#*main verse

[moonheiir]

is that the shirt you were wearing last time? (gjlaksgkj from arashi)

【 arashi / @fatelied 】

❝ no. ❞ and as if the sarcasm wasn’t blatantly obvious enough—   ❝ it is a bespoke commission by the renowned weaver arachne. i have only recently acquired it.  ❞ it was not. but she doubted arashi could tell. …he did seem the trusting sort.  ❝ it is enchanted as well, though i have yet to see what the enchantment actually does. perhaps you would be willing to help? ❞ half of that was a lie; the other half was a promise.

[shukuchiisms]

« It looks as if I have the undivided attention of our Star chaperonne. You can act more freely, if I get it right. »

“Oh you missunderstand my dear, She never acted to stop me of doing whatever i please, She just complains about it and i find it amusing that she cares enough about me to do so.“

[moonheiir]

have you been doing well since i saw you? (from arashi :v)

【 arashi / @roomee】

melinoë— wasn’t certain if such a question was a genuine concern or… poorly veiled mockery, because, at this very moment, she was anything but well. the descent down into tartarus hadn’t been kind to her. erebus had unmade her, oceanus had pulled her under, and the mourning fields had leeched the rest of her away. what part of her gave him the impression that she was, despite being reasonably intact, functioning as intended? ❝ if… this is your idea of provocation, demon, ❞ melinoë edged forward, scythe gliding after her like an omen. ❝ you will have to be more creative. ❞

[moonheiir]

starter call for xue / @warwaited

tonight had not been kind to melinoë. the same path, yes, but woven with newfound wariness that weighed heavily on a frame not meant to carry it. she had done what she was told with meticulous devotion as any weapon shaped for war would, yet, for reasons beyond comprehension— ones whose uncertainty she resented, the underworld’s heir felt her soul approaching its threshold far sooner than it should have. it was— utterly unacceptable; it was also, unfortunately, expected. the limit of what she could bear held— not by virtue of strength, but because she forced it to— until it didn’t and and she felt it turn on her tenfold. perhaps it was the repetition— the sheer accumulation of familiar faces and familiar burdens, of the same ascent, the same sentence dressed in new hours. perhaps it was the inevitability of failure perched atop olympus, too, patient like a vulture, ready to send her down into the dark the moment she fell short— as she always did. to have duty written into her fate, yet incapable of seeing it through; how disappointing. 

she persisted, regardless, for yielding was not a luxury she was blessed with. she must press on even if her bones threatened to splinter under a satyr’s blade; she must walk the path until the last of her was spent. until she sank on her knees, and let herself be swallowed by the dark where no eyes would pry. such was her calling.  ephyra was finally behind her. but behind meant little in a world that obeyed chronos. another of his forces could manifest at any moment, and the shadows would take her back as easily as breath— dragging her once more into the same ruin she had only just escaped. she made it as far as the pier overlooking thessaly. she knew she would not go much farther. for what it was worth, she could at least let the night end beside the new shade she had been fortunate to meet. ❝ xue. ❞ melinoë called the moment she caught sight of the shade’s tell-tale shadow. immediately, the rigidity set in her shoulders abated with alarming ease. ❝ we meet again. ❞ the way she worded it made such occasions sound like a rare commodity, and in a way— they were. the war consumed nearly all of the princess’s effort to remain her own person, let alone to cultivate anything resembling a meaningful relationship beyond what could be justified, measured, and spent in its service. melinoë dismissed her scythe and finally allowed herself to breathe once xue was close enough. ❝  i trust that the war hasn’t troubled your journey?  ❞ she could only hope.

[moonheiir]

"i didn't realize it was you when i first saw you."

【 zagreus / @underbloods 】

❝ oh, i can imagine! ❞ melinoë said, clearly amused. such ease was a rare visitor in the underworld’s court— rarer still for its princess. and yet, here it was. unbidden. quiet. real, despite herself. perhaps her brother’s charm had rubbed off more than she liked to admit. it was, for the lack of a better word, curious to think about how much they did share in common as opposed to how much they were willing to acknowledge, wasn't it? it showed itself in the smallest, almost imperceptible ways: the way their attention snagged on the same details, the way questions formed before caution could smother them, the way the unknown still managed to feel like an invitation. that peculiar fascination was zagreus’s fuel as much as it was her own, though he wore it more openly than she ever did— than she had ever assumed she had in her. truly, he made it easy…  (in fact, he made everything… breathable.) shame, then, ought to have followed, as it always did, sharp and quick to condemn her for complacency unbefitting of someone who bore the gods’ prevalence on a frame not meant to carry gods. she could already hear headmistress hecate’s voice, cold and unforgiving: indulgence is failure. complacency is chronos’s triumph. had the witch seen her like this— smiling, lingering, letting the moment stand— there would have been no mercy in the reprimand. but neither that nor the familiar weight of defeat festered. nostalgia caught her in its stead.  …because she, too, often wondered about her true family. she, too, wondered: who they were beyond the phantoms of her comfort.

❝ it must have been… unsettling for you, then— to stand before a sister not yet born, and to hear her name a grandfather, still unknown to you, as the one who had seized the underworld’s throne and imprisoned your family. ❞ melinoë mused. the reminiscence once refused to cross into sounds now surfaced as if it had been waiting, only for it to sound too much like a prophecy delivered in absolute delirium. she would not have faulted zagreus if he disregarded such… unthinkable absurdity— yet the memory, untouched by time, still sat close regardless of what happened then and what happened since.  how could she possibly forget? she remembered her brother on the other side of the mirror: with his unruly hair, his reassuring smile, and a pair of mismatched eyes— hers, but not hers either, reflected back at her— bright with honest curiosity, believing her even though she could hardly believe herself, just as natural as breathing. she had not known what to expect of him— perhaps more detachment? more resistance? certainly more disbelief?   instead, he outdid every assumption in the most disarming way possible. it was surprising.  it was also… fortunate, that he had listened to her... despite how things had soured. now, beside him on the balcony overlooking the styx— shoulders barely brushing, the space between them still cautious— she felt the awkwardness like a thin veil. and beneath it, something steadier. she knew, without question, that she was glad he was back. she had spent an entire lifetime imagining him. now she had another to know him. ❝ well, ❞ melinoë smiled, then promptly angled herself away, just enough to keep zagreus from seeing it. she suspected he would never let it go otherwise— for all the brashness he performed, he was perceptive in ways that were mildly inconvenient. ❝ i had my fair share of surprises when i first met you as well. i anticipated many things. your… reckless optimism was not one of them. ❞

[moonheiir]

❝ may the fates favour your journey. ❞ @ moros

【 moros / @nazorneku 】

would they? or would they instead design her path with further riddles and trickery? …they did tend towards weaving inconvenience into every thread and call it guidance, did they not? if their long-standing reputation for meddling— amongst both mortals and gods alike— held true.  she supposed it did. reputation, after all, rarely formed without reason; and theirs was… enduring. persistent. spoken of with the same wary inevitability one reserved for storms on the horizon— seen long before they arrived, yet never truly avoided. she wondered— sometimes, when her thoughts were too loud to pretend otherwise— how much of her adversity was born of circumstance, and how much of it had been deliberately authored by the fates? not for cruelty, perhaps. not even for sport. but because they could; because they always had; because a thread pulled taut still counted as a thread, and the loom did not care for tenderness. they had never cared before, that much was evident. so what, then, had prompted the change? what necessity, or curiosity, had driven them to send their emissary-guardian, their precious doom incarnate to her doorstep? what, precisely, was his role in the grand scheme of things— if the fates were indeed at their work?  was he meant to deliver her foes' doom? or to deliver hers?  was he the blade, or merely the hand that carried it— a necessary conclusion, a final punctuation placed wherever the story demanded? of course— such… untoward musing was left unvoiced. doom incarnate stood too near for such indulgence.

❝ you have my gratitude, lord moros. ❞ she replied, as quiet as he was. the words were proper, contained, offered the way courtesy demanded. his ties to the fates were reason enough for suspicion, but melinoë did not mistake proximity for intent. he had been gracious to her since his arrival, offering more than a title— more than what his function allowed him, despite holding the power to sour fortune at his fingertips. an ally, for now, of his own volition though not entirely unbidden by the fates. with the war as it was, that distinction alone mattered enough. …and besides, his presence cut through this gloomy corner like fresh air— where everything felt old, rehearsed, and heavy with repetition. she had seen too much of it. failed too often in it. the crossroads had become an accumulation of familiar faces and familiar burdens, of the same warnings repeated and the same grief returned, dressed in new hours. so, condemn her for curiosity if one must, she couldn’t help but feel inclined, amid all that sameness, to wonder about the very absence that lingered at the edge of her thoughts: doom incarnate, spoken of in the same breath as inevitability, as if he was less a person and more a conclusion.  she could already hear headmistress hecate’s warning— sharp as a blade, clipped as a verdict: do not reach for what the fates have not offered. do not ask questions that invite answers. but, truly, what harm would it do— if it did come to pass? if, perhaps— moros would grant her this small, awkward reaching; this attempt at knowing him, without naming it outright? would that be… approved?  unfortunately, her lineage did not bless her with foresight.  she needed but to try to know. ❝ i trust that the crossroads have been kind to you thus far? ❞ melinoë continued, voice still quiet— still careful, as though a single misstep might send everything awry. ❝ and… if it would not be an inconvenience, would you allow me to accompany you this evening? i have only just returned from yet another unsuccessful attempt, and i thought, perhaps, a brief walk might be… sensible. a moment’s rest, before i make another. ❞

[moonheiir]

meow

【 lu guang / @roomee 】

❝ yes. ❞ how. profound. to be bestowed with such enlightenment— ah, she was indeed blessed with the boons of goddess tyche on this eve. envy now, homer?

[moonheiir]

"that's not at all what you said."

【 zagreus / @underbloods】

❝ and what, pray tell, ❞ melinoë said, slowly, wearily, with much restrained exhaustion reserved for conversations she would rather not repeat— but had to, unfortunately. ❝ did you think i said, dear brother? ❞ the appellation had once been a quiet prayer; now it tasted of tired bitterness. she held his gaze with an aching so tender, so fragile, it nearly betrayed her carefully-maintained facade of composure.  the unasked whys settled between them, thin as a thread, yet weighted with vulnerability. why did you doubt me? why did you decide for me? why did you not listen? why did you trample on my trust? the words lodged themselves inside her throat— half burning, half suffocating, wholly overwhelming with deafening hurt and heart-wrenching grievance that had never been answered, only judged. she had, despite herself, swallowed it for the sake of obeying her family’s verdict: that her rage was wretched and wrathful, that every time she bled amounted to nothing— as though such a decree could unmake what she felt.  now it was resurfacing. uninvited, hideous, shameful. because zagreus would not let it rest; because zagreus would not stop dragging it back into the light. 

…and because she could not understand.  selfish as one might condemn her— was it truly wrong of her to follow her pre-determined path?   a life without a choice, but one that she had learned to accept nonetheless— though not without protests, not without small, human resistances that she had long outgrown once it was drilled into her what was at stake, and what those endless nights of relentless training and ceaseless failure were for. the princess must not fall— headmistress had spoken, her voice immovable in its demand for absolute obedience and unforgiving self-discipline— slay the titan of time, free the underworld, end his tyranny, deliver your vengeance, repeat.  such was her calling.  such was her life purpose. and she had responded with the solemnity of a living weapon.  even doom, the emissary-guardian of the fates, had offered her task respect. even the titan of foresight, her enemy as he was, had understood that she was a necessary piece in setting what had been broken right. yet— her family, bound by blood in theory, had failed such basic courtesy? was it wrong of her to finish what the prophecy claimed of her? did such aspiration not deserve the respect it had earned? retribution was now laughing at her, she was certain.  and she felt herself exploding like a dead star remembering how to burn. ❝ have i not made myself clear?  ❞ melinoë asked, calmly. however, her tone suggested otherwise. ❝ have i not explained to you what the titan— ❞ she caught herself in time, aware that she was allowing feelings that should remain unnamed to take shape in her mouth, still the incessant indignation was pressing harder each moment. so she continued.  if she didn’t, she didn’t know when she would ever have the chance again. ❝ what chronos did to me, to our family, to the underworld, to everything, brother? ❞   chronos— not grandfather. not whatever zagreus was trying to convince her of. ❝ you suffered the full force of chronos’s cruelty firsthand. you, and the house, were the first to fall in his unjust conquest. lord father was imprisoned. shades were made into mindless weapons. the underworld became a filthy ground for his forces to slaughter and spread. i was denied my family! ❞ her voice was hovering on the edge of breaking now. everything was threatening to pour out of her like a broken dam— and yet, somehow, nothing quite did. there was too much to tell, and she didn’t know where to begin, or what she would— could ever tell him. ❝ so forgive my misgiving, brother, i do not understand the course of your action, even now. ❞  she looked at him fully now; her chest heaved, then settled visibly, like a burden had been briefly pardoned despite, in reality, it was anything but. she measured each word with deliberate care, schooling them back into the neutral stoicism she wore so often— one last attempt to conceal how much it hurt. ❝ …have you considered that, how unfair it was— for me? ❞ her mismatched gaze hardened, the familiar unpracticed, budding warmth gone. ❝ how convenient of you ❞ she said, evenly, ❝ to take what i entrusted to you and bend it to your own ends. ❞ on top of that, the audacity to insult her spells too.