She is a storm made woman under a sky of falling snow. Winter's frost kisses her world in one last show of strength, before spring cusps the horizon in bloom. Ice curls into the ivory of her mane, and snowflakes fleck her burning flesh — melting into droplets of stars that burst as soon as they touch her warmth. Her feathers dance in the chill that cradles her close; the great expanse of her wings tucked close to her sides. She inhales — breathing in glass and fury. And then she exhales, loosing free the chaos that ripples in lightning underneath the cage of her skin. Over and over again.
In a flurry of crystal that swirls around the ebony of her frame, she walks with purpose. Her steps are near silent on the white blanket at her feet; a wraith borne of shadow and smoke in a land made colorless by the cold. Twilight hides behind a curtain of blizzard grey, but still, she feels the shimmer of stars that begin to wake from slumber. The Night daughter is embraced close by the darkness that grows in the long hours; the shadows reach out to her in the little light. She is a phantom penumbra, with a collapsing nebula hiding in the curve of her ribs where her heart should be.
Too long had she denied the song of war cries and blood kissing her knuckles. Too long since her muscles have tasted the sweet agony of bruises, and the bliss of ripping enemies of their titles. Too long had she pushed down the warrior that she had grown to be. Too long had her training, her desires, her instincts been imprisoned into walls of moonstone and adamant; bound tightly in chains crafted of starlight and gold. Too long, too long, too long.
But no more.
Calligo's dark fingers wrap around her gypsy warrior, her guardian, her Court's sworn protector. The shadows dance in what little light shines through the break of grey clouds that mar their skies. Whispers of snow whistle in her ears, twinkling the coins wrapped around her throat — the only sounds save for the thunder of her heart. The stars above murmur to her through the snow that builds at her ankles and twists along the silk of her coat. Her goddess holds her, as if to say: Make them pay, my dear.
The stormsinger does not hesitate as her hooves step into the boundaries of her battlefield. For hurricanes do not ask permission to wreck havoc on seas and cities laid too close to shore. Tornadoes do not ask to rage against an unsuspecting earth. Lightning does not ask to strike the land in swords of fiery stars. And thunder does not ask before it roars like an angry lion in the home of violet skies.
She does not ask as she steps further into the heart of the Steppe.
Aislinn was a storm made woman, after all.
@Torstein let's do a thing! I'm ready to do a thing. And may the odds be ever in your favor. Thread inspired by this song.
"Aislinn speech."
Trust me, you are nothing but another weak animal minding the strongest whip
Idle eyes watched from the boundaries of the forest that separated the Steppe from the rest of the mountains, an unsightly curl tugging at the corner of his lips. Here she is, the singer of storms, the feathered bitch of her King.
Bright eyes tracked her movements from the stillness of the shadows he stood in, all three focusing on the lightning-singed hide of the precious little pegasus. Oh, how he remembered - remembered the venom she spat, how she thought insulting 'his' King, the painted stallion gone into the skies, would even affect him. Does being a coward's protector set your heart in higher places? The idea almost made him chuckle; how wrong was she! He would have hardly taken a blow for that stallion.
But that is not what this about, is it? No, this was about her. Her anger, her arrogance, what she perceived as her 'strength,'... all pathetic and futile. She wanted to spit venom? He would show her how easily you can pay for your words.
And so he stepped out of the shadows, not even making an attempt at an ambush; it was simply not possible, given his stature. Instead, his gaze - unwavering, piercing, predatory - settled on the stormsinger. "How brave," he purred, a throaty chuckle escaping between the pause. "The fledgling has come to play after all," he smiled. "I was thinking you might not ever show up."
Heavy hooves tread on the worn soil, gait steady, as he neared her, circling her with a wide birth. He stared at her out of the corner of his eyes as he circled, the gaze of the Triennial eye unwavering. "What is it you seek, my love?" Oh, how such words were hissed from his lips with as much burning irony as he could muster. "A sense of purpose?" he laughed.
You must feel awfully empty after your King fucked and left you, huh?
He stopped, slowly turning his body to face the Champion as they stood facing one another. There was but a few feet between them, and even still, his mass dwarfed her. She may have fire, spirit, speed and grit... but heaven forbid Torstein got ahold of her.
"So," he closed the gap between them. "What does the birdfetching bitch say?"
Out of the woods and billowing snow from whence she came, a shadow moves and enters the fray of her battlefield, her war. He is not one of subtlety, but then again, neither is she. The stormsinger only stands at the heart of the Steppe, silent and still. A statue of ebony marble as white flecks swirl and dance around her ankles, her frame. They are in the eye of a storm, a blizzard, and now, she has never felt more at home than in this moment. Winter's kiss cradles this land in one final blessing of ice that seeps deep into her bones, but it only stirs the waves that churn far inside her. Building and building into a slow symphony of thunder and lightning and tsunamis.
She only needs a spark that will coax such storms from where they hide beneath the surface of her skin.
How brave.
Aislinn has not deigned herself to turn around and face him, not yet. The winter winds whip the untamed wild of her mane around her in halos of starlight and ink. A muscle in her upper lip twitches, as she cannot help but feel a chuckle rise in her throat. The stormsinger's chin rises, defiant, as she watches him circle her. She does not flinch as their eyes meet. Instead, her orbs flare with narrowed blue fires; promises of hurricanes and thunder quaking deep in their depths. Insolent, talkative bastard. Does he think that his words would scorn her so?
What is it you seek, my love? A sense of purpose?
Her laughter rolls off of her lips in waves of ice and stormstruck winds, unbidden and short. "You talk a lot for someone who is supposed to be intimidating," she spits. Her knuckles crack as the lightning laced her in blood crackles, sizzling through her veins in sweet ecstasy. The waves of her storm crash; brutal, violent, needy. She craves the taste of his blood on her lips like mulled wine, and torn fists as she smacks the words out of his fucking mouth. Aislinn can only watch, for now, noting each centimeter of his movement as he comes to stand facing her. They are only feet apart, and still, he dwarfs her.. and she hates how she cranes her neck back to keep his eyes upon her own.
Her storm rages and builds to its peak, needing only a whisper to break into a crescendo of her wrath.
So, what does the birdfetching bitch say?
The side of her lip curls, lovely and wicked and cruel. She eyes the soft spot beneath his neck, where the curves of his cheek hide in the thick muscle there. A tender spot where she can nearly imagine his pulse beneath the bones of her teeth. Her muscles coil under her skin, as her wings bunch closer to her frame. "Oh," she muses, almost sweetly, crooning even, before her voice falls flat and drips in poison. "Go fuck yourself, you sand sucking son of a bitch."
And then Calligo's grasp around her unleashes the hellfire of her rage. The stormsinger launches forward in a flurry of snow and ice, her teeth aimed for the under side of his neck. Her throat hums, just enough, just barely, and thunder claps around them in a deafening roar. The storm that churns is a mirror of her anger, and she answers it gladly as she screams forward like a spear of starlight and shadows.
No one can help him now.
@Torstein oh shit (I'm sorry for this poop post btw but basically she jumps forward and snaps at the underside of his face where his neck and head connect, in attempt to rip open a vein xD)
"Aislinn speech."
Trust me, you are nothing but another weak animal minding the strongest whip
The seething, brimming rage that bubbled under her skin so visibly was a decadent treat upon his tongue - salty and tangy, sweet and rich all the same. Charcoal-dipped ears rolled forward as his eyes tracked her movement. She was something akin to a snake, although he assumed she may not have come to realize such. Soon, oh so soon.. she would come to realize that, she would learn what would be her true downfall - her anger, her rage, her ego. It would strip her wings of their feathers.
Eyes awash with the color of blood stared at her, lips falling silent as she talked herself up to the peak that she would inevitably fall over. He saw where her eyes lingered, and was all of the sudden aware of his own beating heart within his chest. It thrummed a heavy tune behind the spines; he felt it, he heard it, he lived for the adrenaline-laden blood it pulsed through his body. The sweet numb feeling as the world fell away from them.
Go fuck yourself.. -- The words, amusing as they were, barely left her lips before the storm raged, entwining with the air that crackled and roared around them. The stormsinger's hooves kick her off her perch and forward, and the titan meets her head on. As soon as her muscles coil, so do his own - and while he may not have as much speed, not an ounce of him was afraid of her.
She launches forward, and so does he. Hooves dig into the compact soil beneath as his haunches kick off, upper body heaved slightly off the ground as he barrels forward. He had an idea of where she was aiming - and truthfully, it didn't surprise him. He may be a brute, but he wasn't stupid like she seemed to think. Stupidity would have seen him murdered years ago.
So as she neared him - as her teeth were so ready to meet the blood that pulsed beneath the skin of his throat - his head, neck, and shoulder jerked sharply to the right. Her goal would not hit its primary target, but she would be sated as her teeth sunk into the meat of his shoulder.
He felt the flesh tear, felt blood ooze up and the sharp sting of her bite.
But at what cost? The titan had made no attempts to stop, and they were set to collide: the stormsinger and the warden with nothing more than sadism on his mind. Her position was precarious - at very least, her upper body and hooves would have left the ground in her attempt to bite into his tender underthroat.... so such an impact would most likely throw her off balance, but he would not stop. She asked for this, consequences and all.
Should their bodies hit, all the muscles in his legs and back would tense, straining against the added pushback, but would not give her even an inch. Hooves would push harder against the compact dirt beneath them. He would keep pushing, seeking to use his weight to topple Aislinn to the ground.
As their bodies entwined with bloodlust and anger, as they were so close to one another that they could feel the heat rise off of the other's skin, she would hear him whisper: "Never forget how your ego" - push HARDER - "... your secret lust for the approval of others..." - I WILL PUMMEL YOU INTO THE EARTH AND GROUND YOU FROM THE SKY. "...was your downfall, stormsinger."
TL;DR: Basically Aislinn lunges at him; he reciprocates and lunges forward at her. His head/neck/shoulder jerks to the right to avoid her biting his down onto his tender underthroat. Given his height advantage and general lunging posture, her teeth would end up sinking into his shoulder, or somewhere nearby. He's 100% trying to bodyslam her and, if they make contact, will put extra strength into continuing to barrel forward and trample her to the ground.
Thunder claps like an angry lion in the churning skies above Calligo’s stormsinger and Solis’ Warden. She is a flurry of rage and storms eternal — a mistress of tempests that churn and burst from the cage of her blood and bones. He moves in anticipation to her rage, his shoulder meeting with her open mouth. Her teeth do not find the precious vein where his head ends and neck begins, but instead they pull apart the skin of his thick shoulder. Blood wells into her mouth, greedy as her momentum pulls her downward, staining her lips red.
Aislinn licks her lips, tasting the wine and bliss of his blood spilled into her mouth. Snow blizzards and whips against her stinging sides, violent as icy winds tear at her. But still, she does not relent. Her rage burns, wicked and cruel. They collide in a tangle of rage and blinding anger. Where she is Calligo’s comet, her throat tasting of the salt and brine of her coming storm, he is a wall of unforgiving stone. His brute stature stops her — suddenly and without an ounce of remorse. A grunt slips from her lips, and it is not the song of her hurricanes that she expected.
Torstein’s body barrels into her and she gasps, hating the sound of her surprise at it leaves her mouth. Desperately, her hooves dig into the slippery earth, finding sheets of ice hidden beneath the disturbed blankets of white. Her balance is thrown off kilter in her attempt to rip open the soft spot of his throat and spill his life blood on the snow. She begins to crash, wild and seething. If she falls, she will drag him to hell with her.
Thunder rumbles as the grey expanse of clouds churns and darkens like a newborn bruise. Her forward weight has become her enemy, pulling her violently to the earth. In answer, the Warden continues ever forward, driving her into the ground. His weight bares down on her, haunches giving despite her strains to drive her weight beneath her again. But she fails — slipping on the snow. Shocks of white rip her lips open where her teeth bites her cry, for she refuses to allow an ounce of false victory to a snake.
His words are bone-white teeth gnawing her insides, but still she does not bend nor fold. She will. Not. Break.
Never forget how your ego..
She thrashes, a tangle of hooves and legs slipping on the snow that builds and blinds her. The skies swallow them in shadow as violet storms swirl above where they stand.
..your secret lust for the approval of others..
Flashes of ivory sizzle behind the curtain of darkness above them, illuminating the snowflakes that fall like shining stars. Aislinn heaves, attempting to stand, her mouth cracking open in a snarl.
..was your downfall, stormsinger.
Electricity burns and dances across her skin, tangling in her hair. Her eyes bore into blood rubies, marking them, targeting them with every touch of her fury. The sky opens up as she sucks in icy crystals of winter cold. "No."
And then lightning showers all around them, her throat humming her cursed song.
@Torstein oh shit oh shit oh shit (also I’m so sorry for the wait babe)
TL;DR Aislinn takes the hit as Tor barrels into her. Her weight off balance, she tumbles and slips on the ground of wet snow. It is up to Tor if he pins her, restraining her movement. She sings, lightning showering down in answer, 100% trying to electrocute Torstein.
"Aislinn speech."
Trust me, you are nothing but another weak animal minding the strongest whip
The snow is stained red, the wine of his veins spilling down his shoulder and soaking his own ivory pelt. The pain was dulled, numbed by the adrenaline coursing through his veins, rapid and thrumming. It coated the endings of his nerves, the pulsations running through him in vapid waves that never ended. This was the sweet taste of boiling anger, of rage, of vengeance enacted.
The sweat-soaked skin of his chest met her own - met the gnashing of her teeth and the wild of her fire - the lightening of his nerves lighting up as the skies did around them.
"Did you forget your own words?" he purred into her ear, a voice seeming so soothing amongst the chaos.
With a stiff inhale, the Night King's chosen Champion of Battle stood her ground, raising her chin defiantly. Her ears flattened against her skull as her gaze flickered between them with obvious distrust. "You two should not be alone with them," she said through her teeth.
"It's not safe to be alone with me," — words echoed so sick and so sweet, the smug smile dripping from his words. The Beast's muscles tensed and heaved so suddenly forward, the sweet lure of finally toppling the champion to the snow-slicked ground beneath them so tangible he could nearly taste it like nectar on his tongue.
The lightning arced from the roiling clouds in a magnificent display, lighting up the heavens. The streak crossed time and space in a millisecond, its silhouette jagged like a stalking predator — its feet finally touching the ground, claws digging into the age old soil, electric teeth gnashing and aching for a sweet conduit release with the deafening sound of a boom.
The anger of the skies above them may have misjudged, may have fallen short of its target by mere feet... but the electric predator was not easily thwarted. It raced through the soil — with its metals and minerals of age old, its pocketed dirt soaked in copper blood — like a jaguar on the heels of its prey. Arcing up through the soils, its teeth sunk into the heel of the Warden.
And like a rabbit taken into the mouth of its maker, muscles seized and blinding, white hot pain shot like fire through his veins. Ears ringing with static and white noise, crimson eyes rolled back into his head: for a moment, he saw only blankets of white where he had previously seen nothing but blood. His spine arched, his momentum halted, and his muscles tensed so tightly that his back hooves could not leave the ground if they wished. So firmly were they cemented to the ground that it felt like cinderblocks were tied to his feet, the smell of singed hair and burnt flesh filling his nostrils like smog.
For a moment, the stormsinger was spared. But only for a deafening moment: the contact of their sweat-soaked skin moments prior would be her downfall. The lightning was a cruel mistress, a blind predator that was only summoned but could not be controlled like a beaten dog. It would arc through the flesh and bones of the Warden and leap onto the stormsinger, sparing her only minimally less pain as its momentum slowly withered away the farther it leapt from the heavens. After all, the only thing that spared the Beast it sought was the misjudgment and its shortcoming..
It may have bought her precious moments, but when the electric predator took hold of her as she tumbled to the ground... would she be able to scramble to her feet in time, before the white noise faded from the eyes of the Beast and was replaced by white-hot anger?
His anger would return tenfold, ombre ears slicked back to his sweat-soaked skin, disappearing into a tangled mess of hair. Teeth would gnash as a guttural noise would rip from his throat. "YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT IN YOU, STORMSINGER?" came the roar, voice raw and hoarse with rage. As she tumbled to the ground before him, the electric predator most likely taking hold and bringing her down even harder, his front hooves left the ground and his upper body heaved up towards the heavens.
Should she open her eyes — should the white noise and blankets of painful white snow leave her vision — she would see him above her. She'd see the dark skies boiling behind the white of his ivory skin, see the fury painted across his eyes, see the Third eye staring into her soul with its unending, erratic gaze.
She'd see the hooves, she'd see the intent. She'd witness how his weight fell — no, how he forced it down — and he knew she'd feel it in her gut. "Lets see you—" hooves nearly the size of her head fell "command the heavens—" onto the delicate bones of her right wing "—that you can no longer fly in." Rage, as white hot as the sun.
Never forget how your ego was your downfall, stormsinger.
Aislinn snarls against the weight of him, staring down bloody rubies with wicked fires of blue. Let him mock her. Let him think he has won. Her heart roars because of it, maddening and wild. Still, she pushes, straining to stand without breaking her gaze.
It’s not safe to be alone with me.
Like hell. Her mouth only cracks into her wretched song; a symphony of chaos that is unlike the poetry of ballads, but more akin to a banshee’s shriek. Bringing Death in her wake. The notes are the screams of hurricanes and winds that dare to ravage earth, wind, and sea. And the heavens open up in answer, splitting at their stormsinger’s call. She didn’t even blink as light showered down upon them in swords of electric flame. The lightning strikes against the snow in angry shocks, sparking in shining embers of ivory that send jolts down the length of her spine. But too late she knows the consequences of her song — too late until her own blood bubbles without abandon. Of her own undoing.
In that moment between breaths, between heartbeats, the sky ignites and blots out all color, save for the brilliance of white blinds her. The power of her beloved storms — her beloved lightning — is the untamed mistress that shoots through the damp soil, seeping into the wet snow and sweat-stained skin. Aislinn bites down on her lips, denying herself the scream of her own agony. Copper wells behind her clenched teeth, shuddering with each wave of fire that overrides every nerve. From skin to muscle to tendon to bone.
She had only been minimally spared from her onslaught; and the thought alone of the Warden’s torment curls her closed lips. The stormsinger sucks in a sharp breath through her nostrils; nearly hysterically laughing at the cruelty of it all.
He hadn’t even begun.
Aislinn’s orbs flicker with satisfaction. She spits blood onto the snow that separates them, marring the ivory sea with red. "That was for Rostislav. Want some more?" she cooes.
YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT IN YOU, STORMSINGER?
She only smirks in answer. Aislinn’s ears were ringing, singed with noise and the palpable anger that ripples off of the Warden. Her legs slip on the snow, muscles trembling with a newfound weakness wrecked from the shocks that jolt her bones. Yet, her eyes harden into slits, flirtatious with her dance with Death itself. She would not break. Not while he stood there, the perfect target of her chaos, of her crafted rage. He would be the pedestal from which she will enact every bite of her sun-drenched hatred. Every wrong doing done upon her, upon her people.
Her throat hums as the light is swallowed by the bruising of clouds. Thunder rolls to her beck and call, drowning the surge of her heart in her ears.
Let’s see you —
She would not break. The Champion struggles beneath his weight, cold dripping into her bones when there is only fire in her veins. Aislinn watches him, daring him, her weight shifting as she attempts to stand. His third eye captures her, leaving her cleaved and naked under its gaze. Her soul writhing beneath its stare. It takes every part of her to tear her eyes away.. only to watch as his hooves begin to rise.
Her lungs lurch with the intent plainly written across his face.
— command the heavens —
She would not break. He would not take Calligo’s stars from her.
Aislinn couldn’t stop as hooves the size of boulders strike downwards, falling like meteors to the earth. And the Beast is aiming at her vulnerable wing — splayed on the snow in muddled ink. For a moment, only a moment, does her gaze slip to her wing, widening. Only a moment as she swears a voice calls to her from the gathering shadows. Stand. You need to stand.
— that you can no longer fly in.
She would not —
Her wing cracks, stabbing through her with daggers of white-hot flame. A cry escapes her, clawing from her lips as the delicate, avian bones snap under the weight of the behemoth. She falls sideways from the blast, careening into the blankets of snow that engulf her in merciless cold. Just as thunder does not ask to roar, Solis’ protector does not ask to tear the stormsinger from Calligo’s skies.
Fragile bones are splintered as she tries and fails to bite down a scream. Warmth pools beneath her, staining the snow with the only color in the world. Sharp crimson on a blanket of crisp white. Dark fingers reach out to grab her from her misery, lulling her, pulling her. Be it her Night goddess or the thralls of sleep, she doesn’t know.
She has never been more weak.
"F-fuck you." the stormsinger snarls, swallowing, as the shadows dance and grow all around her. No.. I can’t. Not like this. Still, she struggles to stay awake — to look the Warden in the eye. Every ounce of fury burning in her eyes. "I’ll kill you."
@Torstein oml here, have a book xD
@rostislav mentioned darling <3
"Aislinn speech."
Trust me, you are nothing but another weak animal minding the strongest whip
Pure fury ran in rivulets down his skin like the sweat that soaked through his pelt. Muscles trembled with their palpable rage, and murder bubbled behind the red of his eyes. Teeth grit so hard that he swore he bit the inside of his cheek, swore he tasted the blood, swore that he felt a nick of pain that bubbled into pleasure. The thunder roared and the skies poured, weeping for the bat before him as he tasted the grit of sand. Hot, heavy breathes turn to frost as the air pours from his nostrils, sides heaving with a mixture of insanity and a breathless need for revenge. Was it revenge, or something more? The stormsinger really had done nothing to him, other than the grievous mistake she made thinking her teeth could sink into his throat and end it all. But he could not - would not - allow her to feel victory, he would not turn tail and run... after all, what was the purpose of a weak Warden?
Those thoughts were a moot point as his hooves met pathetically fragile wings. He heard that sickening snap; his chest swells and his gut turns. Blood dribbled from snapped bones, torn flesh, arteries blown open, muscles slashed. He felt it immediately beneath his hooves at the very moment of impact, and in a torturous manner, he ground his feet into her wing and the red-drenched snow below it. He, now and forever more, would live to see the stormsinger scream.
Her cries were to him like her stormsongs were to her: raw and powerful, intoxicating. Sadism curled the corners of his lips, as the smirk and snarls were wiped so cleanly from hers in mere seconds. It warmed him in places it shouldn't have, obscene and wretched a creature he was. The world fell away from them once more, the sounds turning to muted, muffled whispers in his ears. The air felt white-hot, the snow chilling him past his skin and muscles, all the way down to his bones. It felt beautiful.
What he didn't feel was his labored breathing, didn't see the smoke rising from the hot breaths blasting from his nostrils, didn't feel the throbbing pain of the bite wound or the static noise of the nerves lit aflame in his back leg.. the world was gone, and all that was left was her, the prey to his predatory nature.
Everything felt so silent, so quiet, so right as he watched her sobbing, writhing, screaming on the ground. That was for Rostislav echoed in his mind and curled the corners of his lips even further. How, just how, did her overconfidence blind her so astoundingly well that she was unable to see how foolish she was? Did she truly think she was a match for someone who towered over her so.. or was she letting her arrogance blind her?
As she lay prone on the snow that steeped crimson beneath her, he approached. The Warden could end her, right here, right now... the fragile column of her spine would crack easily beneath the weight of his hooves, just as the bones of her wing had snapped so exquisitely.
The Denoctian champion lay before him, turmoil and fury roiling in her beautiful eyes. For as disgusting a creature as he knew he was... the Warden had no intention of killing her. There was no fun in that. Instead, he would revel in her agony, in the sputtering, livid words that dripped form her lips as his head lowered so close to her own. The Warden's eyes - nearly as intoxicating as the mulled wine their color resembled - stared into her own, seeping dominance and pitied mercy as the storm died around them when its handler fought the oncoming darkness. His breath was hot against the skin of her cheek as he stood so brazenly close to the downed fighter. "Was this — this attempt at vengeance for an act I didn't even participate in — worth it, Stormsinger? Was your arrogance and overconfidence worth it?" he purred, gazes locked.. even when her eyes fluttered.
"Tell me," came the growl, predatory and guttural. His teke grasped a sharp rock that laid before her, its tip glinting even in the darkness that roiled around them. F-fuck you she spat, and he laughed at her, mocking.
The warmth of his lips ever so lightly brushed against the junction of her jaw and cool chocolate skin. "You're gorgeous when you're mad," he taunted, the sharp point of the rock taking the place of his muzzle. Cruel gaze left her own and trailed to the line of vivid stars outlined on her fur, mere inches from where the jagged stone lay pressed against her skin.
One star —
A razor-sharp point, pressed harder into the tender flesh where her jaw kissed her neck.
One dash —
Blood wells where the tip pierces the skin.
One petite dot —
Skin rends as the jagged edge is dragged in an oblique shape.
One more star —
Blood would drip down her neck.
One more mark that formed a constellation —
The points of the rays nearly as sharp as the dagger's edge that made them.
A silver dot in the endless sky of her flesh —
Hot breath and warm skin on her ear again, refusing to let the darkness pull her in. Words of poisoned honey:
TRIGGER WARNING: Blood, torture, and detailed experience of pain.
She is drowning in a sea of shadows and crimson stained snow. Needy hands reach and grab hold onto her broken, splintered body, dragging her beneath the waves of unconsciousness until she is thrashing for breath. He is the monster who holds her head beneath the waters of nothingness. It is he who ripped her from her beloved skies, her beloved stars. She cannot stop the tendrils of darkness that gather, slithering across her skin and pulling at her bones as the cold seeps into her soul. They numb her to the borders of slumber. But still she refuses to fall, despite the bursts of white flame that burn where her beautiful wing once lay. Now it is her anger, her desperation, that is the only fire that fuels her to stay awake; to stare into those blood-red orbs with the glowing sapphires of her own.
The stormsinger was weak after all.
Gritting her teeth, locking her jaw, Aislinn desperately holds onto the daggers of pain for leverage. Her agony will keep her awake — keep her just barely on the brink of madness. She cannot give in to the blackness whilst he still stands. Her threat is a promise dealt in blood rubies, dripping off of her lips with malice. I’ll kill you.
His breath mists across her cheek in clouds of steam. Nauseatingly intimate in their closeness, his lips ghost across the pallor of her skin. The growl that releases from his throat reverberates deep in her bones, and she trembles uncontrollably. Her body is no longer under her control as she continues to fight the angry waters of darkness. Whimpers shake her lips, falling from her mouth in moans that breathe against the snow in curls of frost. Aislinn can only widen her eyes now, watching, slowly, achingly, as the Warden brushes the curve of her jaw where stars sprinkle the night sky of her neck. No. No. No.
You’re gorgeous when you’re mad.
Aislinn cringes, hissing through clenched teeth. Her blue eyes flare with shocked brilliance as he raises a cruel rock to her neck. She does not even have the time to thrash, to sink below the waves of nothingness. To get away. Instead, Aislinn barely sucks in a frozen breath as the point digs into her flesh — in that precious spot in her own galaxy. Something cracks inside her, unlocking a lullaby — one of her mother’s lullabies — that begins to whisper with each tear that falls.
What had once become a comfort to her would no sooner haunt her instead.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
How I wonder what you are
Beneath him, she screams.
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky
Sticky blood wells where the rock drags and digs into her skin, cleaving her open. She struggles, shying away. But there is no where to run; not when she cannot help to stand, not when she is pinned in a coffin of snow and ice that cradles her against the hard ground.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star
Trails of red tears carve down the curve of her neck, tangling with silver hair. Her throat parches with each yielding scream, and the heavens no longer answer to her song. For this song, this symphony of her anguish, would not be quenched by the downpour of her blessed rain storms.
She could only feel the pin point of that brutal rock like knifes of ancient stone ripping her open.
How I wonder —
Aislinn trembles, shaking wildly as her cries falter to sobs. Hot tears stream down her cheeks, mingling with blood, until the Warden and her battlefield are blurred swathes of black and white and red. Oh.. so much red.
He scrapes a final crude mark upon her. Branding her with her weakness.
— what you are
A sun. A blazing, barbaric sun glistens in crimson on her neck. Forever marking her. Her.. Calligo’s daughter, her storm born guardian. A destroyer no more.
She shudders as his lips graze her ear again. The thin paper walls of her lungs burn with the effort of her breath. Her blood mars the harsh blankets of snow in shocks of scarlet that only continued to grow, as her lifeblood dribbles from her ruined skin and bones. For what had once been twin appendages — majestic, powerful wings — was now a heap of flesh and muscle and feathers painted in red. Aislinn can only choke back a sigh, before giving in completely. Heaviness lulls her as she tumbles into the shadows that flood her eyes, eyelids fluttering closed.
At last, the sweet nothing of unconsciousness holds the stormsinger by the hand. What is left of her lays collapsed on a grave of bleeding snow.
It’s not safe to be alone with me.
"I’ll—" she murmurs into the shadows.
And then the darkness swallows her whole.
@Torstein hi, my name is roo and I like to torture my characters using childhood lullabies ;u; haha BUT oml thank you so much for this thread darling ♡
side note: basically she passes out from shock, and will eventually wake up to the beginning events of this thread! also for added creepiness, please feel free to listen to the dead space version of the song (I’M SORRY IN ADVANCE). please don’t hate me ;_;
"Aislinn speech."
Trust me, you are nothing but another weak animal minding the strongest whip
Prone, she lay before him, bloody and bruised and agonized and defeated. Her whimpers, her sobs, her tempered rage - it was an exquisite elixir, there was no denying it. The rock's edge, sticky and so gorgeous, bit into her flesh, rendered it so easily as she screamed beneath him. Her tears and screams were met with dominating silence from the massive beast before her... oh, how grossly she had overestimated her own abilities.
"Only you are to blame for your arrogance," came the growl, low and deep into her ear. "Never forget that, stormsinger."
As the darkness swallowed her whole, as the frigid air wrapped her in its embrace, as the snow seeped red with her blood.. he towered over her, his shadow engulfing the bat. She was picturesque in her weakness, it almost made him pity her... such a small, feeble creature who only thought she had the gumption to take him on. In his teke he grasped two things: the rock, and a feather. The weapon that carved the tender flesh of her neck, he would fashion into a blade - a blade that he would brandish upon their next meeting, a blade he would mock her with. The feather — virgin ivory at its tip, fading into the color of rich espresso — was plucked from the heap that was left of her crippled wing, stained in coagulating blood.
"You should learn how to pick your battles better," came the mocking jab at the unconscious pegasus. With no more words and the two trophies of his victory, the Titan left the Steppe, coated in blood, frost, sweat .. nerves alit with static, white noise.
