Vex and Vax have a secret, and it is this: they donât know whose dĂŠmon is whose.
They think, perhaps, that Kari is Vexâs â given that Vex has wanted to fly practically since she could talk. The raven looks at home on Vexâs shoulder, after all, flaring his wings and nipping at her earrings, toying with her hair. He looks as though he belongs there. As though he is part of her. As though he could never possibly leave her.
That leaves Kira as Vaxâs, a cat as black as the shadows he walks in so often. Theyâre not sure what breed she is â probably a moggy, Vax had said once, affectionately, and gotten bitten for his troubles. She is a sleek thing, as light and soundless on her feet as Vax is, and equally good at getting into places she really shouldnât. She follows him across rooftops and through open windows without a care in the world, a ghost in a rogueâs footsteps.
The dĂŠmons know whose is whose, probably â or maybe they once did, but they too have forgotten. Either way, neither of them are telling.
Then Vex gets a broom, and Kira takes to sitting on the back of it when she flies, all neat and elegant like a real witchâs cat. Then Vax gets wings, and a pact with the Raven Queen, and Kari takes to calling death is coming, death is coming from his place on one pauldron of his ancient leather armour. The twins begin to think that, perhaps, they had guessed wrong.
When the Raven Queen comes to claim her Champion, though, it is Kira who runs after Vax into the eternal dark â just a cat, in the end, chasing after the bird that she never quite managed to catch.
And it is Kari who stays behind, perched upon Vexâs shoulder as though he is a part of her, and crying out softly for his flock-mate: come home, come home.
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
izzy806
dailybridgerton
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
