09-19-2019, 09:32 PM
{maleficar}
My corrupt nature is empty of grace.He vaguely remembers her, in that place the plague was born. Her tender heart beat to a different melody than most and he had found it so odd at the time but never managed to pick apart why. Somewhere between the fire and the rain, he had the same thought again even as her magic tried to engulf her during the war. Now with nothing but gentle peace in the air, he finds that it beats to the same rhythm as his younger sister. Malefica was the gentlest of the three and she often preferred to keep her magic tucked up in her ribs while song birds sang her name. He smiles now, as Leliana’s heart brings the memory back to the forefront of his mind.
Perhaps he could read her thoughts if he felt so inclined but he prefers to keep much of life a mystery to himself. Otherwise, he would feel immensely guilty and shameful for having coated her home in lava flows. But he only gives a simple nod when she notes that his slumber has finally come to an end after all this time.
“I’m beginning to think I may never die. That sort of thing tends to run in the family,” he says with a shrug of his broad shoulders and the laugh of a younger, sheepish boy. He forgets how ancient his blood is and assumes instead that he is only as young as he feels. The witch pulls another berry from the vine and shifts his weight as he considers her question for a time before replying.
“I suppose I’m back to full strength. I probably have been for a while but I’ve always liked sleeping in,” he explains after swallowing his fruit. “What about you? Have you recovered well enough?”
He recalls her lover plunging headfirst into the fire but he errs on he side of caution when approaching the subject. Maleficar remembers how his eldest sister had grinded rose petals with a bit of honeysuckle and mother of pearl to soothe an aching heart for a grieving widow once. She still wept, after, but she could remember her fondest memories and found room to smile between the tears. Perhaps too many people could use a remedy like that in this day and age, he thinks.
Perhaps he could read her thoughts if he felt so inclined but he prefers to keep much of life a mystery to himself. Otherwise, he would feel immensely guilty and shameful for having coated her home in lava flows. But he only gives a simple nod when she notes that his slumber has finally come to an end after all this time.
“I’m beginning to think I may never die. That sort of thing tends to run in the family,” he says with a shrug of his broad shoulders and the laugh of a younger, sheepish boy. He forgets how ancient his blood is and assumes instead that he is only as young as he feels. The witch pulls another berry from the vine and shifts his weight as he considers her question for a time before replying.
“I suppose I’m back to full strength. I probably have been for a while but I’ve always liked sleeping in,” he explains after swallowing his fruit. “What about you? Have you recovered well enough?”
He recalls her lover plunging headfirst into the fire but he errs on he side of caution when approaching the subject. Maleficar remembers how his eldest sister had grinded rose petals with a bit of honeysuckle and mother of pearl to soothe an aching heart for a grieving widow once. She still wept, after, but she could remember her fondest memories and found room to smile between the tears. Perhaps too many people could use a remedy like that in this day and age, he thinks.