Has Manikin a heart? She held the Monsters within her for so long, they've eaten away so much and left her empty when they tore through her skin. Left her bereaved. What would Manikin do with a heart, if she had one? Who would she love? Her list is short and it is mostly herself, with a share for Grandfather because who can deny a god of anything, if he wants it? Now Sabra declares it as her own and the chimerical mare can only shrug as if to say that it doesn't matter to her who claims the questionable thing. She shrugs, but then she nods, though the consent of a liar is dubious at best.
(But she does make note of this penchant for hearts, it may be useful at another time.)
The Sylvan tells her to worship at the altar of Death as if she isn't already its servant. The hippogryph laughs, and, like her weary voice, the laugh is rough-edged and cruel, and she passes one paw over her poll so it leaves a smear of glowing blood across one eye. Death is a grey stallion with claret eyes, it is a creature made of darkness and claws and teeth and grasping arms, it is an enormous black rat with blood as thick as molasses, it is a shimmering blue mare with a spear in her chest and hunger for hearts as if to replace the shattered one in her breast. Manny knows this face despite the unfamiliar mask.
She stands at last, as though the deal is done and sealed between madwoman and liar. Will the Spearbearer take it now? Will she rip the shriveled thing from her feathered chest or pluck it out with spears? Manikin should not want to be torn apart, but she has grown up dying. Her feathers, even sticky as they are with gore, shiver not unpleasantly with the thought and the purring grows ever louder until it fills their golden clearing.
"Take it."
(But she does make note of this penchant for hearts, it may be useful at another time.)
The Sylvan tells her to worship at the altar of Death as if she isn't already its servant. The hippogryph laughs, and, like her weary voice, the laugh is rough-edged and cruel, and she passes one paw over her poll so it leaves a smear of glowing blood across one eye. Death is a grey stallion with claret eyes, it is a creature made of darkness and claws and teeth and grasping arms, it is an enormous black rat with blood as thick as molasses, it is a shimmering blue mare with a spear in her chest and hunger for hearts as if to replace the shattered one in her breast. Manny knows this face despite the unfamiliar mask.
She stands at last, as though the deal is done and sealed between madwoman and liar. Will the Spearbearer take it now? Will she rip the shriveled thing from her feathered chest or pluck it out with spears? Manikin should not want to be torn apart, but she has grown up dying. Her feathers, even sticky as they are with gore, shiver not unpleasantly with the thought and the purring grows ever louder until it fills their golden clearing.
"Take it."
@Sabra