irrocheâ:
CAPTIVITY.
⊠â with every click, constance grows a little more frustrated. sheâd proven that there wasnât a way to pick a lock like this. if they were lucky, it was something as simple as a five-pin lock and theyâd be able to reach far enough back into it that they could raise it. but that was with the right leverage, with the right angleâitâd take too long without an expert hand. true enough, she recalls that at least one of the knights that accompanied them might have been able to handle it. he had a deft hand in his handling of a knife and silent enough that sheâd forgotten that he was there at all. she canât recall whyâ
             ( a demonic beast, its hide pierced with arrows of light but               felled instead by an expert hand. the mourning of a girl               that she used to know â she remembers a face. pale               with death, soft with the longing for someone waiting. )
they wouldnât be so lucky, she thinks. if he had a lockpick on him, surely he would have employed them already. no, she must find another way. constance lifts her gaze to look to the cell across from them, watching as the bars shake. then, a flicker in the darkness: lady celica, she realizes. hands suddenly spark to life then dissipate back into the air as if though theyâd never lit at all. odd, she thinks. in all her knowledge and occasional companionship of the valentian queen, she knew lady celica to be a mage that paralleled if not surpassed constance in skill. then, what was it? constance looks down at her hands. sheâd thought that she felt a little off since coming to her senses.
was it something in the air? she grasps the bars as she searches, again, aimlessly. was it something in this place? her eyes flick to the lock. then again, to lady celica and the other mage in her shared cell. there was always a risk involved with magic. but if the worst of it was that it would dissipate before reaching the lock, then what could she lose by experimenting? âallow me to entertain an idea.â constance murmurs, waving off kiran and soren dismissively. she casts a sidelong glance at the professor to ensure theyâre a safe enough distance before at last casting fimbulvetr.
her breath comes out slow. controlled. cold.
ice crystals form at the base of her feet. then, the light flickers. the wind dies. itâs warm. âno.â the fog disappears. her eyes widen, the mage half-turning to look back at the others. âstand baââ ice shatters, flies. her forearms catch most of the shards, though one of the larger pieces flies into her gut to send her stumbling back. her fists are clenched, shoulders rapidly rising and falling with the force of it. but, still constance is standing and she dares to think that she might call it a victory in it of itself.
ââââuntil she canât breathe.
she doubles over, constance stumbling first to her knees. her hands tremble and her voice, choked back behind the bile that rises. darkness floods her vision. the smell of burnt honey and sage. it burns, it burns. her skin feels as if itâs been scrubbed raw, then scrubbed again until alabaster turns an angry scarlet. it scrapes and scrapesâ
something drips out of her mouth. it tastes sweet.
red, like cherry cordials.
ice shatters, the crystal sending its spores everywhere. some stumble back, some cover their face or drop to the ground. one falls on the stone dying it crimson.
python, still and unresponsive prior, jumps up and rushes towards the fallen, and sees orchid miasma envelop her body, in a mix of surprise, shock and horror. a frantic look towards elincia, not any less shaken by the event; and he tugs off his shirt, reaching for the ice shards left on the ground as best he can.
he breaks them between the palms, warming and melting until the skin goes numb, only to watch the water come out purple and murky. much like in the underground rivers running through what were once shrines to the goddess...
he drops them, shuddering. luckily cloth catches none, and he still does his best to bandage and cover up the wounds, looking worse by the minute. ripping and tearing, with his hands and his teeth.
when rion arrives, he barely pays any mind until the claudeâs question. on that, he freezes, then looks up to the mages with a well-defined frown. not a word is said, but the message is clear:
âkeep your wits about you, if you want to liveâ
(next: @atypicalsenerio)
