Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through;
Even in the thick silver mist, Thana does not find the way to the pass by the glare of dull firelight or the soft-white light of stung up lights. The path is still outlined in char, young trees, and the memory of bones buried in the almost hard dirt beneath her hooves. All the suffering here has a weight to it, despite the fireworks exploding above her and the cheerful glow.
Thana can only see the memory of this place, the nightmare of it that the animals surely still see when they lay down to sleep. Beneath her hooves the resting bones quiver, drawn perhaps to the fury of her magic (or maybe it's the tenseness of her form, the way the air around her is a weighed thing and all the weighted creatures have always carried with them destruction). The tip of her tail whispers to them, dragging its long lines in the dirt; it promises all the violence they have already known, already suffered, already failed to survive.
The gloaming parts around the archway and the silver mist folds back against the gray stone and the glimmer of stained glass. Some part of Thana can see the beauty in it, the way it's open to the wind and the press of bodies moving through it like a flock of prey animals. But she can see the violence in it too, the way the trees are not tall enough to crown the peak of it.
It would be simpler, she thinks to keep the path open, to tuck the horror of their history into the dirt and soil where nature can reign supreme (it will in the end, it always does).
Where others move through, their eyes glazed in wonder and alight with the shine of fireworks, Thana only watches the darkness on the edge of it. There Eligos is walking, between the mountain lines and the nocturnal snow griffins who have shed off their hibernation at the sound of the explosives and cheering. It seems as if that darkness, trapped on the outside of this cacophony of light and sound is only waiting.
A season has passed, but it's felt like an entire decade.
The hole left in Corr's heart has only grown bigger since her and Ipomoea found Hāsta's remains. Still the forest haunts her with the memory and the wandering spirit of her dead crow. Since then, she's made Delumine her new home after she vowed to find those who wronged her dear companion. Unfortunately, despite her working tirelessly to investigate, she hasn't gotten any closer to finding out the truth.
Since that day, she hasn't had the heart to bury her friend. With help from the library, she was able to find out more about preservation and she's managed to somewhat stitch Hāsta back together. Corr stuffed the crow's body with herbs and other materials to keep the smell away and it's seemed to work well to preserve her.
But in doing so, it's come with a price. Not only has Corr's heart been broken, but her sanity is slowly slipping away. To her, not much has changed, but to the outside eye, it's very clear that she's losing it. Just looking at Hāsta's mangled body says a lot, but now the mare has begun talking to it as if the crow is still there. She takes her out for walks by strapping Hāsta on her back so she doesn't fall over (or fall apart, for that matter). It's just like where the crow used to perch on her shoulder while they traveled together.
This is what they are doing today as they head to Denocte. For the medic, it's strange to be leaving the Dawn Court at last. She spent quite a lot of time in the confines of her new home in the woods. There are very few others she's talked to, so this is going to prove to be a challenge. She isn't even sure what drew her to attend the festival. It's been hard to feel upbeat enough to join in celebrations. Still, she figured it might be worth checking out and it would give her and Hāsta something to do.
And she certainly talked the crow's "ears" off the entire flight there. As usual, Hāsta remained her grumpy self (in Corr's mind) and it makes the mare laugh. Just like old times.
Before them stands a magnificent structure at the entrance of Denocte. Corrdelia isn't sure if she's seen anything more beautiful in her lifetime. There are bonfires lit and string lights along the trees. The window panes are so intricate and colorful, she could get lost in their design alone.
There are several others walking through, likely attending the festival as well. But there is one in particular that catches her attention. They seem familiar, except now they are accompanied by another creature she doesn't recognize. Although her heart is pounding from the thought of interacting with someone else, she knows she needs to get over it. Being in isolation for so long has taken a toll on her.
"T-thana?" she asks, her voice unsure and a bit shaky. She clears her throat. Get it together! "Is that you?"
If she's right, it's been quite a while since she last saw the mare. Two Dusk festivals ago, in fact. Corr still has the painting she did from that night too of The Tower. It's not currently hung up, but its message still haunts her at times.
On her back, Hāsta is slumped over a bit from the movement. Corr readjusts her and laughs, looking over her shoulder. "This isn't a time for sleeping, you silly bird!"
Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through;
There has always been this sweet and fermented tang that belongs to death, and Thana, and everything that the ground is rising up to meet. She can smell it on the wind now, that iron tang of old death, almost hidden by the bitter smell of herbs. Every drop of her magic laced blood leans towards the coming death in the same way a root might reach for the current of a river in a drought.
And if she's surprised to see the silver mare peel out of the gloaming mist Thana does not show it. The hungry lines of her features remain hollow, and wanting, and tinged with a lilac longing.
“Hello Corrdelia.” She says the words between one firework and the next. Her heart thunders with the echo of them as she steps closer to the dead thing perched on the mare's shoulder. The magic in her blood trembles like a starving thing. It reaches out across the ground. Moss blooms with the fat heads of warms. Rocks break down to glittering dust as her tail drags across the ground. Roots curl inwards beneath the too heavy weight of her shadow. For all the beauty above them, and before them, there is an inverted mirror of it below her feet. Decay and glory, death and celebration. Thana's teeth ache for the feeling of it.
Eligos presses through the darkness to join her, his lips curling back at the memory of violence clinging to the grotesque lines of the dead crow. The sand below his paws vibrates faintly with an echo of the violence leaking out into the smoke and ash floating down around them like pillowed clouds of suffering. He steps closer to the pegasus with a look of terrible curiosity in the tightness of his spine.
Perhaps if she had been born instead of made she would have understood the madness of the mare. Perhaps if her blood wasn't racing towards the dead thing like a river she would have understood the ways of empathy. Perhaps if she was any else but a unicorn made for rending the cells of this world apart she would have offered comfort.
Instead all she says is, “your crow is dead”, with her teeth still aching behind her tight lips.
Thana steps closer, close enough to see better the lines stitched between sinew and feathers. Her magic roars furiously in her skin at the perversion. The dead belong to the rot, not to the bitter and sweet magic of herbs. “Did you not notice?” Her violent crown of bone trembles on her brow with the need to rip the corpse down into dust and loam. She restrains herself—barely. Fury is flashing unchecked in her violet eyes.
And then ground around them turns black and hard, and the trees start to wilt and bow their crowns towards the curl of her spine.
There is something different yet familiar about the woman of death. She remembers her being something of a quiet, dangerous being. There is still that sense of darkness from her, but there's also a kind of strength. Her aura shines a bit brighter (even just slightly), but not as bright as most. Perhaps it's the girl's connection to death that still makes it so dim.
Just as it had been that night for the festival, the world crumbles beneath Thana's touch. With every step she takes, closer and closer, there is ash and the death of things. It doesn't occur to Corr that she'd be so drawn to Hāsta, but then again, it doesn't occur to her that the bird is dead at all. Not anymore.
If it hadn't been for the two already being acquaintances, she'd likely feel cornered, almost like prey to a predator. But this is Thana and Corr is not afraid of her, even with the almost hungry look her companion is giving her. Now that Thana has gotten so close, she is not only a woman of death, she simply is. Right down to the smell of her. It floats over to her like a storm cloud, but Corr keeps her composure despite how desperately the woman's aura tries to steal her energy.
When the woman speaks of Hāsta being dead, Corr simply blinks. She is in such disbelief and is almost confused. No, no, of course not. Surely she was just mistaken? The crow was brought back to life after she picked her up from the Delumine woods and treated her with herbs. She can't fathom the idea.
"She's not dead! She's right here," Corr answers, rolling her shoulder as a way of pointing her out. "She just doesn't look well because she went through a horrible accident, but she's good now." It does occur to her that Hāsta doesn't look quite like she used to. There are many loose feathers and even parts of her wing missing, but these are simply battle scars in Corr's mind. The herbs keep up Hāsta's strength as they go out together.
Then she realizes how confusing it might be to others when she speaks to the bird. "Oh, but of course! You can't hear what she's saying because we speak through a bond. I can see how it would seem strange," she chuckles. Surely Thana must know how telepathy works with bondeds? Unless her relationship with her own bonded works much differently.
There is a strange beauty to the way the trees bend to Thana's will. The string of lights remains on their branches and the gate stands before them with the bright reflection from the stained glass. It's a beautiful combination of life and death.
"So, what have you been up to?" she wonders, although the woman may still be more fascinated by her crow than small talk. Part of her wants to deflect the topic to something else.
Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through;
The twilight seems like such a thin thing against the wrath rising in her chest like a molten ball of light. Her skin feels too warm here, in the forest with the dead-bird and the mare fallen to madness, and she wants to shed it like snake-skin. The quiver of her spine has nothing to do with the chill of an early summer-night, or with the way Corrdelia seems to look more into the edges of her than the soul of her.
It has everything to do with hunger, and death, and the magic whispering like vines around her rib-cage for her to step closer and lay her lips against the corpse.
“Dead things do not speak. Not even though bonds.” She does not step closer, although the need to dissolve the bird and lay it to rest rises and crests in her like a wave in a hurricane. Later she'll say it was the smell of the meadow, and the forest, clinging to the mare that stopped her.
Later she will dream of dissolving flesh, feathers and bones.
Thana tilts her head towards the lights, trying to find beauty and wonder in the colors. She can still only see the char-dust clinging to the roots. She can still feel the worm and the bones trembling, and begging, beneath the trail. Darkness pools in her vision and she closes her eyes so that there might be a white sting of lightning to dim this roar in her chest. It feels like she's coming apart bone by bone, inch by inch. Like she's shedding this form she's tried to take. Ipomoea should have known that she would be more reaper than regent, more monster than unicorn.
Eligos lays his cheek against her shoulder. He starts to purr. The vibration settles her in a way nothing else does anymore.
There is still that banked hunger and wrath when she looks back at the mare and her dead bird. It's nothing more than a bit of ember in the purple (and nothing more than a silent please). “I've been hunting.” There is not a smile in her voice. But is still a flash of teeth. Perhaps the polite thing to do would be to close the distance between them and welcome her as leader to citizen. Perhaps it would be better to do anything but carry on with this banked and hungry glare.
Thana tries to do neither. And evens whens he asks, “Have you continued painting?”, there is still a low snarl in the belly of her voice.
The need to unmake, and consume, and destroy is still ringing in her bones like warsong.
There is something that hits Corrdelia like a strong gust of wind during a storm. It envelopes her, almost as if it takes over every fiber of her being. It's not anything she's felt before or could easily explain other than that she's hungry. For what, she doesn't know, but she does know that this can't solely be her emotions. Something tells her she might be picking up on things from Thana and it's very hard to shake off.
It's clear the woman doesn't believe Corr's relationship with her crow and it makes her confused. "Maybe not to you," she replies, then sticks out her tongue. After a few seconds, she realizes this makes no sense given Thana's magic. "Oh wait. Well, she only speaks to me anyway."
She knows the mare is always courting death as part of her ability, but Hāsta is special and unique. There's no way that she could be dead. She wouldn't still be talking to Corr if that was the case. A darkness creeps into her mind slowly, but she does her best to push it away. It seems Thana's bonded is trying to comfort her too as it rests against her shoulder.
It does not surprise Corr that Thana's been hunting. Death always comes after a predator finds its prey and sinks its teeth into it, so naturally she should be drawn to it. Although, it's unclear if the mare is hunting for prey or just hunting for sport. "I see," she says while her mind wanders. One thing she notices is that Thana has no aura present and this is the first she's seen this happen to. "Have you caught anything good?" Maybe it's that wave of emotions she's still trying to shake off, but her curiosity is growing.
At mention of painting, her mind becomes foggy. It's what happens any time she thinks too closely on some memories, as if her brain doesn't let her access them for a reason. Except painting had been a good hobby of her's that she did for quite some time. She isn't sure why she stopped, but she remembers their first meeting and how fun it had felt to dive into the colored paints.
"No," she answers sadly with a sigh, realizing how much she missed doing art. "I still have the one I painted that night. I just haven't hung it up since the move. Oh- I'm in Dawn Court now." She feels the need to give the update to Thana in case she had been wondering. Her new house in the forest is a complete mess and she's not even sure if she knows where that old painting had gone. It would take much more time to finally get everything moved from chaos to an organized chaos.
"I should get back into painting…" she trails off, more to herself than to the other mare. Maybe this is just the push she needs to take hobbies back up.
Somewhat attached to Corr's shoulder, Hāsta's disheveled body slumps forward a little.
Faith in their hands shall snap in two, And the unicorn evils run them through;
The itch just below her skin, the one that races across her sinew like a wound, does not settle at the sound of Corrdelia's voice. It grows teeth, and claws, and a spine of bones that does not bend. And it burrows into her form like worms into the dirt. Thana shivers at the feel of it, of the restlessness crawling down her insides like a sentient thing. She takes a step backward into the bright-lights of the archway-- anything, anything to keep her from moving closer to the mare.
A firework explodes over their heads, the ash spreading across the sky like a winter-cloud. Thana closes her eyes against the echo of the roar. She begs her heart to settle, and her hunger to sleep, and Eligos to cut lines in her skin so that she might feel pain instead of want.
Eligos drags his teeth across her hock and lines of red bloom against the surface of her skin. Thana sighs as the feeling of it as she opens her eyes towards all the colors bright enough to blind even at night.
But she does not smile, not even as she says, “I too live in Delumine now.” She does not ask the mare where she lives, or why she's come, it is enough to know that the forest holds both their secrets now. There is a comfort in that knowing and she takes another step back to the halo of fire-light and shimmering glass.
Her itch races down her spine, dragging the same lines as Eligos had in places no one her might see.
“Come.” Thana does not ask, not with the crowd starting to press into their spaces, and the crow starting to tilt wrongly upon Corrdelia's shoulder. Her hooves are walking before she makes the decision on where to go.
Perhaps it's why her voice rings out, on the other side of the archway, in a roaring echo against the creeping darkness. “We will find you paints in the markets.” Or perhaps the itch driving her forward is why she does not look back at the mare and her corpse to see if they are following her at all.
And maybe it's why her eyes look towards the pathway like a wolf looking at a deer trail in the thick forest.
The crow witch marvels at the sight of the fireworks and thinks of how beautiful of a painting it would make. Yes, she really should get back into art. It would take her mind off of other not-so-great things. Maybe the two could paint together again.
When Corr looks down, her eyes rest on the creature by Thana's side. They are an interesting one, Corrdelia thinks, as she watches the beast bite the mare's skin. They are unsettling, to say the least, but perhaps that's why they are bonded. They are simply meant to be together- a perfect pair. Just like her and Hāsta, just for different reasons.
She is surprised to find out that Thana now lives in Delumine too. "Really?" she asks, her eyes lighting up. "Well, you must be good at hiding because I haven't bumped into you there yet. Who knew it would take the Denocte festival for us to get together again?" Corr finds it amusing, but it's likely her voice is being drowned out by all the commotion around them. A crowd is beginning to form to watch the spectacle that is the fireworks.
She manages to catch Thana's voice instructing her to follow. She does, although she's not sure where they're going at first. Shouldn't they stay to watch the show? Then again, she has been getting a feeling of uneasiness, so maybe the mare just doesn't like crowds.
But Thana says she will help Corr find new paints in the markets and it brings a smile to her face. Behind them, more fireworks soar high up into the sky, but all the noise slowly fades as they make their way into the woods.
How unlikely of a pair the two mares are, but Corr is grateful to have a friend nonetheless.
