She doesn’t approach. She watches the massacre (for really, what else can that be called?) from her place in the trees, more a part of the Chamber than horse at the moment. There is some part of her, tiny though it may be, that feels sorry for the meadow dweller who simply happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. But the rest of her simply watches with a detached interest, not unlike Gryffen’s scientific interest. Her mind whirls at the possibilities this serpent girl affords. A diplomat is never turned away; in the right kingdom, they are often invited in.
Gryffen is the first to speak between the girl’s screams. The tree was too young to show them much, but she thinks that the blood might help it grow. She suspects this much blood might make the tree hungry for more. Make the land hungry for more. It had been far too long since blood was spilled at the hands of the Chamber. She smiles slightly, weaving through the trees just a bit more to approach them with a simple nod to Gryffen. “I think it might,” she says, her voice quiet against the screams, but still clear.
The ghost turns to the girl, asking about the apology. It is the question that rings in Straia’s mind as well. They had death wrapped in a pretty little package, but she was certain the girl really wanted this life. Would she stay? Did she truly choose to serve others over her own conscious? The girl’s answer is vague, but heavy, and Straia wonders what it must be like for the girl.
But in some ways, they aren’t so different. Straia serves the Chamber, whatever that might mean (her own death included). She serves without question, without much thought to what that might mean for her own soul. Though her soul is black enough already from the fires and feuds and treachery that created her. There’s so saving it now. She slips closer now, intrigued by the girl. “You can be more than your father’s child. The choice is yours, but know that we can help you become so much more.”
straia
the raven queen of the chamber