Of vines, she recalls the shadows of them in the mists… in the fog, and the serpentine appearance as each stretched across the trees and spread wild through the nearly impenetrable canopy. Of the Amazons and the forests she recalls winding paths and ruins overrun, monolithic trees and plants whose sheer mass and leaves threatened to swallow any whole who dared walk near them and their greatness. A jaguar or several, those who stalked and watched: waited, and most of all she remembers names… remembers the voices and the whispers of Prague and of her predecessor, Asylum. Yet these memories are not a shared thing, instead they are something she mulls and muses on- something that forces her consider as she speaks in response.
“When I was a younger girl,” she pauses to consider her age, strangely twisted and unable to gauge truly due to time in the dimension of the beyond. “Much younger, even though I do not look capable of a feat, there were my sisters and I and we fought often and hard. We tasted blood and listened only to the wisdom we knew best: strength. Wolves in the age of sheep, predators.” rolling her shoulders back Aysel takes a moment to center herself and to shift her weight with the same aloof sort of posture.
For a moment she considers her own scars in comparison, but, does not bother stating so: instead she merely looks Magnus over with a knowing smile. “Days and nights I considered this, these memories, and I wondered what would become of us when the land fell and Beqanna knew no more of us. In our blood our legacy survives, our name and stories; but we die, we move on and some who still became something else. No more Queens and warriors, no more jaguars. I felt alive fighting, I felt like the world was mine: I felt like my sisters were still there,” and as she pauses she chuckles softly, shaking her head slowly.
“The violence is addictive, it burns in me still; but I see it in you. I am not so shallow as not to know when scars dictate survival and battle, or to lack the ability to see the fire in your eyes, and hear the hidden growling you possess in your throat. I am blunt, because you deserve it, because wolves do not lie to one another.” and in that she remains still, thinking and watching: listening.
“When I was a younger girl,” she pauses to consider her age, strangely twisted and unable to gauge truly due to time in the dimension of the beyond. “Much younger, even though I do not look capable of a feat, there were my sisters and I and we fought often and hard. We tasted blood and listened only to the wisdom we knew best: strength. Wolves in the age of sheep, predators.” rolling her shoulders back Aysel takes a moment to center herself and to shift her weight with the same aloof sort of posture.
For a moment she considers her own scars in comparison, but, does not bother stating so: instead she merely looks Magnus over with a knowing smile. “Days and nights I considered this, these memories, and I wondered what would become of us when the land fell and Beqanna knew no more of us. In our blood our legacy survives, our name and stories; but we die, we move on and some who still became something else. No more Queens and warriors, no more jaguars. I felt alive fighting, I felt like the world was mine: I felt like my sisters were still there,” and as she pauses she chuckles softly, shaking her head slowly.
“The violence is addictive, it burns in me still; but I see it in you. I am not so shallow as not to know when scars dictate survival and battle, or to lack the ability to see the fire in your eyes, and hear the hidden growling you possess in your throat. I am blunt, because you deserve it, because wolves do not lie to one another.” and in that she remains still, thinking and watching: listening.
A Y S E L
so you can throw me to the wolves
tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack
tomorrow i will come back, leader of the whole pack
@[magnus] this is where i say i love him and lord forgive me for my bad writing