08-26-2020, 09:27 PM
l e p i s
gave me the blues and then purple pink skies
He had felt it. Even with the distance between them, Lepis is certain she had seen Wolfbane flinch.
A smile begins to grow, pushing away the shadow of the frown. That had been desperation in his voice, she knows. He’s not been able to find a child, Lepis realizes. She’d known that he would not find Kestrell, but she’d been more dubious of the capabilities of the northern women. (Some dark part of her had even hoped that the Curse had been passed on to one of them. It would be far easier to kill a child just learning its powers than an adult in his prime, she’d reasoned, and if perhaps it would also serve as vengeance toward the catalyst of this all, well, all the better.)
“She’s with your grandmother,” The lie is flawless. It matches her smile: simultaneously joyful and unkind. There is just enough satisfaction in her demeanor at outwitting him, just enough smug certainty even against the surety of her own defeat. “And you’ll never find them.” The last thing Wolfbane would have expected is for Lepis to ask Heartfire’s aid, and of course she will have done what he least expected.
But it no longer matters that the secret is out, her demeanor seems to say. She does not care that he knows, because he will never be able to use that knowledge. She does not know the thing behind those matte black eyes, not anymore. He is the source of it all. The Curse, yes, but it was easier to mourn Wolfbane if she included him as well. He’d given her Gale, after all, and he was the reason that Gale had been taken away. Even before the darkness in him made her watch their son die a second time, it was still his fault. (Perhaps a saner Lepis might have seen the flaw in this logic, but Sabra had been unwittingly on the nose when she’d thought of the dun mare’s use of her powers as a drug.)
Lepis now means to kill the Curse herself, even if it means squaring her shoulders and facing the terrifying creature that comes charging for her.
Her smile grows serrated, chiseled thin and sharp. The strength of her now-concentrated power fizzes beneath her skin like the bubbles in a Loessian hotspring, thick and heady. It wants out, and Lepis is all to happy to loose the reins (though she is watchful lest the effects reach her own mind. She has felt it before though, the blanket of peace. It feels like a spring morning, when the air is cool and the sun is warm. It feels like the warmth of a lover’s side on a crisp night, and the embrace of a friend thought lost forever.
She pours this onto Wolfbane, so thick she can hardly believe it is not tangible, and prays to her ancestors and the fae that it will be enough.
If it is, then at last she can kill him.
If it is not, at least she will have died trying.
@[Wolfbane]
A smile begins to grow, pushing away the shadow of the frown. That had been desperation in his voice, she knows. He’s not been able to find a child, Lepis realizes. She’d known that he would not find Kestrell, but she’d been more dubious of the capabilities of the northern women. (Some dark part of her had even hoped that the Curse had been passed on to one of them. It would be far easier to kill a child just learning its powers than an adult in his prime, she’d reasoned, and if perhaps it would also serve as vengeance toward the catalyst of this all, well, all the better.)
“She’s with your grandmother,” The lie is flawless. It matches her smile: simultaneously joyful and unkind. There is just enough satisfaction in her demeanor at outwitting him, just enough smug certainty even against the surety of her own defeat. “And you’ll never find them.” The last thing Wolfbane would have expected is for Lepis to ask Heartfire’s aid, and of course she will have done what he least expected.
But it no longer matters that the secret is out, her demeanor seems to say. She does not care that he knows, because he will never be able to use that knowledge. She does not know the thing behind those matte black eyes, not anymore. He is the source of it all. The Curse, yes, but it was easier to mourn Wolfbane if she included him as well. He’d given her Gale, after all, and he was the reason that Gale had been taken away. Even before the darkness in him made her watch their son die a second time, it was still his fault. (Perhaps a saner Lepis might have seen the flaw in this logic, but Sabra had been unwittingly on the nose when she’d thought of the dun mare’s use of her powers as a drug.)
Lepis now means to kill the Curse herself, even if it means squaring her shoulders and facing the terrifying creature that comes charging for her.
Her smile grows serrated, chiseled thin and sharp. The strength of her now-concentrated power fizzes beneath her skin like the bubbles in a Loessian hotspring, thick and heady. It wants out, and Lepis is all to happy to loose the reins (though she is watchful lest the effects reach her own mind. She has felt it before though, the blanket of peace. It feels like a spring morning, when the air is cool and the sun is warm. It feels like the warmth of a lover’s side on a crisp night, and the embrace of a friend thought lost forever.
She pours this onto Wolfbane, so thick she can hardly believe it is not tangible, and prays to her ancestors and the fae that it will be enough.
If it is, then at last she can kill him.
If it is not, at least she will have died trying.
