☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼
and I see fire
blood in the breeze
She wanted to be angry.
She wanted to be furious. She had spent the days following the attack in a state of bitter, repressed frustration; there was no time for anger, she told herself. There was no time to let herself get caught up in silly, girlish feelings. What did rage ever do for a queen but muddle her instincts and push her to recklessness? Seraphina had been foolish, or so she told herself. She had been foolish in trusting Avdotya despite the prickling sensation that told her the snake was planning something. She had been foolish in trusting at all.
Perhaps worst was the knowledge that she hadn’t even been the one to pay for her foolish indecision and naivete. The silver queen survived with only minor injuries, shallow scrapes and gashes that would heal up quickly. It wasn’t fair that she escaped so unscathed when so many of her innocents lay in a smoldering pile in the central courtyard, slowly burning away to ashes. It wasn’t fair that she had escaped unscathed when her people lay in makeshift sickbays set up around the city, struggling to cling to life; they hadn’t the healers or supplies to care for them. So many slipped away with each passing day.
None of this was fair. So few of them had been compliant in Zolin’s schemes, and so many of them had been made to suffer for them, to bear the weight of sins that were not their own.
She wanted to be angry.
She wanted to be angry, but she knew that her anger was useless; it would do nothing to bring back the dead or rebuild the capitol or get her people the supplies they needed to survive. She wanted to be angry, but she had nowhere to put it all; she could not strike the Davke now, and she could do nothing to Night for their assault on Bexley Briar. She wanted to be angry like she had never wanted anything before, but she quelled the flickering embers that sought to leap to flames inside of her chest and feigned a strength that she was not sure she still possessed. She pushed the flicker away, like she always did, and she told herself that it was for the best as she drifted among foreign diplomats and took mercy wherever it was offered, brought to her knees in the most humiliating manner she had ever experienced. So much, she thought, for the Sun Queen, and so much for the Queen of Solterra. She was no longer sure that she was a queen at all.
The smell of ashes still clung to her skin as she strode into the Solterran arena, hot sunlight reflecting off the metallic silver of her already-sweaty sides. As she did, she regarded the man who was to be her opponent - a man she trusted as much as she trusted herself, even among such discord and betrayal. In a world that seemed to be falling apart around her, Eik remained one of the few forces in her life that did not feel as though he would crumble like sand beneath her hooves. Her one remaining advisor was at least as shaken as she over the Davke attack, perhaps even more so, and she didn’t know what to tell him. Seraphina wasn’t even sure that there was anything to say, and, if there was, she wasn’t sure that she would have the words to say it. (In the aftermath of such destruction, she had felt much like she had when they lost Maxence. Now, of all times, she needed to have direction, but she felt completely and utterly lost, and she didn’t even know how to explain it.) She wanted to say something to fix things, but, for all the supposed eloquence that had brought her into the highest echelons of Solterran society, Seraphina could not piece together what she wanted to say.
She eyed him closely, scanning his body for wounds and scrapes; there was an ugly gash on his shoulder that looked as though it wasn’t healing properly, and it was enough to provoke a slight frown from the mare. It almost appeared irritated, as though he wasn’t taking care of it. (She made a mental note to avoid his shoulder. She didn’t want to make it any worse.) Seraphina dipped her head, then, and met his gaze with her mismatched eyes, expression almost thoughtful. He had changed, or returned to something that he was before in some way that she could not quite understand; she was not sure if he was moving forwards or backwards, now, and she supposed that she could say the same for herself. The attack had changed them and shaken everything they knew to its foundation. How could any of them have escaped unscathed?
“Ready?” She asked, as more of a forewarning than a question; leaving no time for response, she sprung into movement, hooves slamming against the sandstone floor of the arena with a harsh clatter and a spray of sand.
Anger dissipated; the flicker was extinguished. Her throat burned, and her blood hummed. The world slipped away, as it always did, and it left behind only the fight ahead of her.
She rushed towards him in a fluid cascade of sleek silver, braided hair whipping against the sides of her neck with a rhythmic thump. There was little space to close between them, so she made no move to hide her strategy, as she had in battles past. Seraphina was a reactionary creature by nature; she was never sure how to start a fight. Nevertheless, limber muscles tensed beneath her as she reached his side, shifting all of her weight onto her hindquarters.
In a fluid motion, she skidded to a halt in front of him, rising up onto her hind legs and lashing out at his chest with sharp, ebony hooves. She did not, however, aim to do her compatriot too much damage, in such a troubled time; a bit of bruising and a scratch was, at the worst, her only intention.
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notes | poor eik D: also sorry I didn't mean for this to get so long. at all. x.x I'm beginning to wonder if I'm capable of short sera posts.
and I see fire
blood in the breeze
She wanted to be angry.
She wanted to be furious. She had spent the days following the attack in a state of bitter, repressed frustration; there was no time for anger, she told herself. There was no time to let herself get caught up in silly, girlish feelings. What did rage ever do for a queen but muddle her instincts and push her to recklessness? Seraphina had been foolish, or so she told herself. She had been foolish in trusting Avdotya despite the prickling sensation that told her the snake was planning something. She had been foolish in trusting at all.
Perhaps worst was the knowledge that she hadn’t even been the one to pay for her foolish indecision and naivete. The silver queen survived with only minor injuries, shallow scrapes and gashes that would heal up quickly. It wasn’t fair that she escaped so unscathed when so many of her innocents lay in a smoldering pile in the central courtyard, slowly burning away to ashes. It wasn’t fair that she had escaped unscathed when her people lay in makeshift sickbays set up around the city, struggling to cling to life; they hadn’t the healers or supplies to care for them. So many slipped away with each passing day.
None of this was fair. So few of them had been compliant in Zolin’s schemes, and so many of them had been made to suffer for them, to bear the weight of sins that were not their own.
She wanted to be angry.
She wanted to be angry, but she knew that her anger was useless; it would do nothing to bring back the dead or rebuild the capitol or get her people the supplies they needed to survive. She wanted to be angry, but she had nowhere to put it all; she could not strike the Davke now, and she could do nothing to Night for their assault on Bexley Briar. She wanted to be angry like she had never wanted anything before, but she quelled the flickering embers that sought to leap to flames inside of her chest and feigned a strength that she was not sure she still possessed. She pushed the flicker away, like she always did, and she told herself that it was for the best as she drifted among foreign diplomats and took mercy wherever it was offered, brought to her knees in the most humiliating manner she had ever experienced. So much, she thought, for the Sun Queen, and so much for the Queen of Solterra. She was no longer sure that she was a queen at all.
The smell of ashes still clung to her skin as she strode into the Solterran arena, hot sunlight reflecting off the metallic silver of her already-sweaty sides. As she did, she regarded the man who was to be her opponent - a man she trusted as much as she trusted herself, even among such discord and betrayal. In a world that seemed to be falling apart around her, Eik remained one of the few forces in her life that did not feel as though he would crumble like sand beneath her hooves. Her one remaining advisor was at least as shaken as she over the Davke attack, perhaps even more so, and she didn’t know what to tell him. Seraphina wasn’t even sure that there was anything to say, and, if there was, she wasn’t sure that she would have the words to say it. (In the aftermath of such destruction, she had felt much like she had when they lost Maxence. Now, of all times, she needed to have direction, but she felt completely and utterly lost, and she didn’t even know how to explain it.) She wanted to say something to fix things, but, for all the supposed eloquence that had brought her into the highest echelons of Solterran society, Seraphina could not piece together what she wanted to say.
She eyed him closely, scanning his body for wounds and scrapes; there was an ugly gash on his shoulder that looked as though it wasn’t healing properly, and it was enough to provoke a slight frown from the mare. It almost appeared irritated, as though he wasn’t taking care of it. (She made a mental note to avoid his shoulder. She didn’t want to make it any worse.) Seraphina dipped her head, then, and met his gaze with her mismatched eyes, expression almost thoughtful. He had changed, or returned to something that he was before in some way that she could not quite understand; she was not sure if he was moving forwards or backwards, now, and she supposed that she could say the same for herself. The attack had changed them and shaken everything they knew to its foundation. How could any of them have escaped unscathed?
“Ready?” She asked, as more of a forewarning than a question; leaving no time for response, she sprung into movement, hooves slamming against the sandstone floor of the arena with a harsh clatter and a spray of sand.
Anger dissipated; the flicker was extinguished. Her throat burned, and her blood hummed. The world slipped away, as it always did, and it left behind only the fight ahead of her.
She rushed towards him in a fluid cascade of sleek silver, braided hair whipping against the sides of her neck with a rhythmic thump. There was little space to close between them, so she made no move to hide her strategy, as she had in battles past. Seraphina was a reactionary creature by nature; she was never sure how to start a fight. Nevertheless, limber muscles tensed beneath her as she reached his side, shifting all of her weight onto her hindquarters.
In a fluid motion, she skidded to a halt in front of him, rising up onto her hind legs and lashing out at his chest with sharp, ebony hooves. She did not, however, aim to do her compatriot too much damage, in such a troubled time; a bit of bruising and a scratch was, at the worst, her only intention.
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notes | poor eik D: also sorry I didn't mean for this to get so long. at all. x.x I'm beginning to wonder if I'm capable of short sera posts.
Summary: Sera contemplates how terrible life is for far too long before she gets to the point. She takes a look at Eik, and then she rushes him; she rears up and attempts to whack him across the chest with her hooves.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: n/a
Response Deadline: 5/9
Tags: @
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
