Orin and Drow little something I am working on for @meanbossart
This is how i personally imagined their relationship, how i imagined she would be sometimes with him, this is just a twisted little fragment of my broken mind. I have personally have a Drow where i have been the Orin where the roles have been someone always holding me over my own head, sadly a sibling too so girl i get you lol. anyways Drow belongs to @meanbossart and i hope you like it. I am writing more to it, this is just a fragment of how i imagine their last days together being, before she did what she did.
Orin
“Isilmë ilcalassë” The words cut through her, her face breaking for a split second, her eyes, white as the moon rolling back into her head as his voice rings through her ears; it doesn't take long for a fake smile to adorn her face, her body, soft and supple twirling around to meet him.
“Blood-kin…” Is all she graces him with; just a couple more days, just a couple more pleasantries.
His arms, big as her head, his skin dark as night, such a contrast to hers, finds its way around her shoulders, always touching her, always around her. Always, always always, never, never never away. He stinks, an intoxicating mix of blood and gore, danger and home. Because in the end, she knows, she knows he is home. Everything that keeps her safe, a sense she never had, always used, always expectant to a glory that would never arrive, to please false gods that would never respect her enough, no matter what she did, what she sacrificed it would never be enough. He was everything that kept her safe, everything that was on her way to glory, kept her away from the prying eyes and hands of Sarevok, his torment and torture, his constant expectation that she would bring forth the next line. That she, and her insufferable blood-kin would bring forth the next line of Bhaalspawns, and how wrong was he, how utterly and disgustingly wrong he was.
“I was thinking” Drow begins before her voice quickly interrupts him.
“Oh because it thinks? your big, empty head and destroyed unuseful mind is capable of thinking? “Her tone is cruel, giggles and highs escaping her as her head twitches to the side, her eyes wide open, her nails softly tracing the exposed skin of his ribcage as if it were a dagger.
She sways side to side, his arm sliding lower, softly, imperceptible down her back, his eyes drop for a split second. She knows she has him right where she wants him. “Dear sister…” He says and she already knows how this will end before it even begins.
*my gleaming moonlight in elvish which drows speak i believe.