04-27-2017, 08:38 PM
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Childish wonder is what forsakes children.
Wide, doe eyed creature, the child of a magician - a demon, truly, but a magician none the less - you'd think she'd know better than to wander into disaster without looking both ways. When you're born in a storm and raised by a tornado what is a hurricane but another day? Another drizzle? Pollock and his Krampus, Rodrik and his horns, Harmonia and her deals - she was a child raised by wolves that sought not to devour her, but to claim her.
She didn't have the good sense to walk away from Violence, not when she approached with that. Clanking skeletal masses, a hodge-podge of macabre effects of the dead. It drew her in like a moving mobile, lulling her with its sense of familiarity. Of course this woman should be a necromancer, of course she should approach young Ajatar with nothing more than a breathy hello. Of course Ajatar should step toward it, regard those claws as something to hold and not to maim, and regard her with a sense of wonder.
Ajatar is always holding those more dangerous than herself in wonder while simultaneously wishing herself more docile.
The daughter of Harmonia and Carnage will never be docile.
"Does it have a name?" she says, half to Violence, half to the creature. Is it sentient? Was it created? She thinks yes to the second thought, but the first intrigues her more. Is her own power sentient, then? So many questions the scaled child wishes to have answered, and so many big bad wolves wanting only to blow her house down.
Wide, doe eyed creature, the child of a magician - a demon, truly, but a magician none the less - you'd think she'd know better than to wander into disaster without looking both ways. When you're born in a storm and raised by a tornado what is a hurricane but another day? Another drizzle? Pollock and his Krampus, Rodrik and his horns, Harmonia and her deals - she was a child raised by wolves that sought not to devour her, but to claim her.
She didn't have the good sense to walk away from Violence, not when she approached with that. Clanking skeletal masses, a hodge-podge of macabre effects of the dead. It drew her in like a moving mobile, lulling her with its sense of familiarity. Of course this woman should be a necromancer, of course she should approach young Ajatar with nothing more than a breathy hello. Of course Ajatar should step toward it, regard those claws as something to hold and not to maim, and regard her with a sense of wonder.
Ajatar is always holding those more dangerous than herself in wonder while simultaneously wishing herself more docile.
The daughter of Harmonia and Carnage will never be docile.
"Does it have a name?" she says, half to Violence, half to the creature. Is it sentient? Was it created? She thinks yes to the second thought, but the first intrigues her more. Is her own power sentient, then? So many questions the scaled child wishes to have answered, and so many big bad wolves wanting only to blow her house down.
a j a t a r