Anandi had been so good since coming to Novus. Apart from the animal kills, of course (but it was that or the baker, the halcyon cadet, the regent) and the turning of Leto, and most notably the... incident with Lucinda. She clearly wasn’t perfect, but she could be so much worse. It took enormous self-control, and for all the energy she poured into containing herself nobody ever thought to say “thank you”. She imagines it, sometimes, when she walks away from a conversation brimming with unfulfilled desire. The sound of their voices, quivering with emotion: “Thank you for not ripping my throat out. Thank you for not eating me, bones and all. Thank you for not dragging me to the depths of the ocean and sharing me with your sisters.”
But no, they were all ungrateful little shits. Lucinda was perhaps the worst of all. Lucinda, whom Anandi saved from death-- death by her hand, sure, but it wasn’t like Lucinda wasn’t begging for a lesson in humility. Anandi had been generous, and her reward for that was to be forever bound to this bitch. Neither of them were happy with the situation, but at least the emissary once attempted to reason, to beguile... to navigate a shattered kind of friendship. Theirs would never be a jolly, wholesome relationship, but she wished it didn’t have to be so miserable.
And it wouldn’t, if Lucinda would just shut the fuck up.
But she doesn’t. She just goes on and on, laughing and goading and pushing. Like a stupid, dirty-faced, idiot child poking at a hornet’s nest. Anandi’s blood boils. It was a natural kind of violence that swelled, inevitable; a breath held too long, then finally exhaled. Release. The heart races, the lungs swell. The body, wound tight and aching for motion, hums with the righteousness of natural impulses nearly obeyed. The kelpie breathes in deep, holds it in, and the blood rushing through her demands:
Bow to the monster in you!
Succumb to your instinct!
Let go! Release! Let the mask fall away!
Anandi is tired of hearing Lucinda talk. And talking is clearly not a game the emissary will win this time, so she doesn’t waste her breath with a response. In a beautifully fluid motion she lunges forward at the other mare’s neck, teeth snapping with terrifying force. It isn’t about the rage, not really. It’s about the exhale. It feels so good. But if she could rip into Lucinda, just a little bit, just enough to put her in her place, then all the better.
your own decapitated head?
A N A N D I
@Lucinda <3 you're welcome to powerplay
some say the loving and the devouring are all the same thing
☾
