hades, you let them go...

where is the treasure inside your chest? where is your pleasure? where is your youth? ind. oc by autumn. where is the man with his hat in his hands, who stands in the garden with nothing to lose, singing: la la la la la la la…

[irebite-blog]

‘ it’s not remarkable! ‘ she’s entirely embarrassed — apparently her hoard has outgrown the underbelly of her bed. ‘ hey — that’s mine! ‘

he takes in her words with little true effort placed in keeping up with them, watching the veritable mess of items spill from under her mattress, box spring and bed frame. his initial comment on the mess’s remarkable nature had been out of the sheer fact that very few humans catch a dragon’s or drake’s hoard at its very beginnings. long have their races warred with one another, true, but from a curious and scholarly point of view (one so rarely taken by efrem, the more and more individuals in his city die from the plague) this is truly a remarkable thing to witness. 

‘ the hoarding habits of your kind are ill documented, ’ he explains, poking through her items on habit: were she in her own lair, surely she would have chomped his hand off for even attempting to touch what she believes to be hers, but here in their shared bedroom he puts little thought into that consequence before ––

‘ ah…? ’

‘ …i have been searching for these. ’ he says slowly, eyeing a number of bracelets he’d lost track of weeks ago. he’d intended to wear them to an event, and hadn’t been able to find them. examining the underside of her bed further, he sees more still: the familiar maroon fabric of a riding jacket he’d misplaced a month ago, a buckle glinting off one of his lost shoes, a pillowcase from right off his very bed –– 

‘ …ursula? ’ / @mikrifotia

[irebite-blog]

mikrifotia‌:

                   she doesn’t understand the significance of his words – but.. she never does. efrem is too guarded; he hardly lets loose anything that might be of value to her – she doesn’t know him at all. of course, ursula is well-acquainted with the terror of sisera, but the man behind the myth is still a mystery she finds herself unnecessarily invested in. the drake pulls her hand from his shoulder and places it on the table to lean sideways somewhat curiously – perhaps he has lost his mind – and that is why he has yet to toss her aside or put her to sleep. ‘ are you… sick or something? ‘ 

                    quickly, her free hand raises, intending to press flat against his forehead – and it is nearly there before she decides against it. still anxious, her fingers settle briefly at the edge of the table instead. they are battered and bruised yet somehow lovely. ‘hey – did you care about this man? ‘ the girl asks, somewhat abruptly. she lacks the tact to avoid the subject. ‘ you –.. didn’t sound sad. ‘

or something, he ponders idly, letting his fingertips glide over the top page of his stack of reading for the night. his eyelids hood somewhat, fixating on the words written there without truly parsing whats being argued or debated. his apprentices expect better of him, which is why they never see him at his very worst. he wouldn’t allow them to see how he falls apart when left unsupervised. jaunus had crumbled so often in front of us, had shown us his vulnerability, had punished us for our inability to more aptly guide him through it, as if we children were more responsible for an old man’s care than he was for ours...

efrem breathes a sigh, keeping his expression steady despite the memory of disdain welling deep inside of him like a peasant’s sludge-thick excuse for morning coffee. 

‘ he was a mentor to me, in childhood. ’ efrem explains, measuring his words and echoing practiced, even phrasing. 

he is often asked about his relationship with the late archmage. he has never been put formally on trial for the events leading to his death, but efrem is all to aware that every day he sits in what was formerly jaunus’ seat of power he exists as a man constantly on trial before a jury of aged men across the land of elmore who claim to be his peers but would strike him down in an instant should they cease fearing him and his reputation for terror and direct action.

efrem maintains a public appreciation for the life and accomplishments of jaunus alair glauca, his dear teacher and treasured father-figure. 

‘ you need not concern yourself over my wellbeing, drake. need i remind you that my suffering is your delight? ’ he speaks with a casual tone, rolling honey brown eyes before leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs at the ankles. ‘ i would prefer you not fall into the temptation of stockholm syndrome under my care. do continue hating me, as it makes our accord a far simpler affair. ’

[irebite-blog]

mikrifotia‌:

                    when he had laid her upon the dirt, riddled with blood and flame kissed sand, he pressed his boot to her throat and said something she cannot recall. there was great burning in her chest then; the monster in her wanted war, the girl in her wanted resolution. now, trapped in this mortal form, she does not know what she wants. at first, she thought she might kill him and raze this tower, turn it to ash – but now that the time has come, she hesitates. perhaps she is meant to suffer for the good of mankind – she, who has spent all her life as a walking threat, is finally useful. even if it hurts, even if it kills her little by little, she has him to thank for that.

                    her fingers settle at the archmage’s shoulder, and she gives a very soft shake before her palm slides down his back in a comforting gesture. ‘ efrem, ‘ ursula speaks soft & quiet, rubbing his back the way she might a small child’s, ‘ let’s get you to bed, okay? it’s cold in here, you’ll get sick. ‘ ( @irebite / ♥ )

once upon a time, not so long ago, efrem would have gracefully recoiled from such a touch by one of her kind. distrustful to a fault efrem has always been of drakes and dragons, but even in his moments of paranoia he possesses the poise and finesse of one with the many titles he holds. now, rather than removing her hand (from his shoulder, and from her own wrist), he simply remains as still as one can be when on the verge of less-elegantly heaving onto a stack of papers he’d not yet finished reading over on behalf of his apprentices. 

in his stupor, he makes a bemused noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 

‘ ...i spoke those very words to a man once, years ago. ’ it had been a wonderful night. a fine party. and freezing cold, despite the humidity, according to jaunus himself. ‘ he died not more than a month later in a room just down the hall. ’

[irebite-blog]

mikrifotia‌:

                     she stands slowly, sweeping legs over her quarters as quickly as the pain would allow (always aching now, her bones, her blood.. sometimes even her teeth). smoke billows from her nose as she straightens, paces toward their shared closet with soft footfalls. ‘ give me a moment then, ‘ a sigh, fingers rooting through her hair to gather the majority at her side. rain called for something less intricate than she was used to – perhaps a nice pair of trousers and boots, a cloak to keep her from the downpour. she pauses, turns then to ask, ‘ efrem – is it.. will it be gone by this evening? can you tell.. ? ‘ 

‘ there will be at least a light sprinkle through the evening and into tomorrow morning, ’ he muses, listening through the open window as the city around them rushes to work – those who work out of doors likely bemoaning the dreary weather for the sheer sake of it, and those who work under a proper roof dreading a day of empty shops and little business. efrem purses his lips. ‘ what the remainder of tomorrow holds, i will only be certain of upon the morn. do get dressed. ’ 

he reaches up and slides the window closed once more. ‘ i might suggest tying your hair back or tucking it into a braid. we will be roughing it until at least the sun sets and i do not delight in the idea of listening to you comb burrs out of your hair upon our return. ’

[irebite-blog]

mikrifotia:

                   had she really slept? perhaps her eyes were closed, but it felt as simple as a blink – as though just moments ago he had just permitted it. fingers run over her face, brushing bangs upward before finally settling at the crown of her head. ursula looks at him the way one might a stranger and she nods solemnly as she rises upward with a great yawn – there is no bite, no poison in her gaze just then. simple exhaustion haunts her features like a well-worn ghost, hiding in the bags beneath her red-orange gaze, the pale complexion of her skin. ‘ where are we going? ‘ she asks, though not expecting an answer. ‘ is it cold out? ‘ 

‘ the temperature is fair, ’ he strides across the room and draws the curtains.light filters into the space, brightening up their shared sleeping quarters - somewhat. clouds hang low in the sky and dark, and if one were paying attention one might notice the vaguest crack of a smile at the corners of his lips before the expression falls away once more into something more bland. ‘ it will rain within the hour, and, ’ he cracks a window briefly and breathes in briefly, ‘ it will rain for the remainder of the day. ’

[irebite-blog]

‘ wake up. i’m going out for the afternoon. ’ the and you’re coming with me remains unspoken but well-known at this point. there’s little care in his tone for the long and difficult day she had yesterday, nor for the fact that it would be healthiest for her to sleep another few hours until she wakes naturally. ‘ we need to get you dressed for the woods. ’ / @mikrifotia.