it's out of my hands; straia, any

[Tarnished]

We were young and wild and free,

fightin' in a love we couldn't leave.

Something lands in front of me, which isn’t surprising—there’s an absurd amount of ravens occupying the kingdom and I have gotten used to them quickly. What is surprising, however, is that this particular bird speaks; intrigued, I crack an eye open and carefully study the feathered creature before nodding to let it know I have heard its’ announcement. Satisfied, the raven takes off and I take to moving back down to the ground; gorillas weren’t exactly meant to meet Queens and I, being the ‘gentleman’ that I am, return to the body my Mother made me. Straia is in no hurry and I don’t fault her for that.

This is her home, her domain. I’m an unimportant visitor, probably bothersome—Queens tend to have more important things to do than come to greet strangers at the doorstep. That’s what her subjects are for. Nevertheless, she makes her way through the pine forest and towards me and I cannot help grinning. She doesn’t recognize me—or, rather, recognize who I look like. I’m the spitting image of her late Aunt, scars and all, and as much as I hate my Mother I had half-hoped there would be at least a spark of recognition.

There isn’t.

“Hmm, nothing really. I just thought I’d come pay you a visit,” I shrug, watching the birds that are flying around above us—but I’m also watching her, I know better than to take my eyes off of someone that could be dangerous. And Straia, well, you didn’t become Queen of the Chamber and have control of a bunch of ravens without being at least a little dangerous. “I don’t suppose family comes to visit you often?” I wonder, because Mother’s never came to visit us.

Tatter coupling with Fey hadn’t been a very popular choice back then.

Grudges ran deep.

So I can’t imagine Mother’s family looking favorably upon me, my siblings or my cousins; we would forever be dirt, mud in the blood. Unclean. A blemish on the bloodline. Although, looking at Straia, I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell her that. I smile. “Anyways, I am your cousin on your mother’s side. Tarnished is my name, or Nish, if you prefer. I’ve really only come to see the Chamber, I require nothing of you—though I mean that in the least insulting way possible. My mother—err, your Aunt, was very fond of the Chamber. She… thought very highly of it.” Not that I could give a fuck less what Mother thought of anything, I’m only curious. I want to see it through my own eyes rather than dream about it every night.

It looks nothing like I—She, She remembers. It’s been burnt to a crisp at least once or twice, but it is growing back; I know the burns are too fresh to be from when She burnt it down, and inside I chuckle, because I wonder how many times it’s caught fire since then. My family’s always had a thing for burning and I find it rather amusing that the place where it all began seems prone to doing the same.

tarnished

vanquish x nocturnal

Even on the way down, even on the way down.