Seraphina was all but born a soldier, after all, and, in spite of her title, her mind remains that of a soldier. The chance of a wound and the risk of allowing him the next attack could be mitigated for a greater reward.
She steadies herself, cool eyes wandering his frame. Her poise is defensive, tense as a bowstring drawn taut, and every inch of her skin crawls with adrenaline. In the back of her mind, she whispers a prayer to Solis. Surely, even if this is his will, – even if it is his will that she loses - he would not let his kingdom fall to the whims of a monster. She sees that wicked smile, and, within it, ash and smoke, burnt buildings, the dead.
In the momentary lull, she speaks.
“I might fall, Raum,” she says, quietly, in a voice as calm and certain as cold steel. “Perhaps my idleness will be the end of me, this time. Perhaps you will undo everything that I have created. I know just how quickly fate can change...how easily the sands can shift. But know this – you will never be enough to bring my people to their knees.” She does not speak of their loyalty to her, or even, in truth, to the concept of the Day Court – she speaks instead of their incomparable resilience, far greater than any other nation in Novus. A tyrant had held her kingdom before, and still her people had not fallen to him or his accursed line. It would be her most egregious failure to allow it to fall to a tyrant again, particularly like this, but, even if she failed, as she had so many a time before, someone else would rise. Day would not bow meekly to the whims of a crow, clever as he surely thought himself and burning as he was. He ran from his kingdom, from his lover, from his daughter, from his king, from his people, from everything; his destruction, which his vengeful implications seemed to place to squarely on Solterra, could only be attributed to his own weakness. Her people tolerated rampant violence and volatility, but they did not tolerate cowardice, even if it seemed to be hidden behind a convincing mask of unrepentant fury and reckless abandon.
She waits for him like a crouching panther.
“Come get me,” those empty eyes taunt.
----------------------------------------------------------
tags |
notes | it's the first day of classes, and I can physically feel my soul draining out of my body, so have a post where nothing really happens.
Summary: Sera shifts just enough to avoid being kicked on her lower foreleg, but she still ends up with a gash and a relatively minorish injury to the tendons above her knee. She then proceeds to steady herself for Raum's next attack, says a prayer to Solis, gives a short, dramatic monologue (that's probably just a hint of a taunt), and thinks about just how proud she is of the Day Court, because she's a patriot. She doesn't actually attack him in this post; she wants him to come to her.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 2/7
Tags: @Raum, @Sid, @inkbone, @Sparrow, @nestle, @
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
