b e x l e y
zeus acts as zeus ordains. do you think the gods ignore a man who steps on holy things?
S
ome part of her is strained. By the wanting, by the waiting, by the way Antiope’s blue eyes burn into hers, stronger than iron, smoother than stone. Bexley’s pulse is fluttering in her throat; her body feels not tense but live-wire, coiled to pounce, ready and ready and ready for a thing she cannot know will happen. The rain is still coming down around them in a fine mist. Patches of it are bluish silver, while others glow gold from the light of the axe. She is half-dizzy with the way everything looks, the way it feels—beautiful and blurry as a fairytale, like her memories of home. Glitter-gauze on the wet streets. The cold, frail threat of a thunderstorm. And oh, the feeling of magic—a strange, pulsating heart in the middle of the city, just like the gold that runs through her blood.
There are no gods where Bexley is from. She is still not sure she believes in them, scientifically speaking: her meeting with Solis proved little of his omnipotence and much more of his capacity to be a piece of shit. But if the stories are to be believed—if there is a creature, mortal or otherwise, with the kind of power people want to believe in—Antiope would be close to it.
Bexley lets out a soft, uncertain breath, one which fogs in the air as if the rain has turned to glass around them. She glances briefly down; a puddle has begun to form under her feet, shimmering and rippling, and the light of Antiope’s axe rolls like golden ribbons over the surface of the water.
And what are your desires?
An exhale, a tiny smile; she is pleased, though unsurprised, and a brow arches faintly as she meets Antiope’s eyes with a blink of dark lashes and a minute tilt of her head to one side. Water sloughs from her curls, off her shoulders. “Oh,” Bexley says with a shrug—maybe exaggerating the thoughtfulness, the airiness. Maybe not. “I don’t know. Everything?”
A real smile, then, a quick flash of bright teeth, surely sharper than necessary. “And what do you desire, besides to move?” Bexley slashes her tail behind her. She is a lightning strike in the dark, a curve of shining, stuttering gold. And her eyes—they burn against the dark.
@Antiope | "speaks" | notes: <3
