[AW] i'm not your idol . [aw]

[Fever]

F E V E R

I DIED LIKE A SAINT; WAS REBORN A DEVIL

The sweltering heat of Solterra sun was like no other remedy – Fever would be convinced she was a cold-blooded reptile for the way she lay on the stones, basking in the heat, every hair on her body singing with praise for the one thing she was grateful for from Solis. The oils on her skin reflected the light like a well-polished metal, the glint of her jewelry like summer stars along the patchwork of her colorful coat. 

She sprawled unabashedly in the midst of her people, her court – the dirty day-to-day civilians who carried this kingdom on their backs, built it with their sweat and tears. Occasionally, she’d be asked to sing a song and tossed a coin or two, and she’d oblige happily, filling the square with songs from her slave days; her vocals always reminiscent of foreign chai notes and alien spices of another world. 

Yet, she was quick to pass off her earnings to the children who blinked at her from the sidelines – foals either running errands for their parents who probably lounged in the shade, or worse, were abandoned and now lawless. Fever paid a pair of them to sit next to her and braid the impressive lengths of her tail – those young girls would giggle and delightfully stress over what to do with so much hair. 

And in that moment, while fillies played with her inky tail, and the smell of hot earth danced in the air, and the people of the court mingled and bartered in the streets for milk, breads, and fruits, Fever couldn’t help but revel in it. 

This was royalty – you couldn’t convince her anything else.

Freedom to just live in the mundane was a privilege and she never wished to take that for granted.

Briefly, she wondered if she could spot the tea-maker and her shop from her lounge.

Alas, her attention was diverted as a small hush seemed to come over the townsfolk. Fever raised a brow as the children stopped tangling her locks, their eyes glazed with an unintelligible expression, their bodies taut with respect. Far off, Fever could see the dipping of heads and bowing. For a split second, she panics, frozen with fear with the possibility of a noble from her previous household coming into view, coming to steal her away and place her back behind walls.

But no, she is relieved to see a dusty draught, icy eyes and large muscles, with some reptile clinging to the nape of his neck. By the reactions of those around her, she can draw some assumptions.

Ahh.

So, this must be the King.

In true Fever fashion, where nothing is above her, she stands, but does not bow her head or make any effort to show her respects. She instead is silent, eyes narrowing as she scrutinizes him and wonders why has he made a descent into the court with the commoners. 

@Leviathan

I SLEPT LIKE A SLAVE; WOKE UP A REBEL

art by TheDayOfShadow, code by @c.widow