sing, o goddess

Sideblog to Winterskorn, serving as a writing repository. All contact should be sent to Winterskorn, this is honestly just an archive.

[frostwritten]

Room of Angel 21: Simper.

     "Mistress."

     Shoulders rounded, hands empty, eyes cast to the floor - these are the ingredients of a Horseman's downfall. Her words are candy floss in the air, soft, ephemeral, and her voice drips with the honey saccharine of submission, and watch how easily the Horseman warms, look how with praise and simpering she has infiltrated this jagged shell which suffering would only have hardened. Witness her accomplishment.

     The Black Rider strides with the confidence of the unwary (the unwatched), sparing not a thought to the shadow at her side and in her soul, and this - this is the victory of sycophancy.

[frostwritten]

Room of Angel; Chapter 20: Heart

     It is not that her chest is empty, gallery clear of those broken skeleton creatures gathering dust in the corners, still stained by betrayal and reeking of Eden - it is not that she doesn't hold nestled in places of honor three pedestals, perhaps nicked and scratched by the years but still standing, still strong - it is not that she is unstirred by these chains rattling with the Council's condemnation, and though one pedestal has cracked like a faultline, it is still standing.

     But brother dearest, try to understand -

     She was never the one to wear her heart on a sleeve.