♡ , @sivrit .
The horned serpent slips where it is not invited. It seeps through seams in the air itself, a ribbon of scaled curiosity sliding into fractures too narrow for breath. Darkness welcomes it poorly. The cold, unfamiliar space resists. Discomfort flashes through the body like a live wire. Raw magic presses against them, foreign and unfiltered. It prickles along each scale, threatening to reject the intrusion outright. But this is not their first trespass.
The serpent stills. Asfet (chaos) magic hums through their core: pure, adaptable, lawless. Assimilate. Become. Bend the current until it believes you are the river. They let the energy run through them, not fighting it, not resisting ⸻ merely coaxing it into familiarity. The pressure eases. Acceptance, feigned and sufficient. A brief tumble through unseen space sends their body looping in a smooth, practiced swing before they recover, coils tightening around the nearest chain. Metal groans softly under the careful shift of weight.
They do not rush. They never rush where they do not understand the rules. Inch by inch, the serpent slides along cold links, horns casting a dim red glow to cut through the murk. Light spills from their temples, faint but steady, allowing their pupils to adjust to the architecture of whatever prison this might be. Chains. So many chains. They trail downward toward the cuff. The serpent’s body tightens slightly as the figure at the end of those restraints comes into view trussed up, bound, suspended in the quiet like an unanswered question. A slow flick of the tail.
❛ a predicament. ❜ the serpent murmurs, voice low and threaded with quiet amusement. Lazy swats of their tail disturb the stagnant air. ❛ my, my, sssssomeone isssss in trouble. ❜ The red glow brightens faintly, illuminating the restrained form more fully as the serpent tilts its horned head. Curious. Delighted even. Trespass, after all, is so much more rewarding when something interesting waits at the end of it.
