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Private  - every burning thing

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Played by Offline Jeanne [PM] Posts: 399 — Threads: 81
Signos: 100
Day Court Outcast
Female [She/Her/Hers]  |  Immortal [Year 498 Spring]  |  16 hh  |  Hth: 47 — Atk: 53 — Exp: 93  |    Active Magic: Greater Telekinesis & N/A  |    Bonded: Ereshkigal (Demonic Vulture)

but it was nothing. I was nothing. / all day just was.

It is hot in Solterra, even in the winter, and Seraphina feels hot in a way that is nearly scalding. Nearly burning.

Sweat streaks thick, dark lines down her throat and her sides, clotting in her fur. Even for a seasoned warrior, it is not so easy to carry two children in the desert heat, and, as she moves slowly, almost laboriously, through the labyrinthian expanse of the canyons, she can’t help but finally feel resigned to her situation. Her life is always forfeit, always in someone else’s grasp. Now she knows that it will never really be her own. She kept hoping that it might, but-

When she gives birth to these god-children, however they come out, she will live for them. She can’t resent them for this. They are helpless, and besides, they did not choose this situation anymore than she did. Regardless - she wonders if she can love them. Would it be like an animal in a trap attempting to love a snare? She surely- she surely shouldn’t be thinking of this like that, but she is frightened, and she is loathsome, and she-

She is tired. She is tired of thinking too deeply. So she presses on through the canyons, shadows covering her silver form, which seems to her bulbous and hulking and reprehensible, even distinctly ugly; and though she has never been particularly beautiful, she has at least been capable. Now, she is not even that. If it weren’t for her magic, if it weren’t for the sword at her hip- she would be just as helpless as any other fool woman wandering the desert while pregnant. Perhaps it is foolish to remain out here, rather than going to find shelter in the court; but she could not stand the stares. She could not stand the admission that she has grown weak. It makes her feel nauseous.

There is the sound of hooves on sandstone from one of the passages at her side, and then-

Her neck arches; a curve of white-lined silver against the red-orange of the canyon walls. Her mismatched eyes drift to land on the other figure, honing, sharply, on his ember-glow eyes. Seraphina recognizes him, though it has been some time - years, she is sure - since she saw him last. She wishes that she didn’t. In her current state, she would far rather encounter a stranger than someone she knows.

(How much of it is pure shame? How much is her inexplicable situation? How much - is a feeling of who she should be? She knows that she shouldn’t be allowed any happiness, any kindness, and most creatures - most observers - would surely think that motherhood is a kindness. A virtue. She can’t have that. How much of it is performance, a self-flagellation? She doesn’t know anymore, and is it really worth considering?)

(She mustn’t think too deeply.)

Her voice quells in her throat. “Helios,” she says, softly. Another burning thing.

@Helios || excited to thread w/ you again <3 || olena kalytiak davis, "mutilated versions of my personality write poems treat me with irony and condescension"
Sera || Eresh


and there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.

please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence


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