[open] don't close the coffin yet; any

[Agetta]

Although spoken with a predatory smile, Atrox’s honesty (or, what she assumes is honesty) causes a crack in the cement wall she keeps around herself in his presence. She wants to look away from him, wants to avoid the possibility that the damned crack could be seen, but she doesn’t. She keeps her midnight gaze on him, as though searching for something she does not see. Is there a soul in there? One that has felt the effects of time? She remembers the hollowness of being a ghost herself. The years spent on the fringes of being alive. More than once she had wondered why she still lived, but it wasn’t until she went to the afterlife and found Plume that she had ever thought of just stopping. She is uncomfortably aware of the growing sense of sympathy within her. If being a ghost was the same for him as it had been for her, it was not a pleasant experience. And while part of her wishes unpleasant experiences on him, that damned sympathy won’t let her spit the venom she had been hoping for. Again, assuming Atrox does feel. It would be easy to think of him as a shallow, one-sided villain but they’ve just (more or less) discovered that they have some things in common. Perhaps there is depth to his personality after all. This is the first conversation they’ve ever actually shared. Most of their history has been in passing. He has been a ghost to her - someone who has haunted her thoughts for decades. He is just one of a number of such ghosts, just another in a crowd that are faces to her own shortcomings. They do not haunt her at night, the stars had always soothed her, but in the unsympathetic light of the day as she wandered and reflected and fretted they reminded her of every failure. Her response is spoken softly, with a hint of kindness softening the edges - a hint she knows she’ll regret. “You may be one of my demons, Atrox, but I don’t believe you are a ghost.” After a pause, though, there is a flash of that fire in her gaze again and her voice continues a little stronger, some barb coming back into it -  tempered with something akin to mischief. “You're far too bothersome to truly fade away. But if you can wait until spring, I would be happy to prove your solid state by kicking you in the head.” The temptation of a fight is a strong one in her heart (she was a general, a warrior, once upon a time after all). Right now, though, she’s in no condition. She would never risk the life inside her for the simple and stupid thrill of battling one of her demons in the flesh. Thank the gods, she thinks, for the shapeshifting ability that could provide her an easy exit from this conversation if needed. we are made of starstuff

artwork by yoricade