pointing at the sky, we yell and swell
When the mask is pulled away from her shoulder, Antiope takes a moment to better look over the equine wearing it, and the mask itself. It’s quite a grisly looking item, and if she were younger or more impressionable and easily frightened in general, it might have gotten some sort of reaction out of her.
The wearer seems a little disappointed in her lack of shock or fear, but Antiope fears very little if anything. Especially death. “If you were a sphinx with a riddle, my prize would have been the same,” she responds. Another day, a bit of company. She shifts her weight and takes a step further down the path, as if inviting the wearer of the mask to abandon it for the night and join her instead.
They seem to consider it for a moment, and the thoughtful hum that resounds from beneath the mask is softer than the purr of their voice. It’s a strange discordance with the face of the mask, which does not change nor wear any expression at all, but it does make Antiope wish she could see the eyes beneath it, the curve of lips.
She’s pleased when they agree to join her, tossing aside the mask and revealing their true identity. Antiope isn’t surprised by the face exposed to the gentle, warm lamplight but is glad none-the-less for it. Aghavni begins to speak but seems shocked to see the Regent standing there when she stops suddenly.
Antiope raises a brow, the corner of her lips quirking up slightly. “Aghavni,” she greets, “I was hoping I was correct in assuming that was you under there.” She gestures to the mask, now lying upon the ground of the maze. The thick black leather, rotted and decaying, almost disappeared into the shadows where it rested. “Still care to join me?”
The striped woman gestures deeper into the maze, sapphire eyes gleaming in the low light. The corn stalks are almost silver in the moonlight, for as green as they look in the day. And their shadows fall sharply over the pathway like jagged bars, and over the backs of the equines like the stripes that Antiope already wears.
“What exactly is Doctor Pestilence doing in the maze so late?” the Regent asks, turning her eyes to Aghavni, listening to the sound of the breeze in the tops of the corn and the distant voices of other patrons in the maze. Still, it is quiet enough that right here, it seems like they are in their own little world.
against the rising of the sun
When the mask is pulled away from her shoulder, Antiope takes a moment to better look over the equine wearing it, and the mask itself. It’s quite a grisly looking item, and if she were younger or more impressionable and easily frightened in general, it might have gotten some sort of reaction out of her.
The wearer seems a little disappointed in her lack of shock or fear, but Antiope fears very little if anything. Especially death. “If you were a sphinx with a riddle, my prize would have been the same,” she responds. Another day, a bit of company. She shifts her weight and takes a step further down the path, as if inviting the wearer of the mask to abandon it for the night and join her instead.
They seem to consider it for a moment, and the thoughtful hum that resounds from beneath the mask is softer than the purr of their voice. It’s a strange discordance with the face of the mask, which does not change nor wear any expression at all, but it does make Antiope wish she could see the eyes beneath it, the curve of lips.
She’s pleased when they agree to join her, tossing aside the mask and revealing their true identity. Antiope isn’t surprised by the face exposed to the gentle, warm lamplight but is glad none-the-less for it. Aghavni begins to speak but seems shocked to see the Regent standing there when she stops suddenly.
Antiope raises a brow, the corner of her lips quirking up slightly. “Aghavni,” she greets, “I was hoping I was correct in assuming that was you under there.” She gestures to the mask, now lying upon the ground of the maze. The thick black leather, rotted and decaying, almost disappeared into the shadows where it rested. “Still care to join me?”
The striped woman gestures deeper into the maze, sapphire eyes gleaming in the low light. The corn stalks are almost silver in the moonlight, for as green as they look in the day. And their shadows fall sharply over the pathway like jagged bars, and over the backs of the equines like the stripes that Antiope already wears.
“What exactly is Doctor Pestilence doing in the maze so late?” the Regent asks, turning her eyes to Aghavni, listening to the sound of the breeze in the tops of the corn and the distant voices of other patrons in the maze. Still, it is quiet enough that right here, it seems like they are in their own little world.
![[Image: 13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png]](https://file.toyhou.se/images/13716916_Rc8f5hGvZkB3cYP.png)
a war is calling
the tides are turned
the tides are turned
