I’m so wound-bound.
I’m so lost to the vanity of staying. Stay.
Teeth dig into golden skin. Dark hooves hit just hard enough to bruise.
She is quick enough to dodge the brunt of her attack, and what remains is considerably weaker; of course, she barely intended to damage her anyways. After the attack connects, she dances out of her grasp, like some flickering golden flame. Sometimes Seraphina has to marvel at her, though she has no time for that now. Sometimes, she has to marvel at how close she is to god. If her own eyes are any indication, their personalities clashed terribly when they met, but Bexley looks like Solis, if Solis were carved from skin instead of rippling cascades of metal. She has his teeth and his temperament. If she were born in Solterra, rather than some other land that Seraphina only knows of from her rare anecdotes, she might have been considered blessed.
Now, looking at her, she wonders if Solterra hasn’t been more of a curse than anything to its golden girl. How many times has it tried to kill her? How much has it taken from her? Could any of it have been salvaged, if she were in some other land? (If she went to Denocte to be with her lover, like Eik, would he still be alive? Would she be dead? Would Raum have simply gone for her, instead of Isra or Acton? She doesn’t know. There’s little use in contemplating, but she doesn’t know.) Now it starves her, drains her, hangs her out to dry.
Still – when there is some distance between them, just before she runs at her, she laughs. It is not much of a laugh, more akin to a breathless exhalation, but the sound is enough to make Seraphina’s eyes widen with surprise. (She has never gotten much joy out of sparring, for a warrior-soldier-guard. It has always been a matter of necessity; if she did not want to fall in battle, she had to remain practiced and athletic. Of course, that had not actually stopped her from falling in battle.) Then, before she can move, Bexley is springing across the dry ground, quicker than she anticipated.
There isn’t enough time to dodge her, so Seraphina braces herself instead, legs locking into position and hooves seeking some form of traction in the pocked ground. She doesn’t know exactly what she expects Bexley to do, but it is not what she does; she twists, before their bodies can connect, and slides into her parallel. The weight of her impact throws her off balance, and, for a moment, Seraphina falters, her hooves lurching as she loses her balance. Bexley dashes away, before she can concoct some way to salvage the situation and turn it to her advantage; she is left to fall.
It is her telekinesis that saves her.
It is more of a reflex than an intentional action. For a moment, she stumbles, dangerously close to tumbling over altogether. Then, abruptly, her flailing hooves catch on air as though it is something solid, leaving her hovering a few inches above the ground. She allows her magic to lift her, tossing her head and turning her multi-colored stare on Bexley. She does not attack. (Her white hair twists in her braids, practically begging to fall out and float with the rest of her. She doesn’t let it; having long hair was a recipe for trouble in a battle.) She simply observes, her posture shifting to something defensive, muscles tensed and limbs loose. Her attack had been creative, and Seraphina, with her warrior’s curiosity, wonders what else her former Regent might have up her sleeve.
This was to be a learning experience, after all.
@
"Speech!" || "Ereshkigal!"
Summary:
Attack Used: 0
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 1
Block(s) Left: 0
Item(s) Used: Active magic
Response Deadline: 8/12/19 (not technically a requested extension or w/e, but I know you're heading back home in a couple of days, and re-adjusting is always...rough.)
Tags: @
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
