#pyrope-almandine

[thalrahylune]

Time: Mid day, October 14th  Location: Dasratsel, near the fountain in the town square.  Status: @pyrope-almandine 

Thalra hadn’t managed to get any rest last night, too busy wandering the town and searching for answers that might explain to her why she’d suddenly been thrust into a waking nightmare. What she had gleaned from the citizens of this town wasn’t comforting. They all had a glassy look in their eyes, a fog that they’d grown tired of fighting through, and beyond that? Pity. For her. Part of them recognized something in her and they felt sorry. It scared her more deeply than anything else in this strange, horrid town. 

She sat on a bench near the fountain and watched a few of the citizens walk towards it as if in a trance, then shake out of their stupor and scamper away from the large granite figures, fear in their eyes. It reminded her of the look people got on their faces when they climbed stairs in the dark and thought there was one more step than there was. The sudden shock of falling when you were certain your foot would hit solid wood. Thalra didn’t approach the fountain, only sat on the bench nearby and stared. Was this what the rest of her life was going to be like? 

She sighed and looked away, out onto the winding paths that lead away from the square. What she expected to find were more dull faces, but instead she saw a familiar figure coming towards her. 

“Pyrope!” she shouted, springing from the bench, so happy to see someone familiar in a sea of strangers. It only occurred to her as she stumbled to a halt in front of the woman that this could all be some horrid illusion meant to give her hope so that it might immediately be stripped away. “I’m so glad to see you. You’re real, aren’t you?” She reached out and touched Pyrope’s arm. It was solid, to her immense relief, though it brought more troubling thoughts to her mind. “Did he take you as well? Are you trapped here too?”

[efraincrayhorn]

Graveyard: Are you afraid of your own death?

"No. I don’t think I’d get anything done if I were. Maybe that reflects poorly on general ability to stay alive, but my death is just a simple consequence to my actions and I’ve dealt with plenty of consequences before. I have people I wouldn’t want to leave behind, though, and them being alone scares me. So maybe I am.”

[thalrahylune]

Time: Late afternoon, August 10th Location: The Dead Nightingale, Khaggon Status: @pyrope-almandine

There was a pair of dwarves huddled close together next to Thalra where she sat at the bar, which was bustling with people as they ordered drinks to bring back to their tables. The dwarves were paying her no mind and speaking freely as she nursed her first drink of the evening and looked around at the crowded bar, trying to find anyone of interest who might catch her eye. Since going on an indefinite hiatus in Myrefall, Thalra had grown bored, and had told Nil as much when he’d asked her where she was going tonight. He didn’t like her going places alone, but she’d told him she’d be back soon and she’d be sure to message him if anything happened. 

The sound of one of the dwarves beside her scoffing broke her out of her thoughts. “Oh come on, don’t be naive!” One of the dwarves nearly shouted. “You know this Strength of Hegaehend shite is just some flimsy power grab from some greedy nobles trying to take advantage of the chaos.” Thalra sighed. It seemed she couldn’t even escape talk of the recent political climate here. Khaggon had been a festering hotbed of rumors surrounding this emerging group, though Thalra didn’t have much interest in it beyond a vague sense of annoyance. 

“You weren’t there in Llyn,” the other dwarf said, her voice lower. “I saw Lady Grimaxe. There’s no way she doesn’t believe what she’s saying.” 

That was about as much as Thalra could handle. She snatched her drink up from the bar and turned to scan the room and find a table she could invade, her standards substantially lowered out of desperation. What she found instead was a familiar figure appearing at the entrance of the bar. Thalra grinned, a snake in tall grass spotting its prey. 

Abandoning her seat at the bar, Thalra slunk around the edges of the crowd until she could appear at Pyrope’s side, hoping to surprise her. Or anger her. Either reaction would have been a cherished gift. “Hello darling,” she practically purred. “I’m starting to think you’re following me. I don’t see you for years and now I see you twice in only a few weeks. Did you cross the border into Hegaehend just to see me?”

[thalrahylune]

Time: Early afternoon Location: a tavern in Khaggon Status: @pyrope-almandine​

Thalra didn’t like leaving Nil alone and unprotected in her home, but after the conversation they’d had about Pyrope, and what she’d done in Arx while Nil was wounded and away from her, well, it did more than make Thalra’s blood boil. It was like there was a roiling tumultuous storm raging inside her, waves crashing against her bones and trying to break them to bits. Outwardly, she’d been calm, went to Jelxi to ask her to have someone watch the house while she was away, and then made her way to Khaggon. She’d kept her tone light and friendly as she’d messaged Pyrope to get her location, and let the storm continue to build. “Darling,” she’d said, the words flying through the magical ley lines of this plane to her intended recipient. “Could you tell me where you’re staying? I’d love to see you.”  

And now here she was standing outside Pyrope’s room in the tavern she’d indicated she was staying at. It had been easy to find out which room from the bartender. Genasi were as rare a sight as drow were, and that tended to make them memorable.

Thalra took a moment, her hands balled into fists at her side. She needed to remain calm, but all she could think of was Pyrope’s arrogance. Her cowardice. To go to Nil instead of attempt to face Thalra on her own. And how dare she threaten Nil? Thalra had given her so many chances, so many opportunities. Thalra had held her hand out and beckoned her to come closer and still, still she had slapped it away. Only to do this. Touching Nil was unforgivable. Whatever nostalgia Thalra had for her time with Pyrope was fully eclipsed by her anger now. And it was so difficult to keep off her face and out of her posture.

What did it matter though? Pyrope probably wouldn’t notice anyway, so caught up in her own misery and heartache. That’s how it had always been, why would it change now? Without hesitating any longer, Thalra knocked on the door.

[thalrahylune]

Witch: What insult makes your blood boil?

There’s nothing so specific that would make my blood boil, but I won’t tolerate people taking certain tones with me. In my line of work respect is very important and if someone is unable to show me the proper amount of it, I’ll give them exactly what they paid for, and that is my unbridled anger. 

[thalrahylune]

Pyrope, 

I’ve written you two letters tonight. This is the second one and I’m afraid I can only ever allow you to read the first. I left it on my bed, addressed only to you. This one I will burn in a fire until only the ashes remain.

In my first letter, I said that I am leaving because this life, and you, are not what I want. That is a lie, and it is not the only one I’ve ever told you. 

Two years ago, when I appeared before you, I was unwell and I could tell that you were too. What was dull and faded in me, was new and festering in you. Grief had hollowed me out a long time ago, you see. It left behind nothing but the bones of me, the wet meat and memories of my life, and an echoing ache that I have never been able to rid myself of. You’ll never be able to rid yourself of it either. Your wound will close eventually, and the blood will disappear so people will stop noticing, but the scars are going to remain forever.

Have you ever imagined what it might be like to lose a limb? I’ve heard that people who have sometimes can still feel their missing appendages in the empty spaces where they would have been. The missing hand still clenches, the missing leg still kicks. It’s your brain mocking you. Phantom pain, they call it. I think about that a lot. 

Being with you did not feel like phantom pains. Being with you was like a garden filled with thorns was blooming in the caverns left behind by the tidal wave of loss inside me. Every day I could feel more foliage growing, moss springing up beneath my fingernails and behind my eyes, seeping into the cracks of me. For nearly a century nothing had grown here and then, suddenly, you. I saw you. I watched you. Pyrope with the sharp tongue. Pyrope with the fast hands, fingers plucking at her violin strings. Pyrope, whose voice is soft when she sings and whose eyes burn when she turns them on you in anger. A sun in the sky. A warm fire at night. I saw you wield fear like a blade, cutting down anyone who dared to stand in your way.

But here’s the trouble, darling. I do not fear you. You could have your knife to my throat and threaten to kill me slowly and I still wouldn’t be afraid of you. No, what I feel for you is much worse than that. It’s why I have to go. Because I could stay here and I could be happy. I could let this thicket of roses burst forth past my porcelain mask and let it fall and shatter against the cracked desert floor. I could let you see me too. 

Instead, I will never be this version of myself again. I am killing the woman that would stay here with you, because if she is allowed to continue living I will forget my place in Myrefall. If she lives I will forget the last place I ever saw my brother alive and I cannot allow that no matter what. So I’m burning the garden inside of me to cinders and leaving her there to burn with it and the memory of you. 

I hope you will hate me. I know that’s very selfish to want anything more from you now. Still, I want you to despise me. That’s why I wrote the first letter. That’s why I’m leaving without saying goodbye. If you hate me then we still have something between us and that’s better than nothing, isn’t it? 

I’m sorry, Pyrope. For everything.