[P] bloodbird

[Seraphina]

☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼

behold a pale horse in my gaze
high upon it, death in a rage

Answers.

It’s answers that her people want, or some form of consolation – someone to tell them oh no it will all be fine or nothing is wrong. Seraphina is many things, but she is no liar, and she makes no effort to disguise her uncertainty – or a stark, journalistic account of the events that occurred at the Summit – when she addresses them, even as she sees their expressions darken; their chatter grows morose, the hum of voices dulling to a whisper, and they do not meet her eyes. She wonders, somewhat bitterly, if they think her scorned, just as they did after the Davke attack – but she thinks that it is more likely the dark, winding path the meeting laid out in front of them. All of her - their - plans, however carefully-laid, felt stumbling in the face of the unknown.

When she and her Regime are finished, she is as desperate for solitude as a dying man in the desert for water. It is easy enough for her to disappear into a sea of bodies, as notorious as she has become to the residents of Novus, and it is not long before she has broken from the crowd and made her way to the fringes of the area that Tempus cleared, towards the comfort of the forest that extended beyond it. (Though, she thinks that she is far more comfortable with the open sky, even when it is painted in all the colors of Calligo’s night.) In disquieting times, painted with holy wrath, distance is the last thing that it feels like many of Novus’s residents desire – they cling to their friends and families like lifeboats, and that is how they hang on. Few of them have made their way to the forest, and it seems her best bet at disappearing for a while, left alone to make sense of the tumult of her thoughts.

But Solterra is full of assassins and two-faced snakes, and monsters beyond imagination lurk in the shadow of the sands; she knows the sensation of being hunted, and she does not miss the glint of silver, struck metallic in the moonlight, even as it weaves and creeps between the trees. She knows that silver like a bad dream - it leaves the taste of blood and collapse to burn bitter on her tongue, smells like copper-tang and sand, and it laughs, laughs like banshee girls and lying, smiling boys. It is not a silver she has ever confronted, either. Acton is napalm, and hunting him in the frothing crowd of Delumine’s festival was easy, but he was no spy among her sands. Raum was, and his offense is more personal, if tempered by the presence of Rhoswen.

Her steps slow to a halt as she strides between great, gnarled tree after great, gnarled tree, stopping amidst a small grove of ancient Oak and Ash. She trains her eyes on the leaf-strewn forest floor in front of her, expressionless.

She licks her still-trembling lips. They taste like ash and loss.

“Come out,” She says, and her voice is deathly quiet, “Crow.”


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notes | sorry for the wait <3
tag | @Raum

@

[Raum]

 


He does not keep himself hidden as he turns from the crowd like a wraith. He does not hide as he move in beside her with his eyes full of silver.
 
Together they move, mirrors of moonlight and gray. She is the storm and he the sky that welcomes her by. This queen rolls in with her sun-eyes aglow, her people the seas that rise in waves to her call.
 
Raum notices the way she spots him, for he sees her too. It is the glint of an eye, perfect and golden. He drowns it in the blue of his own. They are silent in blue and silent in gold. They walk on in silver and might.
 
Ah Seraphina is sharp and strong like wire. As he meanders beside her, Raum wonders what it would be to light her skin like electricity, turn her into a livewire and watch the way she glows. If only he had a care, he might do just that.
 
The Ghost keeps such thoughts within his mind as he haunts the forest beside her. Then he watches the roll of her skin – sinew and bone bound tight, her thoughts kept tighter still. This girl betrays nothing; so regal and strong. He thinks he might like all the girls in Solterra, if he did not wish to be rid of them more.
 
Slowly she comes to a stop - not even death could be as silent as she. But a look dares to suggest he might have heard death cry.
 
Her silvered skin commands all light to draw upon her, but he is the brightest of them both and it pours across his skin. This Crow is quicksilver then – enough to poison, enough to enchant the eye of any beholder.
 
Sera speaks and even the leaves do tremble. Raum might have wondered if the eyes of Caligo and Solis would turn to behold the shadowed pair in their den of darkness and danger. But he does not, for the gods have returned, their eyes elsewhere, for now.
 
The queen calls him a Crow and Raum does not flinch, he does not sway. In answer he slowly turns a corvid gaze to settle upon her. No longer he affords her just one eye, but two; oh blessed Seraphina. The night has stolen all the blue of his eyes and it is just twin marbles that gleam as they watch her.
 
His teeth snap shut, a beak clacking in the quiet of the mountain pass. His skull shakes its disregard but in deference the Crow steps from the trees. A shiver runs his spine and it arches with phantom wings he has never worn, but stretch up and up to the trees anyway.
 
“My queen.” The Crow sings without humour, without love or adoration. His voice is whiskey, silken and delectable then deadly and intoxicating. When he steps from the veil of trees, his eyes are those of a crow, just as she named him so. Wickedly sharp he watches her with a raven’s eyes and feels the skin around them bleed to black.
 
“How does your court fare?” The Crow asks, as if he might care, as if he might fall to his knees and honour her there.

@Seraphina Sorry, just too excited, forgive me <3