marie francois / @diviningtime. ♡
marie's eyes sharpened at the other woman. she tilted her head, the gold hoops in her ears catching the low light as she studied lilia with the kind of unflinching gaze that made most people uncomfortable. “ oui, you have her scent all over you, ” marie drawled, that new orleans accent thick in her voice. “ that's something, cher. that is something. folk don't just walk roads with death and live to talk about it. ” she took a step closer, the scent of cigar smoke, rum, and grave dirt clinging to her skin like perfume. her presence seemed to press against the room.
“ i sit at her table. i pour her whiskey and she pours me secrets. i drag souls back when they ain't finished their work yet, and i send others on when they too stubborn to go. i know every corner of the in-between, the underworld, and the places even she don't like to linger too long. ” marie's expression hardened, all traces of amusement gone. “ and i do it the right way. none of that hollywood, white-washed bullshit folks play at. this is blood and bone. this is the real thing my ancestors carried across the water in their chains. ” she arched a brow, her voice dropping. “ so if you walked with ianmò... then you know she don't play. neither do i. ”
marie held lilia's gaze without blinking, the weight of generations of priestesses behind her eyes. she letes out the smoke of her cigar, dark eyes gleaming through the smoke.
“ you sure you ready to step into my altar, girl? ”