pitch-black winter nights

Grace Daly captain within the spades "Let your plans be dark and as impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."- Sun Tzu, the Art of War

[ofgoneril-blog]

voidedhea:

That was the last thing which Hea Min desired to see aimed at them: pity. So perhaps it ended up being wiser than anticipated, when their gaze flicked out of Grace’s line of sight to land on the wall across from them. And it was wise in another sense, because they did not wish to even remotely betray the burning black-fire of chaos inside of their irises, turning them to flames and their pupils to the cinders. If allowed, they could rake the coals, and scoop them inside of a metal pan, and let them rain down on her head. That would be an excellent thing to bear witness to, and the results of their actions could come what may. Not the witches who had overstepped their boundaries, but the spitting chimeras who were little more than venomous, abnormal amalgamations of belittlement and ringing indecision.

“All prophecies begin in truth.” The words rolled over them, the rest of what she said. It was as if all of them were made from darkness, and that darkness wished to bind them. Of course, what was not anticipated was as such: already they were made of darkness. No one could be a mistress of it, and to endeavour to control such a thing – well, that was signing over one’s own life sentence for a death one. They could boast about the fact that their relationship with it was more based upon respect, and therefore less apt to fail. But that would be giving away secrets. Let those around them think that they had fallen. It would be all the sweeter when they rose up from the ashes. They looked back at her, right into her eyes, and gave her nothing. 

“Mediocrity.” They spoke the word with reverence. “It sounds as if you speak out of your own fear. At the moment, you have not overplayed your hand; indeed, you own the entire deck of cards and half the players in the game. Perhaps it is not my future of mediocrity that is set into the stone-cold truth, but your terror in thinking that you shall be reduced to rubble and have one of your own.” They rubbed at the side of their neck with their wrapped-up hand. “I recommend that you do not reveal too much about yourself, Grace Daly, lest someone pick up on the notion that it is you who are the true, archaic god and not Faron.” It could be a compliment. It could be a warning. It could be a promise. Or a triad of all combined.

In that moment, despite not believing in deities, in spite of their blasphemous belief that prophecies were fake and fate was bullshit, Grace began to believe in the power to see the future, such was the sweetness of Hea’s words. They were an individual who saw - finally, she could have added, with an exasperated sigh - the woman before her without illusion, in all her naked brutality, the ugly nature peeking through a beautiful mask. For whilst the world had grown to expect her rage, the elegance in which she could paint blood and her thirst for the lives of her sisters - they seemed to all but have forgotten her ambition, that which eclipsed the self-anointed King, Faron. They failed to remember that it was Eve who committed the original sin, not Adam. They did not see, that no matter what, a woman will always surpass the delicacies of a man. History had written them to be meek. It was what made the stealth all the deadlier.

Despite the honesty with which Hea’s words rang - and their perceptiveness - Grace steeled their gaze, refusing to give anything away. Even witches could chatter - and Grace had no intentions of emboldening her intentions before the time was ripe. Thus, more coy than usual, Grace allowed a delicate laugh to leave her lips, almost as gentle as her littlest sister might have. “I don’t believe I know how to be average.” Her entire life, she had been polarizing extremes - a bitter sweetness, a beautiful ugly. Her options were strong, her appetites fierce. She had never been in the middle of anything for as long as she had lived. “I suppose you would like that - someone with the potential to depose Faron. After all, you didn’t do a very good job of it, did you?” Testing the waters, Grace allowed her words to drop quietly - just enough to claim innocence, should the question of loyalty arise. Underneath, a second inquisition struck its mark. Do you? Do you wish someone else would come along? How much so?

[ofgoneril-blog]

Date: April 28th Time: 10.48pm Location: Hotel Emilia Ballroom Status: Closed @reginadaly  

Blood, thick and luscious,formed a growing puddle around the fallen soldier, the life beginning to dim from his eyes. How naive Kai had been, how much of a fool he was - to think he could have a chance of smothering, silencing - and bettering - her. The pattern of the evening was becoming ever clearer. By the end of it, her side would be on top. It seemed only natural she should be the best upon them. But if she wanted to find a victory worth savouring, then she had to look closer to home - or in this case, the girl who had slept just down the hall, who had never been truly worthy of being considered her equal. Regan had remained hidden, pressed into the shadows, emerging only to tackle Tiberius. Seizing her chance, Grace lunged forward - bitterly angry that her steel made contact with the wrong sister, who proceeded to yell in pain. Her cries set the battlefield.

Almost spitting as she spoke, Grace raised her eyes to connect with Regina’s - accustomed to their emptiness. “Lucky me, guess I’ll get to watch two sisters fall tonight.”

[ofgoneril-blog]

kaiusma

“You mean I am not sleeping?” his eyes flashed at her address and he reared on his haunches, feeling his weapon press into his side. 

“Is this not a dream?,” his teeth were bared in his smile and he looked down at her as he sneered, “If not, then how did I get you to pay attention to little old me? I must be so lucky.”

His jaw crooked as he came closer. As his fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade, he was keenly aware of how much the two instruments differed. But it was too late to second-guess things anyhow. 

“Is this really what you want, Grace?” he said, “You know this is dumb.“

Stretching a few inches further, her fingers curled around the edge of a knife, its manifestation a natural extension of her grip. Violent, bloody and beautiful - it was a fit made for the ages, almost destiny divine. It would look all the sweeter slipped between his ribs, a youthful body beginning to sag. At the beginning, murder had never crossed her mind - but hey? Why not? The thought was entertaining - and no one ever condemned actions taken during war.  At his words, she straightened herself, adrenaline surging within - the panther was ready to pounce. “Why? We both know I can run rings around you.” And as if to prove her point, she lunged forward, blade at the ready.

[ofgoneril-blog]

voidedhea:

The ragged breath which Hea took in rattled the whole of their countenance. But framed in the darkness and flickering half-lights, at least that method of their weakness was not seen. It was with a flash of chagrin that they turned their face, and allowed the rest of their body to remain still, towards Grace Daly, who entered the Hotel Emelia. The confidence within her step had not departed from her; even in passing moments, such iciness did not dare to melt from her person. And she owned the whole of Verona, and she understood that to an impenetrable degree. And as before, Hea Min could not despise her for knowing her own power. No, there could not be a hatred on account of that; just comprehension. Empathy, even. 

But that was where it ended. Where one snake head hissed, another administered poison, and Regina’s words shared over a hollow table echoed in their head. Their mouth bunched up in an unpleasant smile in return to the clearly-delivered tablet of glee at their doorstep, their back ever straighter in the chair, and they did not withdraw themselves. They did not tuck themselves in. Those who otherwise remained in the lobby scattered like rats. Let them run. When the finality of Verona’s demolition toppled down, no one would escape the wreckage. 

                                         Not even the ace card of the Spade deck.

So, did it seem, neither would the fates, their hands too tangled in their strings. “I would tell you to leave, but I doubt you would listen, so headstrong has your mind become within its hardened walls of stone.” Another deep breath, pushing down the stirring in their stomach. Wait. The chaos could not be unleashed when they were so weak. “So do share your prediction. I shall even call you madam and oracle of Delphi, if you end up being correct.” 

There was something odd stiring up within her chest, an unfamiliar emotion that, for several moments, she found impossible to identify. And then, as she ran her eyes up and down their body, taking into account their injuries, loss of pride and just...general decimation, she came to understand what it was. It was pity. There’s a first time for everything. Pity was something she left the likes of which to Catherine, simply living her life as if it didn’t exist. Why feel sorry for others? No doubt their downfall was deserved or an evolutionary flaw. But this? This was different. This was a group of people who overstepped the mark and had been humbled as a result, seen their influence wane and their best days behind them. Had that been her...well...she would rather die than suffer such a fate. To see its pain marked so clearly on the face in front of her was startling.

“Is it still called a prophecy if its the stone-cold truth?” Although there might have been the swellings of something different inside her chest - or the potential of such a thing - that didn’t mean her exterior would change. The ice shivered once again - even frostier than it was when they first began. Pausing to allow the full-extent of her words - and their slight - settle, she tapped her fingers against the counter, marveling in the sound they made. Only a minute later did she begin to speak again. “You overplayed your hand - and exposed your weaknesses. Why on earth would the Montagues or Capulets listen to you - or obey you - given that your directions led to the injuries of half their side - and no doubt more fallen egos?” Quizzical as she spoke, she searched their eyes for an answer. “You were outplayed. And it infuriates you.” Perhaps there was a little self-projection there - but it didn’t make her words any less true. “So...I suppose - I predict a future of mediocrity for you. You’ll crave a place in the game - even as a pawn - but be denied it. Soon, your name won’t mean anything at all.” And then, the devil smiled. “How does that sound?”

[ofgoneril-blog]

Date: April 28th Time: 10.48pm Location: Hotel Emelia Ballroom Status: Closed @kaiusmartius 

You can never keep a wild beast caged for long. Nature will run its course and a feral creature will do as it is bred to do. Both the untamed wolf and the sly fox, Grace sulked in her cage like a lion at a zoo, ready to pounce and sink her fangs into flesh. Destruction was an elegance never found far from her fingertips - and in this environment, surrounded by their enemies, she was chomping at the bit to begin. They had thought they could humble Gods and end the lives of immortals. How naive they had been. How bitterly they would feel as they paid the price, Grace exerting her own private - personal - toll.

The seconds felt like minutes as she waited for her release, fingers curled around the bars as the cage came crashing to the ground - an almighty inferno enough to deafen anyone. But this was the sort of environment she thrived within, the sort that promised chaos and danger. Busting out the weakened bar, Grace stepped up to her full height, inhaling the sharp night air. Allowing herself one moment of peace - a brief split second of mortality - she quickly turned towards the task at hand - more play than work in truth. To her left, she spotted a pile of butterfly knives, fingers eagerly inching towards them - greedy. Only with a weapon in her hand could she feel complete. Testing her limits, she narrowed her gaze and selected her nearest target - the fool who had thought he could bring the Grace Daly to her knees. It neatly lodged in his side, a crimson stream beginning to flow. It was beautiful. All she needed was to now place one in the side of her sister - and lord over her fading body as the lights flickered out inside.

Distracted by a family feud, she only registered her attacker at the last moment, a flash of movement to her side. Stepping out of the way just in time, she found herself face to face with Kai - the abandoned child himself. Lips curled into a trademark smirk, she pushed her fallen hair out of her eyes, preparing to fight. “Isn’t it past your bedtime little boy?” 

[ofgoneril-blog]

STARTER CALL!!!!!

like this post if you want a closed, personalized starter with grace that either pertains to the aftermath of this event or is set sometime in the past!!! chances are, i’ll come weeping into your dm to run ideas/plot stuff with you, even if we’ve established stuff before!

[eireneofathens]

CUT FROM THE SAME CLOTH | THE DAUGHTERS OF KING LEAR  ↣ a small mix for Goneril, Regan and Cordelia

† Greed : Ali Helnwein | instrumental

† Warrior : Yeah Yeah Yeahs | Goneril | Where would I be?/I’d be a warrior

† Eyes on Fire : Blue Foundation | Regan | I’ll seek you out/Flay you alive/One more word and you won’t survive

† Hope in the Air : Laura Marling | Cordelia | There’s hope in the air, there’s hope in the water/but sadly not me, your last serving daughter

† You Win or You Die : Ramin Djawadi | instrumental

† Sister Blister : Alanis Morissette | Goneril & Regan | You and me we’re cut from the same cloth/It seems to some we famously get along/But you and me are strangers to each other/Cause you and me: competitive to the bone

† All Your Sisters : Mazzy Star | Cordelia to their father | And I knew, I was close to you/And I knew/Catch me flying, in the sun

† Our Solemn Hour : Within Temptation | all three sisters | Will we remember all of the suffering/Cause if we fail it will be in vain/Sanctus Espiritus, redeem us from our solemn hour/Sanctus Espiritus, insanity is all around us

† Marching Song : Ebsen and the Witch | all three sisters | Our fragile companions are destined to fail/For this battalion has been run through/Therefore, captains and comrades, I bid you all adieu

† Remember Us : Tyler Bates | instrumental

{LISTEN || DOWNLOAD}

[ofgoneril-blog]

castora-aguilar:

A Spade. A Daly, and a traitor nonetheless. Castora did not believe honor had a place in this world (their world, the Montague’s and the Capulet’s), but loyalty, now that was a different story. To do to Ramona what Grace Daly had done to her sisters was the lowest of the low. 

“Actually I do,” she scowled, her gaze fire. If Grace Daly wanted to crown herself queen of bones, then Castora would turn her to ash. “Have you ever heard the story of Icarus? I’m sure you would find the ending most enlightening.” 

The sneer that crawled across her face came about all too easily, almost sinister as she stepped towards the Montague, clearly looking down upon the person she considered her inferior. In truth, Grace knew little about them...and at that time, she couldn’t even recall their name. Just another face, another body - another person who might one day step in the way of her goal. If that time ever came, she would be another individual cut down in the ruthless pursuit of ambition. Snickering as she prepared to address her, a cold, icy sort, Grace cocked her head towards the side. “Icarus deserved his fate. He should have stayed clear of the sun - and struck a deal with the devil instead. Hades would have been most kind.”

[ofgoneril-blog]

voidedhea:

Date: 03/05. Location: Hotel Emelia.  Time: 23:00. Status: Open.

It should not have been Hea Min who was shot. And their vision relived those last moments, the moment that the shots rang out, how it rattled in their eardrums like cursed church bells. Even now, the cuckoo clock in the lobby of the hotel gonged out its triumph of the passing hours. It would be much easier to be little more than a church or a clock. To have one purpose. To not be held accountable for errors and mistakes, to only bear witness. It seemed as though the time of distance had grown into a stalemate. It seemed as though neutrality could no longer don a mask of plaster and walk amongst the people unnoticed. 

               Their hand ached. Their strength waned. Fresh after a shower, they breathed into the back of the recliner-chair, and although it was not cold, there was too much of a definite chill to be ignored. The chill that oftentimes followed the death-rattle. Someone had died. Again. More people would, before the Spades were stopped. And when they thought that there was some kind of headway, some kind of progress – then they were shoved backwards, off of the balcony and laughed at, turned into something foolish. 

Bandages encased their knuckles all the way up the base of their wrist. It was a terrifying thing, a cast-plate of their wound to stare at, and the wetness of their hair did not make them feel as it usually would: clean, bright, full of answers. Instead, Hea was all smokiness, all turbulence in the echoes of the shadowed light. They chilled easily; a risk of infection was high, said those – confounded doctors. There’d been a blood transfusion. There wasn’t much movement on the horizon for them for some time. People needed to be cared for – 

                                 Things needed to be done – and they could do nothing.

They glanced up as someone passed through the lobby. Even if they hadn’t been noticed before the stark nature of their stare never failed to catch attention. “Have you come to see a fate who is tangled in their own strings? There are more beautiful things to see.” And there was a pause. It might be said that Hea was the ghost and this was their purgatory. 

           “Or have you come for answers.” Not a question. Directed at something standing in the corner of the room. “Perhaps I don’t have them.”

Lips stained red and in possession of a soul as dark as poison, Grace Daly was quite a sight for sore eyes - a darkness illuminating the room just as brightly as sunshine might have. It defied logic, but she supposed that was the running theme these days. No one quite seemed to be able to comprehend what had happened, how the outsides had come in and in one swoop, scooped up the city for themselves. For Grace, it satisfied an urge years in the making, fulfilling a destiny she had always known herself to be worthy of. Finally, the world would see her true potential, all ebony brimstone. They would curse her, swear vengeance upon her, promise to send her to an early grave. It was satisfying to be hated. It felt so earned. 

And sure, it was only one of a mass (for the moment). But the temporary taste of satisfaction still lingered sweetly upon her tongue. Until her urges - and her ambitions - grew large enough to strangle them all, it would have to be enough. Faron had shown just how easy it was to tumble two Kings - so why shouldn’t a third join them? They could start a little clan in exile. The war of Kings was over. It was time for a woman - nay, a Queen, nay, a Goddess - to step into the fray.

She couldn’t have told you what exactly compelled her towards the hotel. Perhaps she wanted the satisfaction of seeing those who opposed them humbled, seeing the wicked punished (they had locked her up, as if she were some kind of animal). Or perhaps she was simply bored. Knowing Grace, it was both. So, when she strode in (as if the world were in the palm of her hands), she didn’t bother to conceal her glee. “Actually, I came to gloat. But, I suppose, I could throw in a prediction of my own, if you want.”

[ofgoneril-blog]

catherinedaly:

date: april 28

time: 11:21 pm

location: alleyway in capulet territory

open: @ofgoneril , @ofhoratio , @pavelsmischief

It’s safe to say that Catherine Daly never expected to be given yet another task by the three witches, especially after the fiasco that was Fallaci’s fashion show. Additionally, she never thought her job would be to capture her own sister and drag her to the depths of Hotel Emelia. If Cat didn’t know any better, she would turn her nose up, scoff at their ridiculous request–Grace will not be so easily fooled by me, and even then, I will not take down my own blood by myself!–and blatantly deny them of their wishes. But, she isn’t alone in her quest–with the help of Hector and Pavel, she’ll take down Grace–and she knows enough to never tell the deities no.

Which is why she pads a few yards behind Grace Daly with her blue eyes settled comfortably on the eldest’s back. It’s just like her sister to walk freely along Capulet territory without a care in the world, without the slightest of knowledge of what has happened to her comrades, and without knowing what will happen to her. The disappearance of the Spades doesn’t seem to have affected her sibling, and Cat resists the urge to scoff. Was Grace truly so full of herself that she thought that she wouldn’t become a target herself? 

It is time to level the playing field.

“Isn’t it a bit late to be out, sorella?” she calls out, eyes narrowing slightly.

When opportunity comes knocking, you best be placed to take it. Grace is no fool, her gaze does not sweep across the landscape without criticism. She sees how it empties - how, day by day, the Spades have become fewer and fewer. Her calls go unanswered, their beds remain empty. Foul play is her first assumption - and, probably, she muses, the correct one. It isn’t like Faron to simply flee. It presented her with two choices. She could run - flee the city like a coward. Or, she could simply accept inevitability - and make the most of free time without a spy in the mean time. What time, after all, is there to discover the intimate working of the Spades?

Thus, two days, five phone calls and three factory visits later, Grace feels an odd sort of peace when her ears prick at the sound of footsteps. If she had any inkling of suspicion where her death was concerned, it soon fades when her eyes connect with her sisters. Despite the purest of hatred, it would never be Catherine who marched her to her grave. Her heart could never tolerate the blemishes.

Darkness provides the perfect cover for a stealth attack - but with just Catherine (Grace quickly turns her head from side to side checking for signs of life in the shadows) standing in her way - she quickly resumes her position of cocky superiority. “It’s long past your bedtime, little girl.” And there they stand, at an impasse, waiting for something to happen.

[ofgoneril-blog]

catherinedaly:

She does her best to keep up with the quick movements; at the order, she turns to the left and continues, chest heaving and eyes wide. And finally, they slow–though the macabre monsters behind them certainly do not. As her hands are placed on the lock, confusion flits across her face, but only for a moment; Grace’s urgency spurs her onward and so, Catherine practically tumbles into the stables without much thought. “Well, come on! I don’t want them to get you!” she practically begs. “Grace, please!”  She’s so engrossed with calling to her eldest sister that she still doesn’t make out her surroundings, still doesn’t realize that she’s run into the stables instead of the exit.

That is, until her sharp cries startle the beasts within. Hooves beat against the dusty ground and a wave of nausea washes over Cat. She freezes for a moment, too scared to look behind her. “No, no, no,” she stammers at last, frantically trying to get back to the exit, to her sister, to safety. “Grace, I think we took a wrong turn. This isn’t the exit, sorella, I think it’s the stables.” And by the way her voice trembles, it’s easy to tell that she’s on the verge of tears once more. “Hurry, please, I need to get out!”

It takes more than a second for her fair-headed, doe-eyed, dull-witted sister to notice that she has not been taken to safety. Instead, she has been carelessly tossed into the belly of the beast, where she may or may not make it out alive. And what on earth is she to do about that? Stay still - for Grace is not such a fool to let Catherine slip through her clutches. This damnation has been a long time coming - and is surely one duly earned. “No...I don’t think so.” She phrases her speech as if she is weighing up the options, as if there is a chance of her mercy. (Spoiler: there isn’t, nor has there ever been). “This is what you deserve.” Or maybe it isn’t. But it won’t change the outcome.

And so, Grace takes a step back, reaching for the doors on either side of her. She will slam them shut, she will lock up her sister and allow her to lose her mind. She won’t die - but by the end of the night, she will wish she did. It’s a sweet a deal as she will ever get - and one Grace relishes in. Leaning forward, the words she whispers are carried by the ear, music to Catherine’s ears. A clashing orchestra - that is. “Sweet dreams sister. Do try not to lose your mind.”

[ofgoneril-blog]

catherinedaly:

There’s something comforting in the way that Grace pardons whatever sins Cat is being haunted by and how the eldest Daly fears nothing–not even Heaven or Hell or the macabre monsters that plague her youngest sister. She feels safe in the arms of the sibling she once thought she lost, and she’s hellbent on keeping her. “Thank you. Thank you for coming home and keeping me safe. I feel so much better with you here.” All past transgressions are seemingly swept under the rug to be dealt with on another day. In this moment, all Catherine wants is to express her immense gratitude and hope for the best–that is, maybe Grace Daly will find the error of her ways and return to her siblings and the Capulets. They could use a woman with her skill, and Cat could finally find peace in knowing that she was fighting with both sisters and not against once. However, she doesn’t get the chance to voice her sentiments.

She stumbles as Grace picks up her pace. “I’m trying,” she protests, equally miffed and grateful for her sister’s newfound speed. “Grace, I’m trying, I’m tr–” She stops speaking mid-sentence, eyes wide and vision blurred by tears that have yet to fall as she forces her wobbly, doe-like legs to move faster. Catherine swears she can hear the nickering of horses, the soft thudding of their hooves. She swears she hears il Luciferocalling to her, telling her that she cannot escape. Her knuckles blanch as she tightens her grip on Grace again. “Please,” the little Daly says, voice rising an octave as she hides behind the raven-haired woman, “they’re coming closer; we aren’t moving fast enough!” Her panicked feet move even faster now in an effort to propel Grace to do the same.

“I’m your older sister. It’s my duty.” Her words are a parody of everything the eldest sibling is supposed to be. She has never been the safe haven Catherine has craved, nor the cheerleader that any normal family dynamics would have pegged her as. She can’t even paint this as a strategic move, for Catherine is no Regina - no upcoming talent who could possibly threaten her position. She’s simply too soft, too easily afraid, too out-of-her-own-mind. And it’s all far too much fun to resist. Where some children loved soft fairy tales, Grace had always looked for nightmares as her head had hit the pillow. In adulthood, she became those nightmares. And what better craft was there than to do that for your sister? To string demons before her eyes and make them dance? This horror was her fantasy. And it would be beautiful. 

Faster - her sister is nearly begging now, casting a look back in desperation even if it is forward where hell lays. But who is she not to obey? True to her word, Grace quickens her pace, nearly dragging her sister along with her. “Turn left.” Skidding around the corridor, heart rate increasing with intense activity, the half-genuine smile on her face is quickly replaced with a characteristic smirk as the stables come into view - just a door away. Pausing outside it, Grace places Catherine’s hand around the cusp of the lock - undoing the bolt out of sight. “In there - go in there. You will be safe.” True to my word - I shall lock you within. “Hurry! I will be right behind you.”

[ofgoneril-blog]

priamtaravella:

Oh she was a cocky one, he would give her that. He could respect her knowing just how tough she was, just how cunning and quick of a woman she’d been turned into. Yet when he looked at her he still saw a soldier, someone that, despite their witty retort, didn’t understand that she had gotten down on her knees already, even if not in the literal sense. Such potential wasted on a girl who only sought instant gratification. “Not even for Faron?” he asked quietly, studying her as he leaned a little closer so that the conversation would only be for their ears. “Or Boris? Calina? Lillian or Alva?”

He let the silence settle, taking another sip of his drink before he continued. It was almost funny how he had far less people above him in rank than she did when he never once had to leave to get where he was. “From where I’m standing, Grace, you’ve suffered more personal defeat than I have. I imagine the same can be said for what prestige you have left.” She wasn’t wrong in the fact that it was still a personal defeat for him, to lose people close to him, to not be so much as clued in to Cosimo’s long-term plan, if he even had one. He’d done more service for the Capulets in his years there than Faron’s flashy shows of violence, and that thought alone irked him to his core. But it wasn’t something he would let Grace in on, obviously.

“Tsarina’s don’t bow for anyone, yet you left for a position you could have easily gotten here. It seems to me like you only traded one Tsar for another, marking yourself publicly as someone untrustworthy in the process.” She talked a big game, but her results were lacking, to say the least. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had another plan in place, but in case she didn’t, Priam didn’t mind giving her a little food for thought, something to mull over as she jumped through hoops when Faron demanded her to. Spades didn’t have room for ambition, for dreams of crowns when their leader likely had no intention of giving his up. Unless she honestly thought he would bestow her with a lesser one at some point in the future, or that she could overthrow him after he’d gotten so comfortable at the top. And he hardly thought she was that naïve. “You have a point, though. Nothing comes close to comparing to what the Montagues must feel. I bet they’re in a pinch knowing what hell is about to come.”

Not even for Faron? In a literal sense, no. Not even an actor as well versed in the craft as Faron was demanded theatrics on the scale of bending the knee. He might have been a king upon a throne (or one in the wings, waiting), but it was all built on metaphors, illusions of the eye - nothing concrete and hard about it at all. That was where he would fail. Under her dynasty, there would be no such mistakes. Mistakes saw your work crumble before your eyes and turn to dust before you could raise a finger in its defense. At the reeling off of the latter names, Grace audibly snorted, in no mood to offer them up any deference. “They’re not worthy of the honour.” Like a snake, her voice was more a hiss than anything else - with treacherous undertones. “Those last two especially.” Their value was but a speck in her eye.

Defeat? A lack of prestige? Grace wrinkled her nose, actively rejecting the content in his words. Had this been an arena, had this been anything but a public cafe, on a day where the sun shined strong enough to sit outside, she might have struck back with more than words - unafraid to lay a hand upon a man who - technically - was her superior and to whom she had once owed...well...the world. Such debts were powerful ones - but pride was a motivating factor - and Grace had never pretended to swallow hers. Instead, she tipped her chin into the air. “On the contrary, where the rest - the others whose names come so easily to your lips - went begging for scraps, I was invited. Faron reached out - and collected a jewel, the best, the magnificent. He invited me to be a part of a reckoning. It seems to me that the storm has just begun.” She could still taste that day on the edge of her tongue - its sweetness, its potential, burdened by its weight. What an unholy, what a beautiful, burden it was. “You’ll see. Hopefully - that is. There isn’t much tolerance in this new order.” Nor would there ever be. “No matter whether you count yourself a Montague or Capulet.” She added, an extra layer of warning, even if the former was about to crumble into nothingness, little more than dust. “Perhaps you should thank us for taking care of what you could not.”

With a sly smile, she tested him, awaiting his response.

[ofgoneril-blog]

castora-aguilar:

Date: April 13th Time: 4:45 am Location: Castelvecchio Bridge Status: open 

Even though the stars faded against the gradual lightening of sky; as night turned to dawn, the moon still shone. No one had crossed the dividing line since Castora came to the bridge nearly an hour ago to smoke. No one was likely to, and so she let her guard down - easily a fatal mistake, but Castora felt certain and her arrogance would not allow second guessing. 

Castora stood still, keeping her eyes on the river’s ebb and flow. She exhaled another cloud of grey when she realized she was not alone.Turning sharply with her fist in the air, she hissed, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Night was her natural domain. The shadows were easily a companion, more alike than any human could ever claim to be - and sat solidly around her shoulders, like a train to announce her arrival. Perhaps soon, she could fashion a crown of bones to go alongside them. And yet, there was impatience too. The Spades were winning - they all knew it, on the up, the most unholy angels ever to ascend. But this whole...teamwork was grinding against her. Perhaps that was why she took to her natural pursuit - selecting a target and punishing them, for no good reason. In relative terms, they were an innocent. But that night, they had suffered and suffered well. Perhaps that was why she had taken the scenic route back - ever the poetic soul. But when her place was challenged by a Montague? Well - that demanded a kickback. “I don’t really think that a Montague has the authority to be challenging me, do you?”

[ofgoneril-blog]

catherinedaly:

Much to her pleasure, Grace doesn’t shove her off or sneer at her. Instead, the eldest takes her up in her arms, embraces her in a hug. There’s something comforting in the way that her arms wrap around Cat’s trembling frame. Even now, it fills a void in Catherine’s chest that she thought would never be whole once more; for just a moment, she’s soothed–and then the hairs on the back of her neck rise once more and she’s back to hysteria, back to unbridled fear and dread. “Do you see them?” she whimpers, hands still latched tightly onto her sister’s arms. “What have I done to deserve this, Grace?” The littlest Daly can’t wrap her head around why the gruesome experience is her to stomach and not someone else’s, someone far more deserving.

Let me help you. It will all be alright.

It’s as if Dio himself has whispered in her ear; there’s no sweeter sound she’s ever heard, nothing that can quiet the angry stamping of the macabre horses behind her except Grace’s voice. Clumsily, Catherine gives in to the request and her feet begin to move. “I want to go home,” she says, voice thick with unshed tears that will inevitably fall. “Please, take me home.”

With a voice like silk, Grace tugs her sister deeper into the spiders web, for she is the sly that the raven haired woman will dance all-night long, a sick smile of satisfaction creeping across her face. The true tragedy lies in the ignorance of such prey. They do not see death creeping up on them - even when it stands at their side. Death - a too extreme a word, perhaps, for she has no intentions of crumbling Catherine’s rose-bud lips into oblivion. But she could. Power lies within that statement, in knowing that the lamb lives only by her grace and mercy. She could save that light - or snuff it out all together. Instead, Grace travels the middle path. Insanity. By the end of the night, when night turns into dawn and the moon gives way to the sun, Catherine will wish she was dead.

“Nothing my angelo.” Her voice, scarcely louder than a murmur, sounds almost compelling, a safe haven drawing you in. Catherine clings tighter - and Grace allows her to, knowing that the ultimate payoff is worth momentary disgust. “I’ll keep you safe Cara sorella, do not worry.” Had Catherine looked up, she might have seen the dishonesty behind the kindness, the howl of a wolf behind the whisper of a doe. But she didn’t - and thus, Grace could lead her away, inching closer towards a realm of nightmares. The stables themselves. As they drew closer, blood pounded within, excitement swelling. Just around the corner, Grace quickened her pace. “There. There’s an exit over there. Let us go.”

[ofgoneril-blog]

briellespride:

It was all a grand performance, every conversation and every step she took. Since the arrival of the rest of the Spades, her life still embroiled secrecy and deception; the only difference is that it was now in the open, daringly so, with so many others instead of hidden inside her heart. 

A shock of thrill sped down her spine at the exposure they risked. Even if they — or at the very least, Grace — could handle the secrecy of the next few hours. 

She met her captain’s gaze, a flame sparking. “We’ll both do our jobs well, I’m sure.” Pursing her lips, she flicked a hand to the walkway where the witches mingled beneath the flashing lights. “Why else were we invited?”

Grace let out a sharp snort at Brielle’s final comment, amusement turning to condescension as her gaze flickered between the soldier and the rest of the room, unaware of what storm was about to descend. How she longed to be at the center of it - but that was a matter for another day. “I’ve attended hundreds of these...they’re all the same. But there lies the burden of being the finest daughter of one of this cities richest men.” They had been an almost hobby for her, before she had found something more vibrant to occupy her time.

“Of course. There’s no choice but to do well. Look at the poor Montague’s - what happened to them. One minute, they’re high in the world - next, they’ll be begging for scraps.” It was impossible for Grace to hide a note of satisfaction. But there lay a warning too - don’t fuck up, or you’ll be on your way out. Her soldiers might be a step below her, but it couldn’t be a large step, or what was the point in them at all? 

[ofgoneril-blog]

briellespride:

Ages before, when Faron extended his hand to her, she had inclinations as to what she was signing her life to. They had weighed in her mind, warnings and alarm bells, yet in the moment of pricking her thumb, she figured the world she was entering was better than the one she was leaving behind. And in a sense, it absolutely was. In another, it fostered a darkness she never truly comprehended.

And Grace Daly — she effused that darkness by her mere presence. The woman was imposing, could reach for the attention of the room and choke it in her grip without hesitating. 

And Brielle — she couldn’t compare. It was a fact, and she had never been someone to deny the truth. In the world she had thrust herself upon, there was a reason she was a soldier and Grace a captain. 

Licking her lips, she raised a brow, ever one to still stand on her own two feet against an unmovable force. “I would think by that statement you have different – and better – shakeups in mind?”

Do I ever. Grace’s mind was a vast expense of danger and chaos, poisonous thoughts that could do more harm than anyone might have ever thought. And yet, she concealed them - for the most part - patiently waiting for the right time for their manifestation. First, they must rise - all of them - high above the skyline. Only then, could they fall. Only then, could the Queen rise and allow her reign to begin. But these were all secrets, deadly treasonous ones, that would do her no good to whisper - not yet. And thus, she kept her lips pressed together, company line upon her lips.

Soon enough, she would get what she wanted - both tonight - and all the nights that led after that.

“The night is yet young.” Innocent enough words, should anyone by foolish enough to listen in on their conversation. They would think nothing of it - two innocents planning to spice the world up a bit. They would be mistaken - for both Spades knew what was yet to come - and what would be assured by the nights end. “And we both know that we have jobs to do.” In her eyes lay a slight warning, the edge of a question - you better be ready. She knew little about Brielle, but she knew she was softer than she should have been, too much heart and not enough steel.