violence
The thing comes into being, and Violence sucks in her breath. Another monster, made like their father, like Charnel, armored and dual-mouthed, strange. It’s still small, young, and Violence recalls how Charnel had been, at that age. It doesn’t speak, instead offers that strange, birdlike trill that Violence knows well from her time spent with the family. It’s not a noise her own mouth can easily mimic.
She sighs. It would be easier if the thing could speak, but mother’s failed again, leaving the creature feral and unable to speak for itself, just as she had their father, and Charnel.
(Charnel had learned, eventually, offered mush-mouthed words and simple syllables, but it was still slow and terribly awkward.)
Instead of speaking she coos, instead, a low tone meant to sooth. It’s nonsense, calming, as she creeps closer. She doesn’t touch her sister – not yet – but she inspects her, looks for other powers that might lurk.
“That’s it,” she murmurs, “good girl, good girl. You’d like to talk, wouldn’t you? I can help, I can help…”
There’s a brief clatter as her bone creature falls, as she focuses instead on her possession, nudging at the edges of her sister’s mind. The monsters are usually quite open, simple, but Violence is not as strong in this power as she is in her necromancy, and thus she’s learned caution. She doesn’t want her sister on edge, she wants her open, willing.
She presses lightly at her sister’s mind, offering a thought, I’m your sister. It’s okay, let me in. I can help.
I’d stay the hand of god, but war is on your lips
