T
he silence between them is deafening. It's as if the world has stopped for this moment and there is only the ache in her bones (and heart). She hasn't wanted anything as much as she wants this, so she holds her breath and her heart is tight in her chest.Morrighan isn't sure what she had expected to happen. She tried to prepare herself by thinking through every possible way the conversation could shift. She thought of a response for each reaction, but her mind is blank now. Probably because she didn't entirely expect this. She thought Antiope knew her better than this and could see all the progress she's made over the months. She's not the same woman Antiope dragged out of the bar drunk.
And yet, that's all she seems to see.
It feels like a knife is thrown into her heart and it's hard to let herself breathe. She can feel her fire inside her beg to come out, to consume everything in its path and give in to the boiling anger. She can feel the shock and just stands there rigid.
"You do not know me the way that you think you do."
"Neither do you," she says, although it comes out more like the snarl of a wolf than something equine. She is torn between disappointment and anger. How could this woman be so blind?
Morrighan had been merely acknowledging a tradition that went back many Sovereigns before them. Although she felt she had proven herself worthy, she would be willing to do more to show it. Apparently, none of that mattered now.
She watches Antiope leave and realizes she doesn't recognize the woman anymore. They had been friends, or so she thought at one point. The last thing she had meant to do was make her feel like she had to leave. If she had given her a chance, she would have offered her the position of Regent or Warden, or any other position she might want. They could continue serving their Court side by side, just with Morrighan having the opportunity to do more. To do what she feels like she's been working towards ever since Isra first promoted her, she just didn't realize it until now.
Well, here she is now, Sovereign of Denocte.
With a flick of her tail, instead of setting her fire free, she claims the fire from the torches as she walks down the hall. There's no time to yell back at the woman who is likely long gone by now. There's no time to grieve or to process anything else about this moment. She has work to do.
She rings the bells.
you can't touch a woman who can wear pain like the grandest of diamonds around her neck
