09-10-2021, 03:20 PM
Ryatah
She does not know all the ways that her sons have tangled themself into the Hyaline queen’s life. She knows only vaguely of the friendship that existed with Sela, and while Ryatah found it unlikely that Mazikeen, in her current state, was interested in continuing that friendship, she had not inserted herself. She kept an eye on Sela only to ensure that he stayed safe, because she did not trust Gale or what he had done to Maze, but beyond that she knew there was little she could do. Sela was fiercely loyal, a trait that she is not even sure where such a thing came from when both Carnage and herself were prone to their own versions of wicked morals and twisting the knives needed for their own personal gain. Sela, though, was steadfast in his loyalty and his belief, and she knew she could have never kept him away from the girl he felt he owed his life, and so she did not try.
But Firion—with Firion she had no idea just how deep that wire ran.
She didn’t realize the history between the two of them that had taken root as children, but if she had known she would have been unsurprised to learn that Firion would destroy himself if it meant saving her. He was so much of her, along with that fierce streak from his father that gave him the edge he needed to be so much better than she could ever be, and it would kill her to know he was trying so hard to save someone that did not (yet) want to be saved.
When Maze seeks her out she greets her with a carefully crafted expressionless mask, doing little to reveal the suspicion that rises in her chest or the way her muscles twist tight under her skin. “Mazikeen,” she returns her greeting, undeterred by the way the younger girl seems hardly able to stomach saying her name, and her lips turn into a poised smile. This is the first time since she last healed her that she has been this close to her—the first time that she has been able to see all the way she has changed, the first time she has been able to feel the echo-chamber that is her emotions.
She wonders not for the first time what kind of hold Gale must have had on her for this to be the end result, and is grateful that it seemed the cursed stallion had set his sights elsewhere, in Tephra.
“I’ve never done it before,” she begins, watching her curiously. “But I could try.” She angles her head, pitch-dark eyes seeking out the flatness of her own, and asks her directly, “Why do you think your mind needs healed?”
But Firion—with Firion she had no idea just how deep that wire ran.
She didn’t realize the history between the two of them that had taken root as children, but if she had known she would have been unsurprised to learn that Firion would destroy himself if it meant saving her. He was so much of her, along with that fierce streak from his father that gave him the edge he needed to be so much better than she could ever be, and it would kill her to know he was trying so hard to save someone that did not (yet) want to be saved.
When Maze seeks her out she greets her with a carefully crafted expressionless mask, doing little to reveal the suspicion that rises in her chest or the way her muscles twist tight under her skin. “Mazikeen,” she returns her greeting, undeterred by the way the younger girl seems hardly able to stomach saying her name, and her lips turn into a poised smile. This is the first time since she last healed her that she has been this close to her—the first time that she has been able to see all the way she has changed, the first time she has been able to feel the echo-chamber that is her emotions.
She wonders not for the first time what kind of hold Gale must have had on her for this to be the end result, and is grateful that it seemed the cursed stallion had set his sights elsewhere, in Tephra.
“I’ve never done it before,” she begins, watching her curiously. “But I could try.” She angles her head, pitch-dark eyes seeking out the flatness of her own, and asks her directly, “Why do you think your mind needs healed?”
EVEN ANGELS HAVE THEIR WICKED SCHEMES