she's no saint but she'll take you to your knees
try her boy but she'll still do what she please
Jude does not have the air around her that Magnus has, the vines and shadows: the creeping sensation of moss and of feline eyes watching from the darkness. She lacks the ferocity of it; but deep down Aysel can feel something- perhaps it’s the slow lull and roll of the accent- the drawl. She can hear the purr and all the cruelties of claws that she knew from her own home; but it isn’t a jungle cat’s grasp that Jude has… oh no, it’s something different.
She swallows and there is a lump in her throat when she hears the pale pink mare talking, when she hears the words and all the saccharine sweetness of her voice. Aysel is tempted by it, perplexed and curious: inspired to lift her dark blue eyes and to watch the rustling and ruffling of the wings; but more so she’s curious about each movement and every step.
Jude reminds her so much of the silver ghost.
In a schism of vision she can see that when Jude turns in a echo-like image there is a shadow of gray and she catches Prague’s dark eyes and all the bitterness and rage that twisted her face; but when Jude is there… she cannot see it any longer: like the two visions are merging.
Her heart is starved, hungry, and bitter: burned and wrapped in hundreds of years of vines.
The Warbringer, the Jaguar… the Amazon- titles and identities time has forgotten, whoever she is now? Aysel pauses before speaking.
“Jude, aptly named- you’ve wings to match.” and she seals her fate in a way, with the way the name leaves her lips and how she tastes the honey and venom of it: the natural duality.
She doesn’t pull away nor resist a greeting, she brushes her nose all the same and feels the warmth and velveteen softness. Magnus speaks often of the Amazons, she knows, and Aysel would chuckle if not for the nostalgic pangs that make her heart all the more weary. Jude asks a question and she feels herself burning with an answer.
Poignant but lacking cruelty or malice, she allows all formality to fade slowly: to speaks with ease rather than business. “It was an older time, for certain. I don’t expect many to remember when they burned or fell into the sea… Beqanna was turbulent then.” she shrugs her shoulders, a burden that- like Atlas, she must bear.
“Tephra is not my jungle, but, she is all the same the child of it: and so while I miss my home… I do my best to make sure her child survives.” stalwart and loyal, a protector even with Segolene absent- Aysel turns her head and looks aside at all the world around them before focusing on Jude.
Prague’s shadow is gone.
There is a sorrow so deep in her, that Aysel feels herself shatter; but, no pieces fall: instead she just bottles it in. “I recall that, you, like myself came at the behest of Magnus. I am glad to see you are flourishing and thriving here. I know that in this current time it could be hard to imagine such a thing as, comfort; but at least we have pieces for now.”
Jude has beautiful eyes, deep and dark: starry all the same.
@[peregrine jude]