[AW] little pilgrim;

[Apolonia]

TIL THE PROPHET'S ARISEN -

Something in her tingles with excitement as she watches the magic melt away from Caine’s eyes. She has not met someone (besides her father) with this particular brand of magic, terrible and gorgeous; to know she is not as unique as she thought is somehow both comforting and dangerous. She watches and watches as he becomes human again, or something like it, and a little smile washes her dark lips. A gold ear flicks and twists. Her heart beats bright in her chest, louder and faster than it needs to. But then again she has never known nuance.

Instead she tilts her head at Caine’s response and wonders in silence. (Is it a secret? Should it be? Is she wrong, then, to wear it like a second skin? At birth, even, she had tumbled into the dark world seething with magic: it had frothed in her blood, ferocious as an illness, and spilled into the knot-work of her muscles. Apolonia has not spent one moment in this universe without her magic. She’s not sure she would know how to.)

A little breath comes out of her. It could almost be a sigh. But it is quiet, whistling just barely through the air, and O catches the noise before anyone else can speculate whether it is an exhale of exhaustion or relief.

She cuts her eyes at Elif as the older girl turns back to the whips, not dense enough to miss the edge in her voice. Or the bright snap of her tail against her legs. O’s gaze narrows. She glances at Caine, and then back to Elif; the sun blazes overhead like a white-hot eye, searing into the darkest parts of Apolonia’s heart, and for more than a moment she stands poised in half a step between staying and following. Sand tumbles over her hooves. It digs itself into every muscle and bones. It eats away at her metal skin.

Finally she blinks at both of them, and says to Elif, I’ll see you later, and with no more than a brutish gold smile for Caine turns away from both of them and goes slinking back toward the edges of the city.