TELL THAT ITS SCULPTOR WELL THOSE PASSIONS READ
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;☼
The wailing screech of the bloodied lock finally gives way, and instead she is left with the raucous laughter of Ereshkigal, nails-on-chalk, ringing out like a tempest in the back of her mind. She wishes that she could look away from the drip of that thick, blood-like liquid, but she can’t quite bring herself to draw her eyes away; and she has this knotting feeling in her stomach, the same one that she used to get as a child, those first few times she learned how to kill-
She reminds herself that she is not that child anymore, that it doesn’t matter; and that is when the other woman appears, the dark shape of a wolf at her heels. Seraphina swears that she might have seen her sometime before, a lifetime ago, but, if she knows her, she does not think that she knows her well enough to think about it – that would require dredging up memories that she would prefer to forget. She doesn’t bother with them now, leaves them where they lie, buries them. It’s probably for the best. She hopes that it’s for the best.
At her remark, she gives a stiff nod. “It certainly does,” Seraphina says, a firm grimace settling across her lips – and, when she suggests that she could be sightseeing, her response is almost immediate. “No.” She gives a shake of her head, considering – is what she’s doing all that different from sightseeing? It feels like something else, a seed of discomfort and worry ready to take bloom in her ribs at any moment. (She has learned better than to trust something given by the gods – or what she can only assume is the gods -, especially something dressed in a monster’s skin.) “…but I thought there might be trouble. I suppose there always is, on this island, but it seems to be getting more and more…wrong with each season.” She isn’t sure how to explain it. Were she still queen, it would be simple, but all that lingers in place of her crown is a familiar sense of obligation, and, and, and-
(If Solis were anywhere, he would be here, and, after what he had done to her, surely she should be allowed to see his face.)
She eyes the woman and her wolf cautiously, rolling words around in her mouth until she decides on a halfway-suitable question. “Why did you come here? I assume that you aren’t sightseeing.”
Why would anyone come here? She heard stories of the jewels, of course, of the treasures beneath the earth; but surely anyone in Novus knew of the island’s malevolent draw by now.
She supposes that danger, no matter how divine or monstrous, had never really discouraged anyone; for some, it was probably even a source of attraction.
@Morrighan || <3 || "ozymandius," percy shelley
Sera || Eresh
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, / The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;☼
The wailing screech of the bloodied lock finally gives way, and instead she is left with the raucous laughter of Ereshkigal, nails-on-chalk, ringing out like a tempest in the back of her mind. She wishes that she could look away from the drip of that thick, blood-like liquid, but she can’t quite bring herself to draw her eyes away; and she has this knotting feeling in her stomach, the same one that she used to get as a child, those first few times she learned how to kill-
She reminds herself that she is not that child anymore, that it doesn’t matter; and that is when the other woman appears, the dark shape of a wolf at her heels. Seraphina swears that she might have seen her sometime before, a lifetime ago, but, if she knows her, she does not think that she knows her well enough to think about it – that would require dredging up memories that she would prefer to forget. She doesn’t bother with them now, leaves them where they lie, buries them. It’s probably for the best. She hopes that it’s for the best.
At her remark, she gives a stiff nod. “It certainly does,” Seraphina says, a firm grimace settling across her lips – and, when she suggests that she could be sightseeing, her response is almost immediate. “No.” She gives a shake of her head, considering – is what she’s doing all that different from sightseeing? It feels like something else, a seed of discomfort and worry ready to take bloom in her ribs at any moment. (She has learned better than to trust something given by the gods – or what she can only assume is the gods -, especially something dressed in a monster’s skin.) “…but I thought there might be trouble. I suppose there always is, on this island, but it seems to be getting more and more…wrong with each season.” She isn’t sure how to explain it. Were she still queen, it would be simple, but all that lingers in place of her crown is a familiar sense of obligation, and, and, and-
(If Solis were anywhere, he would be here, and, after what he had done to her, surely she should be allowed to see his face.)
She eyes the woman and her wolf cautiously, rolling words around in her mouth until she decides on a halfway-suitable question. “Why did you come here? I assume that you aren’t sightseeing.”
Why would anyone come here? She heard stories of the jewels, of course, of the treasures beneath the earth; but surely anyone in Novus knew of the island’s malevolent draw by now.
She supposes that danger, no matter how divine or monstrous, had never really discouraged anyone; for some, it was probably even a source of attraction.
@Morrighan || <3 || "ozymandius," percy shelley
Sera || Eresh
I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence
