I get this ache, to tear everything to pieces; Anastasia

[Kersey]

KERSEY || the academic executioner of silver cove

The world is my laboratory. Though at two I am swiftly moving beyond the playthings of children, yet I find unadulterated pleasure in my work. One never knows what may be useful to the family and so I have accumulated much knowledge. For instance, did you know that muscle is knit in thick cords around bone with connecting, fibrous threads on both ends? This is standard across most life forms. And it is, in fact, possible to remove particular cords while a creature is still living. You must be careful around arteries and clusters of veins. Bleeding out can occur rather quickly. I've discovered certain methods, like mud packing around leaks, that can slow death and prolong the usefulness of the subject. In the end, of course, the ecstasy of pain must end in the inevitable dying. Kult prefers when I ask him to dispose of our used up creatures. He likes to be the reaper's escort and I admit it is a role that suits him quite well. I often let him hurry the dying on their way. I do so enjoy pleasing my big brother.

Not quite in the way sister Nicia pleases our brother Kirin, of course. Sex has its purpose but it doesn't hold that allure that the study of agony does. (Although my brother Raelnyx does have a charmingly seductive way with his flames). Besides, Kult hates touch. I will be quite surprised if he ever sires a child. I may not understand his aversion to physical contact, but I understand him and I love him dearly.

And yet, today, we are apart. A curious wanderlust has struck me and I leave behind my sleeping partner to find diversion in the meadow. The utter unknown of this place excited me on an academic level. There is always a new discovery to be made. I have not found any equal to my family but I do not expect to. I simply want to learn all there is to be learned. And I certainly don't mind getting my hooves bloody.

In fact, I can't guarantee there isn't a scent or sight of blood about me. The biting, iron-sweet smell of blood is one I enjoy. I am much more fastidious about cleaning up when Kirin is around, but he has been a bit preoccupied with his toys.

I slip into the vast grounds with an unassuming gaze. I stand out to some extent, because of my purple mane and tail, but I am not exceedingly special otherwise. My body is pleasing and feminine, but it carries little of the seductive promise that mother and Nicia so easily display. My talents for the iron god lie in other directions. I know he is pleased.

This late in the evening, in the shadowy light of dusk, there are few equine stirring. There is the quiet murmur of voices and the rustling associated with settling down for sleep. I move amongst them with searching orchid colored eyes. I do know not what I seek, but perhaps what I am looking for will find me.

[anastasia]

There is much that Anastasia understands, enjoys. She understands what it means to stalk something, someone, for hours until that perfect moment. She understands what it means to sink her sharp teeth into the neck of a writhing creature and shake until it is limp. She understands what it means when their blood slowly creeps from their body, creating rivers through the dirt that signal that end of life. She knows that she is made for these things in a way that most are not. She moves silently. She gives off no scent. Other than her unnaturally yellow eyes, she blends perfectly into the shadows because she is shadow. She knows that she was bred and built to be a hunter.

It was fascinating to hunt, and she found that she liked it—liked that she was good at it. Her father had taught her the mechanics of hunting and showed her the best way to go into the kill, but she could have done it without him. They both knew that. It might have been awkward at first, but she would have learned in time. How could she not have learned? How could she not be successful at it?

Of course, there are other things that she does not understand. She does not understand the intricate relationships of the souls around Beqanna—the way that they loop around one another and tangle into something that becomes too messy to decipher. She does not understand the loyalties that bind them to one another or, even more strange, to pieces of land. She does not understand how they are willing to bleed and die for their beliefs. Most of all, she does not understand the shades of gray in their convictions.

But she does understand the sharp, metallic scent of blood in the air. Like a hound, she raises her inky head and sniffs—once, twice—before giving a sharp smile. She follows it wordlessly through the meadow until she finds the source of it, the colorful mare standing by herself. Anastasia frowns a little before she does what she always does. She portals close, too close, and butts her nose into the mare’s neck. “You smell,” she says simply in her thick, broken tongue, “like death.”

Anastasia could not say she minded it.

like the moon, we borrow our light
{I am nothing but a shadow in the night}