& 37. the scene of a violent crime. ( @viernas )
there was a stream. before the beginning of the end, before the last embrace, before bloodied blades and palms and boot soles and— a babbling brook. land and stone ceding to no more than a trickle, years upon years of growth cut away and washed nonexistent. the sound the man makes at the steel kiss her dearest blade grants him — the throat, she's shown mercy tonight — has the memory bobbing to the surface. gurgling, slick, but never this red. it coats the silken sheets under the body, the noble's shirt, falls in rivulets over the cross-guard of the blade she's white knuckling. she's never been this messy about it, not since her first. can feel it in how she allows herself to linger as her mark takes his last breath, foaming pink at the corner of lips gone slack. thumb hovering over the mess of it as if she can afford to take on this act of tenderness.
she should be gone by now, why is she still here ? a wisp of a girl, a magician's trick. the shortsword slides from cartilage with slight resistance, the sound gut-churning. a voice creaks through the fog that's taken residence in her mind, whispers that he still sees her now, even as she retreats to the open window. the glassy eyes much too alert for a dead man. wonders if he'll be the one gutting her when she nods off tonight. ( wonders if she'll fight it. thinks she'll just say thank you, instead. )
the torrent of increasingly nonsensical thought is quickly waylaid by the sound of the heavy chamber door scratching at the floor as it opens, pulse a caged hummingbird. simultaneous sense of relief and dread runs down the length of her spine as the door is pushed further, cold and quick and sobering, like the bucket of ice water she's witnessed tipped over many a collapsed drunk's head. the figure that greets her is familiar, in their deportment before the glow of moon through fluttering curtains allows for the finer details of their face to come to light. the sudden recognition makes her laugh, twisted and disbelieving. just her luck. the sight of her now, from the other’s perspective, would make her younger self cower — monster woven from shadow clinging to the window sill, bloodied blade in hand, face split in a preternatural smile. good. “ oh, blood shrike. do offer my sincerest apologies to the servants for the mess. ” a hum vibrates through aarunya’s throat as eyes fall upon the pooled liquid. “ no shouting, please. not another step, either. i don’t want to have to put you down. ”