04-29-2019, 09:47 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Mrs+Saint+Delafield|Source+Sans+Pro' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .sochi3_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background: #1f2021; width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; min-height: 500px; border: solid 3px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .sochi3_container p { margin: 0; } .sochi3_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .sochi3_name { position: absolute; z-index: 10; width: 100%; text-align: center; top: 450px; right: 10px; font: 130px 'Mrs Saint Delafield', cursive; color: #d3ceca; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #000; } .sochi3_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; background: #000000bf; border-top: solid 1px #d3ceca; margin-top: -350px; margin-bottom: 10px; } .sochi3_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #d3ceca; padding: 0px 30px; line-height: 1.45em; } .sochi3_quote { width: 100%; text-align: center; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; color: #3f5663; letter-spacing: 1px; padding: 30px 0px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #000; } </style> <center> <div class="sochi3_container"> <div class="sochi3_name">Sochi</div> <img class="sochi3_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/7ZwrPdKc/sochi.png"> <div class="sochi3_text"> <p class="sochi3_quote">darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied <br>maybe you need me or maybe you don't</p> <p class="sochi3_message"> Perhaps it was always meant to come down to this.
Perhaps it was the final curve of her arc—the final twist in her story. She who was once young and naive, and then thrust into the heart of darkness when Carnage crooked his finger. She who battled her own nature to only embrace it with fangs sinking into the throat of the plague. She who learned to love herself, to protect herself, to put herself first—and then to learn vulnerability in the form of a family.
To play a part in bringing the plague to Beqanna.
To take the first drink of setting it free.
Now, to sacrifice herself in leashing it once more.
Were she to have a poetic mind, she may understand the balance in all things. She may understand that to take means that she will need to give later. That to spill the blood of others means hers must be spilled.
She accepts it, in as much as she can accept anything in this state of delusion.
She does not even act surprised when the heart pulses, when the vial rises, when the vision in front of her begins to change. Her face remains steely, the blood pooling and congealing on her tattooed chest. Her silvery eyes are mercurial and stormy and steadfast all at once, her chin lifted in pride and acceptance.
So today is the day that she dies.
Perhaps it was always meant to be this way.
She doesn’t fight it, and she doesn’t even mourn—not really. A mother’s heart can only know one thing and that is to protect that which she has made. The only regret she truly has is that she does not have two vials—that she cannot protect Castile, as well—but she knows the dragon stallion is more than capable of taking care of himself. In this, they would be one-minded. Protect their daughter before all else.
So she doesn’t hesitate when it comes time to make her choice. She just steps forward, ignoring the pain in her chest and the blood spilling down her legs. She moves forward into the portal and blinks into the light of Loess. For a second, she angles her head back toward the Mountain, to the strange magic that begins to pulse around it, but time is one thing that she does not possess in excess.
Sochi is strong, but even she knows that the disease is moving through her quickly now.
She can feel the weakness in her limbs—the cough in her lungs.
Speed does not come easily to her, but she moves as quickly as she can—her tigress form still locked away from her. Her lips are crimson, her neck darkened with sweat, when she finally finds her daughter. It would be easy, in this final moment, to collapse into her, to press kisses into her face, to say all of the sweet things a mother should say—but even now, Sochi has her pride. Even now, she knows that this is a lesson to be learned for her draconic daughter: to have strength, to have courage, even before this.
“Reia,” her husky voice has more of a husk than usual, the normal rasp turning rusty on the edges. “I do not have much time.” She swallows, feeling the burn in her throat, the sting at the corner of her mouth. She studies her daughter’s face, at the lines that are at once an echo of herself and the girl’s father.
“The days ahead will not be easy,” the vial begins to float forward and Sochi nearly breaks at the thought of cursing her daughter with the same hand that she saves her. “But the people of Beqanna will need souls like you. They will need leaders. They will look to the strong to protect the weak, to keep the natural order.” It is the lesson she has always taught her daughter; that natural balance of strength in the predator.
“I know that you will do me proud.”
It is the closest she can get to all of the emotions storming in her chest, but despite the thundering of her heart—is this what it means to feel?—her face remains stern, as smooth as river stone.
“Drink.”
Her daughter doesn’t fight it. Perhaps she knows that her mother would not ask such a thing were it not important. Perhaps she can sense that Sochi is asking her to save Beqanna, even as she saves her. Perhaps she simply holds close to a sense of self-preservation. It doesn’t matter because the cure slides down the girl’s throat and Sochi can only nod, finally taking a step forward to press a kiss to the girl’s poll.
“I love you, my dragon girl,” her raspy voice is thick and her lips leave a slash of red. “If you see your father,” she pauses, swallows, “if you see your father, tell him that I loved him too.”
It is easier, this way, to admit such feelings when she can feel death on her doorstep.
And still, she trembles when she feels the darkness come.
And, for the first time, she fears for what she is to lose. </p> <p class="sochi3_quote">playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons <br>if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf</p> </div> </div> </center>
Permission from Aeris to powerplay Reia via Discord PM!
Perhaps it was the final curve of her arc—the final twist in her story. She who was once young and naive, and then thrust into the heart of darkness when Carnage crooked his finger. She who battled her own nature to only embrace it with fangs sinking into the throat of the plague. She who learned to love herself, to protect herself, to put herself first—and then to learn vulnerability in the form of a family.
To play a part in bringing the plague to Beqanna.
To take the first drink of setting it free.
Now, to sacrifice herself in leashing it once more.
Were she to have a poetic mind, she may understand the balance in all things. She may understand that to take means that she will need to give later. That to spill the blood of others means hers must be spilled.
She accepts it, in as much as she can accept anything in this state of delusion.
She does not even act surprised when the heart pulses, when the vial rises, when the vision in front of her begins to change. Her face remains steely, the blood pooling and congealing on her tattooed chest. Her silvery eyes are mercurial and stormy and steadfast all at once, her chin lifted in pride and acceptance.
So today is the day that she dies.
Perhaps it was always meant to be this way.
She doesn’t fight it, and she doesn’t even mourn—not really. A mother’s heart can only know one thing and that is to protect that which she has made. The only regret she truly has is that she does not have two vials—that she cannot protect Castile, as well—but she knows the dragon stallion is more than capable of taking care of himself. In this, they would be one-minded. Protect their daughter before all else.
So she doesn’t hesitate when it comes time to make her choice. She just steps forward, ignoring the pain in her chest and the blood spilling down her legs. She moves forward into the portal and blinks into the light of Loess. For a second, she angles her head back toward the Mountain, to the strange magic that begins to pulse around it, but time is one thing that she does not possess in excess.
Sochi is strong, but even she knows that the disease is moving through her quickly now.
She can feel the weakness in her limbs—the cough in her lungs.
Speed does not come easily to her, but she moves as quickly as she can—her tigress form still locked away from her. Her lips are crimson, her neck darkened with sweat, when she finally finds her daughter. It would be easy, in this final moment, to collapse into her, to press kisses into her face, to say all of the sweet things a mother should say—but even now, Sochi has her pride. Even now, she knows that this is a lesson to be learned for her draconic daughter: to have strength, to have courage, even before this.
“Reia,” her husky voice has more of a husk than usual, the normal rasp turning rusty on the edges. “I do not have much time.” She swallows, feeling the burn in her throat, the sting at the corner of her mouth. She studies her daughter’s face, at the lines that are at once an echo of herself and the girl’s father.
“The days ahead will not be easy,” the vial begins to float forward and Sochi nearly breaks at the thought of cursing her daughter with the same hand that she saves her. “But the people of Beqanna will need souls like you. They will need leaders. They will look to the strong to protect the weak, to keep the natural order.” It is the lesson she has always taught her daughter; that natural balance of strength in the predator.
“I know that you will do me proud.”
It is the closest she can get to all of the emotions storming in her chest, but despite the thundering of her heart—is this what it means to feel?—her face remains stern, as smooth as river stone.
“Drink.”
Her daughter doesn’t fight it. Perhaps she knows that her mother would not ask such a thing were it not important. Perhaps she can sense that Sochi is asking her to save Beqanna, even as she saves her. Perhaps she simply holds close to a sense of self-preservation. It doesn’t matter because the cure slides down the girl’s throat and Sochi can only nod, finally taking a step forward to press a kiss to the girl’s poll.
“I love you, my dragon girl,” her raspy voice is thick and her lips leave a slash of red. “If you see your father,” she pauses, swallows, “if you see your father, tell him that I loved him too.”
It is easier, this way, to admit such feelings when she can feel death on her doorstep.
And still, she trembles when she feels the darkness come.
And, for the first time, she fears for what she is to lose. </p> <p class="sochi3_quote">playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons <br>if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf</p> </div> </div> </center>
Permission from Aeris to powerplay Reia via Discord PM!
![[Image: sochi.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/rs3xFJR0/sochi.png)
I was less than graceful, I was not kind
be out watching other lovers lose their spine