[P] climbing every rib inside us;

[Theodosia]

let our eyes show the
fire in our hearts tonight

There is a war brewing on the horizon and a drumbeat in her veins, a lion in her chest just aching to unsheathe its claws and roar. When she does sleep, she dreams of battle, of leaping into the fray with a dagger in her grip and murder in her eyes -- she does not dream of softness, anymore, only the spilling of blood and the way tension has wrapped around her home like a noose.

The mention of Marisol is salt on a wound she’s not willing to reveal, so all she can do is grit her teeth in a facsimile of a smile, ears sweeping back to pin against her head. “Pray that she does not gut me,” She states flatly before sweeping the spear forward, jabbing it towards the boy-king’s shoulder without much mercy to be shown, her hooves drumming against the packed dirt beneath the two of them when she steps forward.

“Even then, I doubt it would be answered.”

credits

@Asterion