FAITH IN THEIR HANDS SHALL SNAP IN TWO,
AND THE UNICORN EVILS RUN THEM THROUGH;
SPLIT ALL ENDS UP THEY SHAN’T CRACK;
AND DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION.
AND THE UNICORN EVILS RUN THEM THROUGH;
SPLIT ALL ENDS UP THEY SHAN’T CRACK;
AND DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION.
Heaven, and salvation, and religion have no place in this gloaming darkness and dead candlelight. There is only room in the chapel of dead gods for the monsters, and the master, and the howling of their hunger as it echoes like thunder in their chest. It's all hunger and darkness, thunder and snarl, iron and copper and blood dripping down between them like wishes in a well. The ground turns fat and hallowed with the blood of lost Euryale and the ghost of her son (and maybe there is the bitter tang of her lust in the air too).
Thana smiles as the mare impales herself on a kiss of horn as if Thana has promised life instead of death. Her magic roils and purrs in her stomach, eager to swallow down another mortal like the desert soaks up tears and rain. There has ever been nothing in the wake of Thana (only rot, and blackness, and silence) and yet Euryale, like all the rest see words in the darkness and relgion in the quiet that exists in no place other their their mortal, fragile, hope.
The blade on her tail whines against the stone. Again and again and again-- a whine, a moan of thunder, hunger, and hunger, and hunger.
Everything black magic and wanting lives in the howl of her blade as she lifts it towards the mortal mare. Thana leans into the kiss against her cheek as if she's eager for the touch of flesh and heat against the winter of her skin (and it's a lie, it's a lie for anyone but Ipomoea). She purrs a come closer that sounds like wasps caught between tongue and teeth. Dust monsters nip at the space around them, their teeth scraping against both unicorn hock and horse hock. Their snarls rise in a chrous of yips and barks until the silence is wild with sound above that drip, drip, drip of blood and rot. Marble continues to fall to the ground around them like more and more stars.
A universe is falling around them in the idols of false gods.
“Hush mortal. I do not need to hear you beg.” The magic-made unicorn says to the mare bloated with wanting, need, and lust. Her eyes turn dark in the shadows as she pulls her cheek from the mare's lips. Eligos pushes between them dragging his teeth along Thana's skin in a warning and a begging prayer that only Thana knows the sound of.
Thana almost turns to leave. She's still riding the black magic racing through her in wave after wave. Her bones tremble with a hundred insincts that Ipomoea's unicorn pretends not to understand. But the king is not here. The gods are not here. There is only Thana and a mortal, magic and false prayer. There are only monsters around them snarling for the want of hunger.
And then there is the whine of her blade as a warning.
She drags it across the mare's throat (pulling back at the last moment as something like guilt and want run down her spine like lightning) It's not enough to kill, not with the way it waivered at the killing strike like a petal in a storm. But it is enough to make her teeth ache at the scent of blood and life and need on the air. She snarls with the violence of her magic as it presses against the backs of her eyes like a tumor. And she does not want to discover how hard the magic can push before she turns to leave.
“Make it down the mountain if you want to live as a thing claimed by death. And if you want only the gift of your son stay here until the dawn. Either way you are still mine.” She says. But the way she turns to look over her shoulder, before she dissolves into the darkness with her pack of monsters, seems more of an appology than a promise.
And maybe it's the closest Thana will ever come to saying, I am sorry.
<3 | @Euryale
"Speaking."
"Speaking."
