[mature] Desolation comes upon the sky // Brunhild

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

She was Hestoni's, too. It should have been enough for her, too. But in the absence of that which gave rise to her character, nothing felt enough; as anxious pressure in her chest gradually built over the lonesome years, she found herself itching for ways to get off. Abandoning her duties as Matriarch. Fucking a man who wasn't her husband, and bearing his child. Cutting ties with her children. Wondering, always wondering, what desertion might taste like upon her ancient tongue now that the ugly red X of shame would no longer mar her skin.

The red flower and green vine yet sat upon her chest, perched, ironic in its existence. She'd been naive to tattoo it there some years earlier, when her devotion to the ancient ways yet guided her actions and morals; the Amazons fell long ago, and she ought to have seen that for what it was. Her attempts are revival, or at least continuation, were but wastes of her time. She felt as though she was trying to fill a hole with dirt, but even as she shoveled some in, it never made a sound to indicate its meeting the bottom.

These days, she stands more at the bottom of the hole she has dug trying to fill the first one than atop level ground.

Why should they care about an Amazonian Queen of old?

The sound and smell of the ocean conceal the arrival of the eldritch one. Should it have pleased her, Brunhild could have taken in the sight of her successor, and then turned and disappeared back into the shadows that Rodrik spun for her. Still, the moment her hooves hit the grey-sand beach, a chill ran through Scorch, a ripple of white twilight glimmering across her tellingly.

Scorch.

The sparks of light turned to darkness, peeling away from her flesh and falling, dissolving into the sand. The dragon's eyes, set upon the sea, flashed a dangerous steel colour; the pinkness of her flesh faded. It's been so long. She turned her head, eyes like razors upon the flesh of the other. Wordlessness bewitched her as she stared; the tightness in her chest increased, making its demands perfectly clear. Apart, the two once-queens presented no threat; together, they created a concoction of sharp edges and cold flames.

"What are you doing here?" The words came quietly, as if her intention were to speak below the volume of the nearby sea. She studied the bruised eyes set atop her predecessor's face, wondered of her time spent in the Beyond, wondered just how easily she existed in that place, free of care or worry or of self. Flickering, the memory of Brunhild's goodbye to her on the day of her death came, unbidden. Somehow, this meeting felt like the opposite of that; and yet, utterly the same.

She laughed. The sound rang cold. There was irony, here; its onslaught struck her to her core. "Why now?"

Scorch

Once Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle