show them the joy and the pain and the ending; Ajatar

[Ajatar]

ajatar

devils speak of the ways in which she'll manifest;
angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress.

Ajatar, for all her physical power, is not a particularly daunting figure. She is average height, average build - maybe even on the slim side - with a look that is neither beautiful nor plain. Her smokey black coat is a dime a dozen amongst the whore that is her father, and the scales that slide up her legs are no more exciting than any other physical appendage in Beqanna. In a land of magicians and shapeshifters and mimicers she is nothing but a plain girl, looking lost and forlorn after a sad but expected event happened to her.

Boo hoo, really.

It's no wonder she is often underestimated. Her mother, with those devilish eyes and that maniac like smile, was the only one to see Ajatar for what she was. A wolf in sheeps clothing, something dangerous and perverse, magic gone wrong. When two magicians come together they create something so disgusting and wrong, isn't that the case? Magic shifted, transformed, perverted?

That's how Ajatar felt.

Her lonesome eyes slide over the mare in front of her, not recognizing her at all. Why should she? Why would she place the mare in front of her as a mother of her oldest and (truly) only friend? She clears her throat, a sorry excuse for being prepared for conversation. "Excuse me?" she asks, for despite all that's happened it's not quite in her nature (yet) to be unkind.