2) !!
𝒯ouch 𝒫rompts. 🪞｡˚ a fist knotted in the collar of a shirt. * 𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ➷ ❪ closed ❫ @arbitratour
Her birdcage chest heaves with the ebb of eldritch magic, the blue of her eyes collapsed by blood and a Fiend's violet flames. Black serpent shadows coil all around them, slithering maws feasted upon the trees, the wind— the very stars, it seems like. A writhing thing, a drowning, hungry thing, birthed by an elder evil itching to gore the cosmos, then suck the entrails dry. It will wilt every good thing in this world. It will make the living envy the dead. It will let slip the end of days. And its synapses are snapped to the lunatic twitch of Adella's mouth, waiting only for her bidding to make it so.
Mostafa’s grip is strong with a promise to shatter the witch's bones. The scarred ribs of tree bark he grinds her into is splitting, slowly, the skin of her soft back. But all this amuses her, makes her laughter sound like singing, and she chimes, ❝ What a big, and— mighty— and scary— evil man. Drunk little piggy squealing all the way home. Will you kill me, hm? I was dreaming that you would. ❞
Her little lamb fingers stroke the hand that tortures her throat, and her sleepy head cants in a doting way.
❝ Go ahead. My devil against yours. ❞