“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
There is a darkness in the way she touches Morrighan. A blackness in the soot of her lips as they paint arcane scripture across fire-blessed skin. Perhaps there is lust too, below that blackness and darkness, as blue-bright as the center of a flame. Their skin is almost grafted together in places: a hip to a rib-bone, a throat to a lip, a shoulder to a crest. And between it all, beyond it all, is the soot and smoke of a hundred fires that have nothing to do with love.
It's a plague, it's a sickness, it's the core of Al'Zahra whittled down to furious want.
Her kind did not inherit the world for a reason. They would have consumed it. Down to the ore and the bone they would have consumed it. She still wants too, even as the last. That rabid hunger to watch it all burn has not faded. Even death might not take it from her.
Her voice feels like ash at her teeth when she says, “Yes”. Every inch of her skin, every gun-shot click of her bones as she follows the pull of Morrighan's teeth, feels like kindling tucked into the belly of the earth. Can the Warden feel it, the rage churning and consuming all of Al'Zahra like a black-hole consumes planets and spits out space-dust? Can she feel it?
There is that black-hole pull between their skin as she follows the tug of teeth and the hiss of flames nipping at her heels like hounds. And there is that hunger blazing in her, that blackness deeper than the sea, pushing back as she follows into the dark forest.
Al'Zahra follows like a feather pretending not to be a noose made out golden chain-link.
@Morrighan
