BY THE PRICKING OF MY THUMBS
something wicked this way comes--
She listened to what little he offered of his background with a subdued curiosity; whatever had happened to him was unpleasant enough to wipe the manufactured smile from his features. (She wondered if it had anything to do with the faint twitch of his shoulder, and the scar that ran across it.) For a moment, his eyes seemed familiar in a way that sent a faint stab through the mare, and she was suddenly acutely aware that the two of them were no longer looking at the same landscape, that his gaze was trained on some distant memory to which she was not privy – she had seen it on soldiers many times, haunted by battles like ghosts, by ghosts. Seraphina was not sure if she was sympathetic; she did not feel much after all, but there was something to his words, to his eyes, that felt familiar. “…I can understand that.” A calm admittance; not quite empathetic, but certainly acknowledging. Before she had been Seraphina, she had been a terrified, orphaned girl, running blind through desert sands. (Perhaps she had not been so fortunate in where her hooves had led her, – right into the lion’s claws – but Seraphina cared little for fortune, and she viewed the past through the lens of apathy. It was unchangeable. Now she learned from it.) He brushed whatever he had experienced aside, then, like leaves brushed from a tree’s branches in the fall wind, and his eyes seemed to find her again with a quirk of his brow. She nodded, slightly, to his next comment. “It seems that you can find tragedy wherever you look.” Pain, she had learned, was universal, even if she had largely forgotten in – the world could be terribly, unnecessarily cruel. There were plenty of uses for pain, of course, and she liked to chalk her relationship with Viceroy up to one of those useful occasions; Seraphina balked at ruthlessness only when it was unnecessary.
His next words were met with what might have been a hint of amusement, if one were to squint. “And here I thought that a talent for merrymaking was a prerequisite for all of Denocte’s citizens.” There was no particular insult to her tone, however, and she went on to add, “Such matters are...quite a rarity in Solterra. I admire Rhoswen's skill for them - they require such effort and perceptiveness.” If nothing else, she admired Denocte for its versatility. Many of her fellows loathed the court for its perceived weakness and very real fickleness, but she was not so quick to underestimate the vast assortment of skills that the Night Kingdom had at its disposal – skills that were often lacking in Solterra, which put most all its energy into battle. She didn’t like parties, that being said. They remained an unpleasant reminder of Zolin, of the grandiose balls that he would throw for his own amusement as his people starved in the streets. They could be a sort of strategic endeavor, however, and one that she would likely have to learn if she ever hoped to succeed in her new role.
Nooks and crannies? Quite an observation, she thought, dryly. “Yes.” Her tone remained cool, but her agreement was certainly emphasized. “The desert provides for those who know it, but it hides many dangers – I have buried all too many travelers unaccustomed to its landscape.” She thought back to her days spent as a patrolling warrior – she had been so much younger then, or perhaps it just felt that way. Maybe others would have left them to rot among the sands, but Seraphina had seen all too many dead left unburied on the battlefield to stomach leaving them behind, even if it meant she had to dig their graves herself. (Even if they were foolish for wandering the sands unaware, they deserved some dignity, some remembrance…or something. She had never been entirely sure why she cared; perhaps it was never really caring. Duty was easier to stomach.) “I can’t imagine that it is any different in Denocte – from what I have seen of the Arma Mountains, they are no less treacherous than these canyon walls.” No less treacherous than the Night Court itself, she imagined, full of winding paths that grew more and more deceptive the further you ascended into the landscape, volatile and shifting with each bank of clouds and gust of wind.
@Acton - a bit of sudden, rambly muse; sorry for the book <3
edit : I just realized I suddenly changed tenses in this reply, RIP. I'll fix it tomorrow.
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
