my beloved @kismetwilled sent the ask: ❝ Are you sure you wish to do this? ❞ Nadira’s voice is surprisingly soft, it barely draws a notice in the hallowed silence of their bedroom. To some this demure tone would seem unlike her, but here, for Siberius alone, it is as natural as the air that fills her lungs. Her fingers begin to weave themselves into his braids, ravelling and unraveling as they idly twist along ebony strands. Her lips curl downward in unspoken unease. She wants to voice her disapproval, to admit how much she adored them, to confess the dignity that came with them and that regardless of what transpired, she never lost the pride she held in him. It nearly escapes her mouth, but the words are caged at the tip of her tongue as this is ultimately his choice alone. Nadira holds the spine blade to the base of her husband’s neck in one hand, the braids in the other and waits on baited breath for his command.
ㅤㅤㅤSiberius sits on backless stool positioned before his wife's vanity, his features cast in shadow from the reflection of its polished mirror. The commander's eyes are hooded and distant, as if witnessing something far removed from their bedchamber and the sight of Nadira's beautiful face, twisted with displeasure and concern.
ㅤㅤㅤHe doesn't seem to notice the knife she's placed at his nape, but the Dame's words are enough to bring Vaako back to himself. He looks up at her reflected countenance with an expression stripped raw.
ㅤㅤㅤ“I lost a challenge, my Dame.” Siberius says, and though his voice is rough the words do not stick in his throat like he thought they would. “…the most important challenge of Necromonger faith. By tradition, this glory is not mine to wear anymore…”
ㅤㅤㅤBy Tradition, he should have been promoted to full dead. And yet, Lord Vaako lives.
ㅤㅤㅤJaw clenching, the Commander tips his head slightly, the better to feel the tug of Nadira's grip on his long braids. He's been growing them for… a while. Since Siberius was little more than a rank-and-file soldier, defeating his first challenger to take second in his regiment. Long hair is a sign of status in their society, something Vaako cares little about. But the intricate braids tell a story for each battle he has won, each opponent he has bested in valorous combat. They are… were a testament to his worth as a Necromonger, and more than that… they drew Nadira's admiring eye.
ㅤㅤㅤ“It is your right, Dame…” Siberius adds, jaw clenching, “To sever my honor-braid and mark me among the vanquished.” He pauses, hesitating, but Vaako has been coward enough for one day, “…If you wish to take your leave of me, I will not retaliate.”
