“both beauty and terror, without beginning, without end.”
In the space between euphoria and opiate longing, Al'Zhara starts to speak in the language of form.
The curl of her neck sings. The whispers of her chains start to beg. The hollow thuds of their hooves as they move (so slowly, like summer seas, so slowly against this shore of flesh between them). Each curl of her, each grain of salt in their sweat, is an almost note to a song. It's a song she's always known how to sing. Consumption, profanity, holiness.
“Yes.” She says it like a prayer. “Yes.” And then she starts the dance, and sing her song of skin, the hallelujah of devouring. They will take the world with them into the fire, and the stars and music with it.
But even as she turns wild, she can see the youth of it in Morrighan's skin as she starts to echo the same song. And for all the Warden's fire, and fury, and wrath, there is only one of them that knows exactly how each tug of hair and flesh will feel before they hold on. Everything is rose gold, tainted by firelight and opiate-light. There are moons dancing on their skin and stars flickering around their brows like crowns.
Tonight she seems like a child of fire and moonlight, stardust and embers, drum and silence.
Tonight she feels like a furious thing, a hollow thing, a thing that is pulling, pulling, pulling Morrighan into the darkness beyond the ritual.
And even that darkness doesn't seem like enough, as she drags her teeth along rib, and spine, and sinew. There is void in her, left by magic and fire, that needs weight, and fury, and this violent mockery of love to fill it. No matter how hard her teeth become, or how like steel her form becomes, there is still the drumming of the drug and the stars driving her onward to more of this violent adoration.
There are no apologies on her tongue, no remorse. Like the stars taking the light with them as they fall, Al'Zhara, in the end, drags Morrighan into the earth.
@Morrighan
