if the heavens ever did speak; etro

[etro]

and I ran back to that hollow again the moon was just a sliver back then and I ached for my heart like some tin man when it came, oh, it beat and it boiled and it rang There is something in her that is attracted to the broken ones—to the dangerous ones. The ones with pointed, jagged edges that draw blood when a careless finger traces their outline. There is something in her that seeks it out and then settles around it—wrapping herself around the flame even when it burns too brightly and she gets singed. In the case of Kingslay, a literal burn, but alas— She is daydreaming when the one with a broken mind finds her, and it takes her a second to bring herself out of her reverie—muddy brown eyes clearing with a slow blink, and then another. “I’m sorry?” her voice was silver bells, all chime and soft elegant lifts. It was, arguably, the only pretty part about her. The daughter of Vanquish and Yael, she had been given two loving, powerful parents and yet none of their striking appearance. She did not have her father’s imposing figure or her mother’s graceful one. Instead, she was stuck somewhere in between—muddy brown and long-limbed and average. But Etro, oh Etro, she was anything but average. Constellations and destinies were trapped in her breast, and if she ever let loose the cannon of her abilities, she could wreck dynasties. She could topple wars and even playing fields; play benevolent or malicious god. But she knew none of this, thirsted for none of it. All she wanted was the burn of the desert without the illness. She wanted the comfort of her fathers shadow chasing her across the dunes, the comfort of her mother’s magic wrapping around her. The sweet agony of Kingslay’s flat, unforgiving gaze. Mistaking his question for one of more normal intent, she gives him a soft smile. “I’m Etro!” There was something odd about him, and although perhaps her pulse should have quickened in response, she did not feel any urge to flee. Instead, she pressed the softness of her nose against his neck in greeting, blowing out a warm breath against his flesh. “It is nice to meet you…” and here her voice trails off in question, waiting for him to fill in the blanks and give her his name in return.