violence
It's hard to miss such a blinding thing.
Violence had been raised to revere the night. This was her mother’s doing, for her magic was strongest then, channeled through darkness and nighttime. The sun had made her mother a weaker thing, which Violence had liked – it was easiest to engage with her when she was weak, more amusing.
Still, shadows run thick in her blood, and she reflects this – herself a deep black, not a speck of marking on her, and now shadows trailing in her wake. So it is strange, to suddenly be blinking against a light, a pale mare with a halo above her and wings trailing out.
She wonders what her mother would make of her. If she would cringe away.
She smiles, at the thought.
(She doesn’t know the rich and tangled history, that the mare before her lurks in her own bloodline, that she is bound to the same god Violence’s grandmother once killed. All she sees is light, and so all she feels is curiosity.)
The woman speaks of a son, of a similar penchant for bones, then gives her name. It rings no bells for Violence, who never much listened when her mother shared tales of their history. But still, she dips her head, as does her bone creature. She can be polite when it suits her.
She wonders if the woman’s son is still alive. Maybe his bones are part of her creature, now.
“Ryatah,” she repeats, “what a pretty name.”
She stands quiet under the mare’s gaze for a moment. She doesn’t mind being looked at. She wonders what she’s looking for. She’s curious, this one – Violence wonders what else she can do.
She wonders how open her mind is, how willing.
(She wonders this about most things she meets, if they have powers she is curious about, or simply show themselves to be weak-willed. She loves the feeling of wallowing in their minds, their bodies, testing their limits. But it’s a hard task if they fight.)
“I had a son too,” she says, “but he lives with his father now.”
Untrue, most likely – he’ll be grown, now, and out on his own, assuming he’s made it this far.
“I’m Violence,” she says. A less pretty name, just as she is less pretty than the light-strewn spectacle before her. She doesn’t mind this, either. She’s mostly just curious what the mare wants from her.
these violent delights bring violent ends
@Ryatah