02-18-2018, 02:24 PM
He can almost feel it; the slow spiraling of time, the distortion of the world. But there is no fear in the glitter-dark of his eyes, only wonder. Everything is amiss in this world – an artificial apocalypse meant only for them. The shadows twirl around river and elm and night-sky like lazy snakes. They stretch and slither and here; he welcomes them into open arms. Death lingers around every corner, and there is an undertow of something sinister. His eyes; feverish with excitement and reverence turn to his sister, and he can almost swear there is the hint of sharp fangs in her mouth. He smiles.
There is a prophetic feel to this place; this realm where she is queen. A Queen of the soil itself, neither in name nor in rank, but a Queen nonetheless. Oh, he worships her creation, and his shadows sing her praise in their bizarre voices. Like a pack of loyal dogs, they flock to their side. Oh, he will make them bow before her, make them grovel and beg for her attention. His blood seethes with magic – he is invincible; prince and shadow-spinner, commander of monsters and so much more. He wields his shadows like one would wear a cloak; and he smiles – punch-drunk and terrible in the dark – as they drape over her withers too until she is clad in darkness and silk. He braids her a crown – exquisite and as black as pitch – and he smiles, smiles, smiles.
”This is perfect” he whispers to a white-brown ear. There is an unassailable gratitude in his simple words; he knows he needn´t say more. He has always been an open book to her.
He draws his shadows closer then – coating himself in impenetrable blackness until they are one, until he has dissolved into shadow and nothing else. The shadows and Khaedrik swirl and twirl around – a dance of tar-black and shadow-gold until he lets go and suddenly appears behind her.
”I didn´t know I could do that”