And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion."
The thorns rise wild before her, glorious in their blooming. Perhaps the sight of it should settle this monstrous desperation that has risen inside her. Perhaps it should soothe her to see his magic rise holy, and feral, and beautiful.
Perhaps she should see something else blooming between Ipomoea and the stag as they rise together from the rot like kings rising fully made from a place where only dirt, moss and worms have reigned.
Thana knows she should be grateful to see the rise and fall of his sides. And she knows it should settle this furious thing inside her to hear the rasp of his voice where there had been only silence, magic and blood. But she does not settle, and she does not feel anything but rage, and wrath, and a hunger so deep that it makes her breaths shallow and feral.
It feels like her heart is stopping. Like her magic has curled tight around it and crushed everything in her that has wept, and hoped, and wanted only another kiss from Ipomoea. And when her spine trembles it feels like the last bit of weakness that she will ever give him. She pulls away and it feels like she is shredding herself wide open with a dull and rusted blade.
Beneath her horn the purple of her eyes turns wild and reckless. There are a hundred sharp words pushing themselves to the edge of her tongue. But all that comes out like a sob is, “you could have died.” Thana inhales and shoves the ache and shattering down, down, down.
The vicious tap of her blade against the earth echos the racing fury of her heart, and the rushing hunger of her magic as she tries to lock it back up. The tip drags long lines in the dirt, and it cuts through the grass and blooming thorns closest to her. Everything in her feels hollow.
And yet the possibility of death, here with him, does not fill her with anything but dread. She knows that a saving anything is not worth Ipomoea's life.
Even the world would be a hollow price to pay for his life, and Thana would gladly watch it all rot down to magma and bones if it meant he would live even just one more day. It's there in her gaze (below the wrath), the thought of it, when she looks at him like her entire world has started to break apart. She does not break her stare from him, not even to look at the stag standing beside him with dirt and broken roots falling from it's belly.
Eligos, in the silence, walks closer to brush a nose against the stag's shoulder. He breathes in the smell of death and to him it feels like running wild on a hunt. No longer is he the only thing in the world that should not be. Together they are made, and holy, with bellies that will never know how to be full. And if his fangs knew the shape of a smile they would make it.
He pulls away as Thana takes another step back (and then another, and another, and another).
“That is not a thing I could bear.” The hard winter returns to her voice as she buries the rest of her sharp-edges and her desperation. And when she turns to go, she does not look at Ipomoea and his stag.
Because she thinks that if this were to happen again she would not let Ipomoea stop her-- not even to save the entire world and all its gods.
@Ipomoea
