Myrna
suffocate the fire i started--------------------
right when it kindles
Myrna’s eyes, as blue-grey as the Baltian sea, do not stray from the decomposing diplomat. She sees the excitement, the way his glowing eyes brighten at the mention of bloodshed, how he smirks as he looks her over. There is something oily about his gaze, something that lingers uncomfortably on her golden hide even after his attention returns to the statue.
She had not thought to question her own safety until Zain’s comment.
Not the combative type?
Myrna’s certainly not a warrior. She is soft and round from life in flower-filled meadows, sheltered by a peaceful world. Her strength is not the physical sort, yet as she watches the visitor decaying in front of her, she realizes that that is the type of strength his kind respect.
The knowledge the dark magician can be found in one place is more reassuring than Zain might intend it to be, though it does solidify her lack of desire to set hoof in the bleak eastern land. It is met with a lift of her brow - recognition of the name and intrigue. Wary respect but not fear. As he draws closer, speaks of the one thing that might have drawn her to Pangea, she takes it as confirmation that the entity is there. The story of that magic also includes warrior queens and true neutrality, and she marks the symbolism of the proposal: of two Evils combining, of the Neutrals coming to the Light.
Silly old superstition, she tells herself. The world cannot be divided up so easily any more.
And yet…
The possibility of politics still intrigues her, even if Zain’s nearness sends a shiver of distaste down her spine. Myrna makes no effort to hide it, but nor does she step away. She is a queen, she reminds herself, and she will not show fear. She is noncombative, Myrna knows, but it is not as if the Gates is without defenses or defenders.
Myrna thinks of the other magics, of where those entities might dwell. She has heard only rumors, never confirmed anything. She’d never needed to, not as content as she was, not as safe as the world was. When he moves to circle the statue, Myrna continues to observe him. Marking the open wound on his ribcage, the way his left hind leg is barely anything but bone. Everything about him seems designed to terrify. And it is effective, she is reminded, seeing a crimson rose blossom in the crown around her head and being unable to smell it as a result of his stomach-turning presence.
“Pangea has kept away from the Gates in these past years. I think it would be best for it to remain that way.” She still does not move away, holding his gaze as she speaks, her tone level. “Such a trade would not be advantageous to my kingdom if the magic that once defended us was turned against us.”
She pauses, one golden ear turning to the east. Something is moving in the long grass, coming closer. The ear returns to Zain by the next heartbeat.
“If it comes with a treaty, you have a trade.” Myrna finishes. The rustling grass parts to reveal a scruffy dog that comes to stand at her shoulder. The dog, her Companion, eyes the exposed bones of Zain’s body with far more interest than Myrna had. She feels heartened by Feather’s presence, and tries not to let herself think of that as a weakness.
@ Zain
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