etro --
in the hushing dusk, under a swollen silver moon,
I came walking with the wind to watch the cactus bloom
Etro is not in and of herself dark, but that does not stop her from being drawn to the shadows. There was something in her that was curious about the sharp edges and the bloodstained fingers. She could feel herself drawn to it, opening herself up to the darkness in ways that she did not. Such darkness came in many different forms—in the flat shark-eyes of Kingslay, in the desperate brokenness of Sleaze—but it came all the same, and she did not attempt to stop it. In fact, she welcomed it. Her poor mother.
Today was no different. She moved through the meadow, taking care to skirt alongside the borders. It wasn’t that she was anti-social; she just considered it rude to barge into conversations when she knew that she could affect them without their knowledge. She had seen it happen before—the traits melting from their bodies or the frustration when accessing their abilities made them feel as if they were underwater.
She was a heavy blanket on most conversations; she smothered out all of their fire.
That, however, did not stop her when she saw it. Her ears swiveled atop her head, and she peered forward, mouth pressing together in thought. She had seen a lot in her life (sand monsters created by her mother’s whims, Kingslay burning with ash and soot, her father being brought back from dead), but she had never seen anything like that. Part of her knew she should leave—should bow out—but she could not help herself. She moved slowly toward the creature, blocky head lowered, until she was several feet away.
Silence fell over them for several seconds, the only sound Etro’s deep breaths that fell in steady rhythm. Finally, because she could not stand not knowing, Etro whispered: “Hello.”
-- vanquish and yael's forgotten trait-negating princess --
