she dawns, she burns.

𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧.

[valkeirie]

@nighcried​ ! / you didn’t ask for this but i’m throwing it at you anyway

  “ Professor Byleth, ” her voice is almost hauntingly divine, her fingers carefully folded before her, “ I do hope that your classes have been fairing well. Have you been enjoying your time here thus far? ”

[b0kko]

seiros

[salemwitchtrials-deactivated202]

beautiful in your camouflage of grief / in your solitude of bruises

Under the Edge of February, Jayne Cortez  (via salemwitchtrials)

[coalescentthoughts]

You are part dust, part deity.

Nestor, in War Music by Christopher Logue (via coalescentthoughts)

[valkeirie]

♡ for a starter. these will be written today and throughout the rest of the week. lengths may vary.

[valkeirie]

mammaterasu‌:

stained glass windows catch light  in a way wranglers catch their keep,  except this time their nets are threaded with colour,  with holy word.   alas,  not even light could warm the marble floors of this abode.  sacred as it was,  violated as it was.  she knows the way in which a goddess’ heart may bleed and how her tears burn the slope of her cheeks.  she knows that they are a sign of her sadness,  her unspoiled temper and the fire which grips and slants itself sideways.  blood has been spilt thrice over. 

your grief …   every bird sings in harmony serving only to accentuate her voice where it rides across the summer’s breeze.  blowing quietly now,  raking inwards from lands far from this stone order.  sadness ripples between each pause,  counting celestial vowels as they fall into place.  the sun matron shakes her head.    … your grief has consumed you,  child.

                       AND I WONDER WHAT BECAME OF YOU  /  @valkeirie​.

Her grief is heavy — a stone which sits in her hollow chest absent of a heartbeat and that weighs her down every day she cannot hear the Goddess’ gentle voice nor feel the comfort of Her touch. The darkness has set upon her from all sides. What light there is left threatens to be swallowed up by the shadows of her pain that yet remain. And this great white beast painted with crimson, whose voice is so strange yet somehow familiar, seems to echo the same divine warmth as the Goddess herself.

         Perhaps that is what keeps the darkness in the archbishop’s eyes at bay.

“ My grief, ” Seiros repeats, her voice a whisper tangled with emotion she has long kept to herself, carefully hidden behind the veil of ‘Rhea’. Whatever it is that stands before her — be it a god from some far - off land or some celestial wonder ( for she knows that they are divinely made at least ) — there is something within the wolf that makes the divinity in her bones ache. “ My grief is all that I have left. It is all that I have. Would you ask me to cast it aside? ”

[de-morte]

I have a smile made of war.

Channing M (via de-morte)

[hattersarts]

angry child of god

[valkeirie]

@nighcried won’t stop bringing geese into the monastery.

“ Byleth, please vacate the geese from the monastery’s premises. ”

[mintysart]

Rhea’s design is so??? gorgeous???

[venusdarlings]

aranjuez, madrid

[valkeirie]

healeann‌:

There are laws that seem to govern adults that Cethleann isn’t certain she will ever fully understand and she suspects that even her father was less inhibited in his youth. Mayhaps these wordless rules are the secret to the peace they bask in now, but Seiros’s face looks more radiant than ever, softening into some semblance of tenderness that does not escape notice. 

Cethleann basks in the praise like sunlight— pride warms her heart just as it does her cheeks which must be flushing a rosy pink. She is at the age where compliments like candy are accepted without any hint of skepticism. Lady Seiros does not spread falsehoods so her word is always good and true. It is nothing short of an honor to be asked to accompany the goddess on her daily rounds and manners are the farthest thing from Cethleann’s mind as she eagerly nods in affirmation. The first words she is finally able to pull from the fog of her brain are gratitude in simplest terms.

“ Thank you, Lady Seiros. It would be my privilege to join you, ” she voices with much affection. It feels appropriate to call such strolls a family tradition. “ I have heard from Father that in the past he accompanied you on these same paths. I am also told that he would stop to pluck flowers for my mother. Do you have a favorite flower? ”

The warmth of her smile dips further into fond nostalgia at the mention of Cichol and the pleasant afternoons they spent with each other in their youth. He is her most favored companion — a sentiment Seiros needn’t give voice to for anyone to see the truth she displayed so plainly in her actions — and perhaps that is the reason she adores Cethleann all the more.

“ He did indeed. Your father is quite the romantic; always so careful about choosing the perfect flower for her. ” Flora blooms throughout the canyon, thanks in no small part to the bounty of the Goddess, varying in bright, intense shades and muted pastels that left the mountains awash in their beauty. When Cichol first began plucking flowers she had teased him for it, eager to draw color to his complexion and see his usual composure falter, but truly she found the gesture incredibly sweet. Eventually she stopped with her playful quips and simply smiled knowingly. It was a great shame that their walks together had become infrequent as of late, but now it allowed Seiros to share the same pleasure with his daughter.

     It gave her an opportunity to share more of his embarrassing side as well.

“ It is most likely no surprise to learn that I favor lilies above all else. ” Certainly not, given she adorns white lilies in her hair often. Seiros cannot help but see divinity in the elegant curve of their petals and their delicate white color, untouched by impurities. “ However, I also adore peonies and myosotis. ”

She laces her fingers together as they walk the path out of the village, the sun warming her skin and dancing aquamarine off her hair. Once they are on the outskirts of the settlement, the seriousness usually set in her brows and shoulders relax, making way for something more genuine to take its place. “ It is quite warm today, isn’t it? I think that a trip to the lake is in order and, if you’d like, I may be persuaded to tell you more stories of your father when he was younger. ”

[sgwrk]

black eagles route 

[valkeirie]

' why must you go this far for me? '

@siriusbled !

How long had it been since Seiros last dreamt of her? It was usually a result of loneliness tearing through her — longing to hear the softness of her mother’s voice, to be awash in her tender gaze and feel the gentle touch of her hand. But now Seiros is closer than she had ever been before to seeing her centuries of work come to fruition. Byleth is the key to everything. Her mother need only wait a little while longer.

          So why is she questioning her now?

“ I must, for it is what must be done. Don’t you see, mother? ” The word ‘mother’ breaks upon her tongue, foreign from disuse, but full of affection still. Seiros cannot help but feel like a child again in Sothis’ presence, dream or not, and her heart aches to be in the circle her mother’s soothing embrace, to rid her of the all-consuming darkness. That day in the canyon still plagues her nightmares — the screaming, the blood, the splintered bone — and it serves as a reminder of why she continues with this ever-tiring farce. It is all for a singular purpose.

Look at what I’ve done, mother. Aren’t you proud of me?

                                                                                         Aren’t you proud?

“ I seek justice for all those who lost their lives that day for power and greed. I will return things to the way that they once were ⸻ how they are meant to be. ” It is a half-truth spoken with unwavering conviction, the wicked selfishness of her desires hidden just beneath the surface of her resolve. “ Once I return you to this world, everything will be as it is supposed to be. And we can be happy again. Together. ”

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Queen of swords, mistress of grief, lady of tears,

Olga Orozco, from Engravings: Torn from Insomnia: “To Destroy the Enemy,”  (via x-xgolgotha)

[ruinedrhombus]

the devil will want you back

[valkeirie]

@arekardi / ♡ for a starter!

“ You WRETCHED child. ” There is a savagery in the bite of her voice and a wildness flickering in the depths of her eyes like a forest on fire. Rhea is gone and only SEIROS remains ⸻ a brilliant burning thing stripped straight down to the divinity swelling deep beneath her faultless skin, like a timeless ACHE in her bones. Like holiness tearing through her. It is perhaps the church’s greatest lie ⸺ the divine were not made to be benevolent creatures of perfection.

               We all have blood on our hands

“ What do you aim for by keeping me alive? ” Caged like an animal and weakened by the injuries she sustained from the battle at Garreg Mach, Seiros pours the last of her strength into the venom in her words. Surely it could only be to the young emperor’s benefit to see her executed. Without the archbishop of the church to rally their cause around, the knights would be left directionless, and yet...Seiros was still alive. “ What are you planning? ”