[P] new and sharp with many teeth

[Seraphina]

OH PITY THE DAMNED

Ereshkigal delights in his fear.

Or maybe she doesn’t delight, exactly; she is not that kind of demon. There are the torturers, but they are common folk, and she is anything but common. (A fact that she will proudly, insistently remind people of, should they be foolish enough to imply that she is – or, worse, a simple vulture.) But it does amuse her. He reminds her a bit of a newborn soul, just fallen into the afterlife, still fledgling and confused. They do not understand that they are dead, and then they do, and then, only then, does she begin to find them interesting; they react so differently. Many of them sob, but some are quiet. Many of them beg, but some accept, and some threaten – all white fire and fury. (She wonders, sometime, what the little soul to whom she is bonded would have done, if she had died.) He is fumbling a bit, clearly startled by her presence, and that little ball of tan-and-white feathers at his side has flown into a fury at her presence, shooting, with an ear-piercing screech (it makes Ereshkigal giggle, especially as her feathers poof out), to linger alongside her bonded.

The man seems to collect himself. He frowns, and she wonders if the owl said something to him, expression darkening; she likes it somewhat less. “…some call me that, yes,” he says, in a tone that implies that she is the only one who has called him that. (It would have made Ereshkigal laugh, but she is listening.) “I must admit that I am not accustomed to receiving guests through the window, especially after dark.” Doesn’t get many letters? She wonders. (But maybe he wouldn’t consider an average bird a visitor.)

He notices the fallen letter, and, with a wisp of what she can only assume is his telekinesis, picks it up. “Thank you,” he says. It pleases Ereshkigal, who settles, her talons clinking against the stone floor; her feathers fluff out, very slightly, as she gets herself comfortable.

“Good, good,” she says, bobbing her head in a gesture that is only almost a nod. “He’s a pleasant one, isn’t he? Very polite. He would do well, if I tried him.” Ereshkigal does not feel the need to elaborate any further; instead, she looks past Somnus, towards Alba. “Did I upset the little birdling?” Her voice comes out as a soft, maternal croon, and she leans towards the owl, unblinking; her head tilts unnervingly, red eyes never leaving Alba’s feathered form. “I don’t want his soul, or yours, birdy-birdy – I’m not here for you. Only for the letter.” Her pink, wormlike tongue squirms out from her beak, dragging along the edges – along sharp knives of teeth. “I am hunting worse things.”

But – she does not say more. Not yet. Let him read.


The letter, when unrolled, says :

King Somnus of Delumine,

I hope, sincerely, that this message finds you and your people well. I apologize for my choice in messenger, but Ereshkigal is one of the few creatures I trust to avoid interception – no simple messenger hawk or dove would do, in such troubled times. I am sure that she will try to upset you, and I’m sorry for that. She is a demon, and a judge of the dead; she understands little of the mortal realms, and I think that she enjoys unnerving people. However, it is not in her nature to do anything more than trouble you with her words.

I am sure that, under the circumstances, this message will seem unrealistic. I am sure that you have heard the news of my “death” – that Raum challenged Seraphina of Solterra and killed her, left her body to rot on the Bellum Steppe. Raum did challenge me, and he tore me apart with his claws, but he did not kill me. He is too cruel for that; instead, he left me to bleed out, where I was found by Isra of Denocte. She saved my life, but Raum has Solterra, and he has embedded himself in its heart like a tick to blood. My people are suffering; he has restricted food and water, and he refuses to give it to those who will not bend the knee. Open rebellion is met with torture, if not execution. Children are starving in the streets. Everything that I did has been undone – it is as though we have returned to the times of Zolin.

He told me that he wants to bring Solterra to her knees, and I know that he will not stop with us.

I am organizing a rebellion against him, but the odds are against me, within Solterra – if your kingdom could offer any aid, I would be in your debt. I am not so presumptuous as to make such a request over a letter, however. If I may, I would request an audience, to further discuss the current situation in Solterra; I have heard rumors that there is a monster killing your citizens, as well, and I would offer whatever aid I may to the effort to hunt the beast while I am in Delumine. In Solterra, we often hunt teryrs and sandwyrms. I have little experience with other beasts, but perhaps it will be of some help to your current plight.

Best,

Seraphina of Solterra


When Somnus has finished reading, he will find Ereshkigal staring at him intently, those bead-red eyes boring into his own, emerald green ones. She will tilt her head, and she will smile, all teeth. “Worse things,” she repeats, like an echo, but her voice has changed - it is no longer off-key and screeching, like an unoiled hinge, but, instead, it is low and silky and rolling, childish demeanor cast aside momentarily in favor of – something – else. “Do you understand why I am here now, Somnus of Delumine?”

She watches. She waits.

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@Somnus || <3 || "okay, ophelia," jeannine hall gailey

"Speech!" || "Ereshkigal!"

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