DELVING INTO — fateful encounters, the artifice of perfection, inverting ones own divinity, the soft underbelly of loyalty, the betrayal of higher powers & sudden death of innocence . . .
though the touch had been brief, and a little flustering, it had also been a quick read of her from what he had gathered about her too. her antics and small habits, the little displays that gave away what she felt. today, the touch had been a thawing; he'd taken note of the bit of tension around her muscles there, and the palpable way she had met his entrance, and subsequent disturbance of her salt circle with his show, without irritation. something else was preoccupying her mind then. when she speaks, he turns to face her but his smile, however light, hadn't dimmed as he scoffed.
❛❛ that's just cold, ❜❜ he huffed, and turned to face the circle while she peered through the newspaper. it isn't until grey's hand hangs at her side too that their knuckles brush, a little but a lot too. ❛❛ effective though. ❜❜
he listens to her quietly while a muzzle of smoke hugs his mouth, until finally his smile dampens into a stern frown, the light in his eyes hardening. ❛❛ whose whispers? ❜❜ and then, after turning to face her again, his eyes narrowed softly: ❛❛ you're not telling me everything. what bull? ❜❜ they had been so consumed with the hunt of their own that they had avoided speaking of the periphery shadows that followed them. he had thought, at first, it had to do with the girls who looked so much like her, the ones she would not speak of. but there'd been the time he'd drawn her back screaming from the blood and darkness.
his presence had whisked away whatever phantom she'd dreaded, but temporarily. it was the most out of sorts he'd ever seen her, hidden beneath his coat. quiet, and a little softly, he whispered between them. ❛❛ is it your minotaur? ❜❜
❛ i know you too well, it's almost sad how easy it would be. ❜ sighing into her brews, the space always seemed more laboratory than kitchen but her mentee never let her forget the latter. she made more efforts to keep her experiments confined to one stovetop to prevent cross-contamination ( it mattered little though, they both were made of sterner stuff ) a dimmed reflection of his smile plays across her own lips, the fatigue prevents the expression from alighting in her eyes. fervid fingertips sweep by the ridges of her own. staining him wherever contact was made with a dash of salt and soot.
shaking her head, she flicks off the burner and lets the pungent concoction simmer ( same recipe she made for him all those months ago ) she could have very well handed off the instructions to him at this point but she wasn't too keen to part with the ingredient list. HOW PUT OFF WOULD BE KNOWING HOW MUCH OF ME YOU'RE DRINKING DOWN REGULARLY?
❛ i didn't want to spoil your good mood. ❜ at times obsessive when it came to the maintaining of her own enigma but her withholding here was purely selfish for other reasons entirely. one mention of her unfather and his mouth levels to a hard-line. ❛ no, don't frown on my account… ❜ shaking her head, she nearly presses an indentation into the corner of his lips to smooth down that grimace but her hand is a lifeless dove between them. stepping away and around him she takes her bowl of crystals with her as she goes, so she can begin to redraw the circle he had so unceremoniously disturbed. ❛ a bit of a dodgy one — it's likely that he is, he always manages to find me the second i start to settle. ❜ taking the refined mineral between her finger she begins to draw out the skewed lines of her spell.
❛ you saw her, didn't you? on your way in… my sister. ❜ even a passing grin could not distract her from the way he had re-examined her face upon entry, as if searching for discrepancies.
‘ resist you may, you are the only soul i cannot control, ’ it would be a disservice, within that disastrous decomposition she has found something not unlike a nest. such confessions will not be made: despite the openness in which she treats her confidante, the demon has traded one shame for another, it aches to still love humanly, even through the degenerate cadence in which she recognizes her affections.
the sovereign of darkness observes in deep focus, hiding her own thirst behind the sheer blues of her veil. her arms shift red and sharp, by touch alone. it’s a horrible position to be in, two predators trailing the periphery of each other’s inconsumable souls. by rank, raven should carry the advantage, but she has not been able to shed the inclinations of prey, and being devoured in her imperfect ways, too weak to be cruel, too cruel to be kind, might be the closest thing to feeling accepted.
her free hand crawls to fix her the mane of her lady of corruption, one she’d want tied around her own neck in the dark, halting the oxygen neither of them truly need. she wonders how she tastes around the other’s tongue, but she cannot imagine asking without finding herself overwhelmed and shivering in the changeling’s lap. ‘ that is a great deal to ask, you would have to do much for me to earn it, ’ well, the play of succumbing is never fully rendering the empress frail, there’s a trigonian pride that must be worshiped before she may let the other even see the softer side to her evil.
‘ although you may bear witness soon. my father wants me to marry, ’ this she says without sadness, with severe acceptance not of the command, but of what she must do to rid herself from it. although her power is greater than that of her patriarch, there are hierarchies of blood that have not allowed her to be the consummate bloom she ought to be. she didn’t mind being a commodity for her power, she even enjoyed the hypocrisy of letting him become the villain with the gruesome decisions. but he did not keep these structures together, only her, with both hurting and healing fingers, could. ‘ i will have to kill him before i planned, ’ far from tepid, this conversation doesn’t shatter her desire as she trails a knuckle against grey’s cheek. ‘ i have your loyalty ? ’
THIS IS THE IMAGE OF A WOMAN AS AN OPEN MAW, YAWNING FLY TRAP, SPINDLY GREEN TEETH AWAITING THE FAINTEST FLUTTER. sweet decay between her jaws how the demon makes a squirming display of herself rather than simply playing dead after the hunt. she was intoxicating in that way, positioning herself as the meeker creature. doing so even when it was clear to the parasite since she caught her scent of the cloaking floral perfume that an eater lay beneath ( we are scavenger creatures, you and i; the corvid and the fox )
the vessel knows its place but the vessel is a dissonant system in constant rebellion against its own state. imperious with its cleverness, its serpent sense to slither from capture soundlessly while trailing venom in its wake. she dares not escape this, an open-well of grief, the perpetual anguish of a woman half-formed, half-realized. IF I HOLD YOU IN MY HANDS DO YOU FEEL MORE OR LESS WHOLE? ❛ would it please you to be on the receiving end of my denial? i often wonder, if you have become addicted to your own deprivation. ❜ tilting her head, a wide eyed animal with its flat-gazed curiosity.
❛ could i not take it? claim it for myself as you have already alluded to my lack of limitation. ❜ well-meaning confidant no more, the dilation of her pupils sinks into the starless well of her stare. A TASTE THAT INCITES A CRAVING UNFULFILLED. they deny each other like this, going without because of the incongruity of the prisons they have made of themselves ( i'd give you the key but there is nothing behind the lock ) a hand clasped between her fingertips, the unrefined marble of her skin a willing canvas for red.
❛ if i were in a position of influence i would trap you with a ring myself... ❜ a vixen's grin and its resounding chuckle. the light was back in her torchless regard, the one that is torn away from a dampened hand to the whites of eyes still rimmed rosy from weeping. ❛ but alas instead, i will be your knife, your executioner's blade... or i will simply be the woman you come home to after the slaughter. ❜ nipping at the caress, bone clashing against bone as her canines graze the peaks of her mistress' knuckles. ❛ ask what you need of me and these hands will weave the tale as you see it. ❜
a dish of salt keeps the devil out. ( also grey! )
❛❛ not this one. ❜❜ he stepped into the room half distracted and impatient, eyes glued to the newspaper bracket that reported on new haven crime for the week. ❛❛ not today. ❜❜ in doing so, his boots had scraped the ring of salt she had been diligently working on, which she would have to forgive. after a beat he comes to a stop where she has knelt for her work and takes his eyes off the page long enough to flick his fingers against the paper, drawing her attention to their subject of the hour. ❛❛ grey. they've declared the tower missing, can't find her in the city. ❜❜ he had stolen the roll from bass library's reception when his eyes had caught against a rather familiar face she would keenly remember.
it was a student newsletter at any rate, and wouldn't see the light of day outside of yale. he doesn't bring up the fact that he had nearly mistaken a girl for her on his way back, a brief glimpse, and a matter they do not discuss between them at all. not yet.
his eyes were fever-bright, but he seemed intent on biting down the smile that was pinching his mouth. when she rose, he pressed the paper into her hands and half-turned, studying the equipment around them, and thoughtlessly placed a hand gently on the back of her neck. ❛❛ Da brennt die Luft, no? well, steady then, what's all this about? ❜❜ almost shyly, he slid his hand back to his side and stood shoulder to shoulder with her, and their eyes met over his faint smile. was she summoning a demon? the weekday wasn't over yet. ❛❛ is it me you're trying to trap? it's a bit much. ❜❜
PRACTICING HER SIGILS, A WOMAN CRAZED AND HALF-MAD WITH ACADEMIC PURSUIT. fingertips stained with ink and elixirs, so much so that is caked beneath her nails. the only sign of the sundering of the facade that was grey hollow. she is composed everywhere else but the wrist down. the student apartment's state of disarray is commonplace; she is not good at what she does because she is organized, that is for certain. ❛ did you ever doubt me, darling? my little ones always eat their fill. ❜ spoken with all the surety she does not truly feel, her words are always lined with some dose of pleasing perfume. her persuasion may have little effect on him but it did not stop the compulsions from spilling from her lips. obsidian eyes drifting away from her etchings to the bold-printed headline he flashes her.
between two worlds, distracted ━ the halfway girl far off in her feverish pursuit ( iris, she was here ) the sisters were an imperfect mechanism of tangled strings, fine threads that affixed them to another. the eldest could feel the tug behind her ribs from the moment the middle hollow had stepped foot on campus.
there is a fleeting relief found in the weight of his hand at the nape of her neck, her head tilts back against his touch, platinum hair dusting over his knuckles. she shuts her eyes against the sensation, nearly forgetting herself. ❛ if i wanted to lay a trap for you i would break some spaghetti in half and leave it to boil for too long. ❜ then he is gone but not far and she takes advantage of the fact that he closed the distance first. her chin resting atop the slope of shoulder, lips a fraction away from the shell of his ear as if they were exchanging petty gossip instead of dire news. ❛ there've been whispers... there's a bull on the loose, a particular kind of bull, a minotaur. ❜
grey grishaverse au.. y'all stay with me for a sec but she would be a lantsov pretender she WOULD she is sooo dunyasha flavored i fear she is just trying to stir the pot for a little giggle and yes she is a durast thanks for asking because she is also elizaveta-coded
the precious gesture of the tending of her sensibilities brings forth a vicious smile. how securely plastered on the temple of raven’s predilections. unable to manage the visuals of her own reign, from the vanity needed to be praised to the solemnity to not be emotional: the dyad had been born with this empire, but she was far from prepared to tackle it. ‘ have you ever tasted the tears of an asura, my rare weaver ? ’ demons are unable cry, but she’s blessed with the ability to suffer as a human and feed like a creature altogether.
duality possesses its own blessings, even through the cacophony of emotions it evokes in raven, who is still trying to stitch her fragments together after the repressed tempest of her childhood, it makes her stronger. she’s grape and teeth, her time in the vineyard taught her which nectars delight the most. although there may never be greater wine than the one from the demoness herself. her suffering is delectable even to her own tongue.
grey is as rare as the sovereign, solidifying the weary care residing in raven’s halved heart. she’s yet to find a gem as beautiful and foul as her seamstress, and if she did, it would have to be a secret. no one may know what her hands can do beyond the exquisite gowns and aesthetic curation: not even the changeling herself must know how addicted the dyad is to the feeling of being forcibly embroidered together. an unit, as she ought to be. she will rip herself apart again, and with the blood, her talented grey will sew her once more. it’s not solely her own trigonian pride, but the putrid need to not share those gifted hands with anyone else. and despite her command, she makes herself gentle, pressing a gentle graze against the other’s cheek. the irresistible juxtaposition to the unholiness she requests: ‘ lick them. ’
PALLID INTERLOPER, A WOMAN WOVEN OF LIES STRUNG TOGETHER WITH CRUDE STITCHERY. composing her pieces together in some semblance of authority for the sake of this station. she has her tongue knitted with charms, a mouth ripe for demands but a monarch she is not. that is a role better suited for her mistress of affliction, her bird of ill-omen who flitters around her person. ❛ are you propositioning me with riddles now, my lady? ❜ tone loaded with implication, this plight of halves she is well-aware of ( not a demon. not a girl. but a blight all the same )
she can taste the anguish in the air before the tears, its metallic tang which was not so dissimilar from sanguine savor. epicurean curiosity is a frenzy alight within her, a vacant-vessel that was slave to indulgence alone. THE DEAD ARE ALWAYS TRYING TO SHOW PROOF OF LIFE. passion was the fruit of the living, so she binges on the fleeting nature of sentiment. when beckoned she is already halfway towards surrender, at war with her predator's instinct to conceal the true color of her petals.
as if led by a thread she descends into the emptiness by the asura's side. it is the feverish hot-house flower heat of the changeling pushing against the lunarian cold of her remote proprietress. ❛ i see you're in a mood… you know i'm in no position to resist you. ❜ any sting of defiance remains absent from her tone, rather it is cheeky to state the obvious when a demand is being made of her. SALACIOUS INTRIGUE ALIGNING WITH THE NATURE OF THIS TOOTHSOME REQUEST. the pale crescents of her fingernails are dashed carmine and she takes a digit between her lips then. heady flavor burgeoning in her mouth, threatening to take root. another slips past her lips and the pink unfurling of her tongue is revealed then. where her lady is gentle she is brimming with intensity as she seizes a delicate wrist in her grip. dragging her breath along a marred palm, a non-kiss as it is more sampling than a press of affection. ❛ i do wonder about the taste of your anger though. ❜
‘ i do not understand, they were supposed to love me, ’ tragedy struck demoness, her sadness always takes human form, and in the privacy of her chamber, half hidden behind ornate sheets, she barely has the strength to share her pain with her beloved advisor. hatred weakens the creature: an unstable concoction of kindness and evil, a world destroyer, a world tender, she doesn’t shy from her power as she did as a child, but there are wounds much harder to heal in the cusp of power.
bloodied tears merge with kajal, dark veins through her sweet face, equal to the dark slashes of obscurity bleeding through wall, emitting such perennial galactic coldness that even the indigo wolfsbane clippings seem to freeze over their golden vases. ‘ i suffered for them, soothed their pains. how am i not their god ? ’ she hates that the sun is still out, she begs for the comfortable stillness of night, but resists the urge to kill it. those nourishing servants of hers ( or rather, her father's ) need it to survive. she’s even been a fool to love some of them. a mistake of her youthful and imperfectly human heart. ‘ i should listen to you, you always make them see reason. ’
no need to recollect on the horrors that drove knees to bend towards the asura, it had all been the changeling’s merit: that she’s retained her is raven’s biggest solace. ‘ come, ’ a hand extends, she doesn’t move away from her orneate jhula, beckoning the soul - eater to sit beside her. ‘ allow me time to show my gratitude. ’
WOMAN OF TEARS, THE WATER RUNS RED WITH IT HERE. there was a question of the vanquishing allure of the demon heiress' company. what was the hollow woman but a flat-beast in the grass let into the temple of pain. perhaps it was the artistry she possessed with that particular kind of brush; how well she captured agonies in vibrant color. she is there in front of needlework then, stitching at garments wherever she went. the pale lady, the needlewoman she had many epithets earned from the ill at ease.
these lamentations were not particularly frequent but given the tender nature of the demon she often cut herself on the barbs within her own garden. THE THORNWOOD GOES FRIGID THEN, FROSTED OVER LACRIMATION. those cardinal tears still move the vacancy within her chest, if the heart were more than worm-eaten desiccation it would soften then. ❛ you will gain no favor with your people by falling on a sword. they have no desire to see a woman enduring they want to see a woman who exists beyond the world of pain. ❜ maybe once, there was a degree of satisfaction in finding she traded in the same coin as her subjects
( this may even be why she had been able to hold this position as steadily as she did ) the simplicity was tempting but she had clawed her way out of graves to be here, to be at her side. moving across the threshold of botanics in her amethyst silks, a jewel ready for refinement. ❛ dry your eyes, my lady. you don't need to bargain for my attention. ❜ staining her fingertips with the residual weeping that dampened her cheek. she carries that crimson in her plam, a precious resource in an inhospitable land.
▪ ▪ ▪ she takes up space on the arm-rest of his throne, and he knows without needing to look, that this would certainly draw more attention than was wise. and yet, what did faerie love more than a bit of nerve and challenge? whispers abound, but they were just one amongst many other, drowned in a sea of gossip and rumour in a gala that amplified it.
‘‘ and if i said it was not, which method would you endorse with me? ’’ of course, nothing in the land beneath the hill was as simplistic as it seemed; humans above he knew were far more transparent, could be, but she has an eye for these theatrics, she's built her armour from it surely. hazel's eye meets his own across the dance floor, her gaze unflinching. he smiles back knowingly before his stare curls like a vine around the famous lucy gray. ‘‘ surely i do not mean to assume, i am unaccustomed here after all. ’’
in speaking of lullabies, he sets his chin against his scarred knuckles and blinks drowsily, sweet swaying smile like a prince. her tricks touch his ear and they appear two birds trading morning gossip, but he does not turn his head just yet.
‘‘ marvellous. what a thing. you've a face like a ballad, i understand why. ’’ his smile widens, a glorious row of teeth there but the colour beneath his eyes and cheeks is ruddy with drink and sincere delight. when she straightens upon her perch, her skirts half-fall into his lap, their hiss muted beneath his careless laugh. ‘‘ well, you are certainly more flattering than your jailer it seems. ’’ though severin was new to his post, he is nonetheless seasoned in its theatrics. he says nothing more on the matter and the mystery prevails. detracting, he holds out his hand with his eyes morphing into lime green stars. ‘‘ and if i am to be the honey, i'd like a dance with a darling. may i? ’’
A TITHE FIT FOR THE DEVIL HIMSELF, THAT'S HOW HER PEOPLE WOULD DESCRIBE THIS. in her mountains they sung songs of women lost to the trees, the forests that speaks but one would dare not answer the call. in a sense she has prepared for this trial since she was a girl, so when she crosses into his orbit it is a subtle act of defiance against her benefactors ━ all wars waged in faerie were the underhanded sort.
❛ then i'd say you play at foolishness for my pleasure and i'm pleased as punch, darlin'. ❜ it was a precarious line to walk, this game of assumption but she is also supplying what has been asked of her ( one often had to fall back on syntax when it came to offended the folk ) for a violent pack of such brutal creatures they were awfully fond of their manners. pleasantries that had no real showing of kindness ━ formalities they could tie themselves up in knots trying to adhere to. IT WASN'T VERY DIFFERENT THAN THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE AUDIENCE AND A PERFORMER.
emboldened by the flow of conversation she frees the lord of his goblet and takes a sip from his cup. the brews of the fae could only be stomached by mortals in moderation but she had dwelled in this realm long enough that the pear wine went down with a quick smoothness. the intoxication it provided was only a haze of warmth instead of an all-encompassing delirium.
❛ and you've gotta face like midnight, a girl might get lost in that... but the moon is a fan of my songs too. ❜ which was to say she could beguile her way into an escape no matter how deep into the evening she found herself. with such a retort he may have thought she would refute his offer but the hand outstretched to hers is taken once she abandons the drink on passing pixie's tray. ❛ you may, as long as you're careful... wouldn't want you gettin' dizzy tryna keep up. ❜ then she is guiding their procession towards the petal-strewn floor. she finds his mortal knight amidst the crowd and offers her a wink in response to her surveillance, before the swell of strings brings them chest-to-chest.
