“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
“I've already started to burn it down.” The words are spoken flesh to flesh, fury to fury, inhale to exhale. “You just have to catch up.”Al'Zahra can taste them, like embers on her tongue, smoldering in the cracks between her teeth. And to her they sound not like words. Each sounds like prayer, like knees long bloody from need and lips pressed hard enough to bleed against a rosary.
Each word, each breath, each hiss of flame burning the tips of her hair--
It all feels like the beginning of the end. And if only, she thinks, if only there was this quicksilver flame when her kind started to fall. Perhaps then the world would not be owned by the gods. It could have been left to the hedonistic and wicked things, the magic without tether, the flames and the soot.
There is a suggestion of that hedonism when she tucks the opiate back out of sight. Al'Zahra presses their shoulders together and sighs at the kiss of flame against her skin even as she winces for the pain of it. Around them the shed-stars grow wild and grotesque as they lay themselves bare to the falling stars streaking down above them and the intensity of their devotion to the small bits of light blazing themselves to death in the darkness. The air feels heavy as oil when she inhales, like the religion is trying to drown them in it the wildness of it, the chaos, the beat of the drum making all her edges feel like suggestion instead of flesh.
And Al'Zahra is weak to it, that feel of fire licking at her chest and a drum-beat drowning out the pulse of this mortal form. She wants to lose herself, she wants to expand outside this form, she wants to burn.
She wants, she wants, she wants--
Morrighan's skin: the way it tastes like fury when she drags her teeth along the Warden's neck.
“Do we know if anything is going to kill us?” Her skin feels like needles, like ice, and fire, and destruction. It feels like the echo of her old-soul wants out, like it wants to press itself into Morrighan's flames just to see what can be drawn out of the ash. She bites down on the Warden's withers, hard enough that she can feel the hardness of spine between her teeth. “Do you trust me?” Al'Zahra asks even though she knows Morrighan shouldn't trust her at all.
No mortal should.
@Morrighan
