![[Image: rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png]](https://orig15.deviantart.net/7f0b/f/2017/234/b/6/rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png)
The memories of how the folk of Denocte had whispered about this boy lived, thrived even, just behind her ashen eyes - he was the perfect fable for a mother's tongue: "behave child, or from the darkness he will come." And they had every right to fear this assassin, now a man, standing in the open grandeur of this room. For Raum was silent and sharp and ruthless; he might have even defined fear himself. But Rhoswen? Rhoswen was not afraid. Rhoswen was seething. Her anger had grown, small and obscure at first, but with each passing moment that she stared at the Crow it had bloomed turbulently. Who did he think he was? Had his final words not been enough? His barbs of "traitor" and "fool" surely stung as vehemently now as they did all those months ago. Now here he stood, in her court, as bold as brass as if they had not spent a single day apart. Back for more, was he?
"Crow business"
Her heart roars, flares of amber, gold and bloodied scarlet to match her skin shoot up her throat - flashes of her hot-wired temper. For a moment the question of how Raum had even made it this far into the castle simmered in her mind before she brushed it aside; he was not rope-walker for nothing, the man lived in the shadows for heaven sake. If anyone was going to slip passed Maxence and his regime, it was this silver fiend before her. Rhoswen could still smell the lilting fragrance of Night Court on his skin, but... it was faded? As though it had been days since his last visit home, and mingled strongly with it was the familiar scent of Solterra. How long had he been here? Confusion amalgamated with the briny bite of her irritation, before it clicked: he was here to spy. "Crow business..." her voice bubbled ever so softly, the rasp of her normally-dulcet tones barely breached a whisper. Pompeii was reaching her boiling point.
Rhoswen wasn't like Raum; she wasn't level headed or calm, she was a volcano: blistering and volatile.
The softness of his voice echoes against the gold and the tapestries and her soft, hot skin. Rose. The redhead snorted, baby-pink lips curling back in distaste. Nobody had called her that in years, even toward the end of her time in Denocte Raum had desisted, as each day they'd split further and further apart. A stake driven straight down the middle, fracturing their tenuous bond. Rhoswen had never liked the nickname the silver boy had chosen, but that was why Raum had been so insistent on making it stick; teasing, brotherly almost.
She snarls - "Caligo was never my fucking goddess. I tried to love her, I tried to listen, but it's hard listening to silence and darkness and sheer nothingness. She abandoned me." The smoke in her eyes seethed, her voice almost cracking as she felt the sudden stabbing of pain in her chest. He thought it had been easy for her; this life, this path. He was ignorant, he had no idea. "If you had ever taken a second to look at me, really look at me, you might have seen that I had no fucking choice." Perhaps, that was not entirely true. Everyone in life had a choice, Rhoswen understood that much - I suppose, her choice had been simple: stay bound to Denocte until her soul was crumbled into dust, or leave.
@Raum excuse the bad language, this is an overspill of angst that's just been waiting to explode ehe
"Crow business"
Her heart roars, flares of amber, gold and bloodied scarlet to match her skin shoot up her throat - flashes of her hot-wired temper. For a moment the question of how Raum had even made it this far into the castle simmered in her mind before she brushed it aside; he was not rope-walker for nothing, the man lived in the shadows for heaven sake. If anyone was going to slip passed Maxence and his regime, it was this silver fiend before her. Rhoswen could still smell the lilting fragrance of Night Court on his skin, but... it was faded? As though it had been days since his last visit home, and mingled strongly with it was the familiar scent of Solterra. How long had he been here? Confusion amalgamated with the briny bite of her irritation, before it clicked: he was here to spy. "Crow business..." her voice bubbled ever so softly, the rasp of her normally-dulcet tones barely breached a whisper. Pompeii was reaching her boiling point.
Rhoswen wasn't like Raum; she wasn't level headed or calm, she was a volcano: blistering and volatile.
The softness of his voice echoes against the gold and the tapestries and her soft, hot skin. Rose. The redhead snorted, baby-pink lips curling back in distaste. Nobody had called her that in years, even toward the end of her time in Denocte Raum had desisted, as each day they'd split further and further apart. A stake driven straight down the middle, fracturing their tenuous bond. Rhoswen had never liked the nickname the silver boy had chosen, but that was why Raum had been so insistent on making it stick; teasing, brotherly almost.
She snarls - "Caligo was never my fucking goddess. I tried to love her, I tried to listen, but it's hard listening to silence and darkness and sheer nothingness. She abandoned me." The smoke in her eyes seethed, her voice almost cracking as she felt the sudden stabbing of pain in her chest. He thought it had been easy for her; this life, this path. He was ignorant, he had no idea. "If you had ever taken a second to look at me, really look at me, you might have seen that I had no fucking choice." Perhaps, that was not entirely true. Everyone in life had a choice, Rhoswen understood that much - I suppose, her choice had been simple: stay bound to Denocte until her soul was crumbled into dust, or leave.
@Raum excuse the bad language, this is an overspill of angst that's just been waiting to explode ehe
