there's fire in your blood
 | Mazikeen is not the same as she once was either, not entirely. Pieces of her remain but the rest has been extracted by a cold hand, and only shadows live where much of her self had been.
Still, in the fading light when she glimpses his golden form she thinks she's pulled him out of her head. It had only been recently that he had surface there again, after all. Brought forth by a conversation on whether she held any grudges. Not anymore, she's sure, as she pauses to watch him approach with a hunter's intensity.
Still, the distance Firion keeps between them pleases Mazikeen - she’d been given a glimpse, even if it was only a small one, of his powers. And if there was still a part of him (no matter how small) that considered her a threat that is enough to cause a smile. It’s a shadowy action, compared to what she had once shared in small bursts with him. Her first not-quite-friend.
Better for them both, probably, that she does not remember how her coat had displayed his colouring mixed in with all those she cared for when she had first been killed by Gale.
A short laugh escapes Mazikeen at his comments - even when his smile fades. Her voice could almost be a purr when she replies, if not for the venom turning the edges sharp. “You always did say the nicest things to me.”
Mazikeen has been practicing blending her scars in with her coat, but now she lets them stand out again - blinks her red-orange eyes at Firion through a mask of scars where teeth had once gouged the skin and her heart beats inside of a chest that had been torn open so that it could be removed and devoured. Some of the old scars are gone but these ones remain, catching the light of her horns in jagged ridges.
She doesn’t remember the pain of receiving them, having already been unconscious, but she knows they look messy and vicious. And she remembers what it had been like to claw at her eyes to remove the scar tissue so she could see, and what it had taken to regrow a heart.
These memories do not sit well with her, even now, and Mazikeen becomes annoyed that Firion so easily dredges them up. “Twice, actually. You may miss your chance to make things even after all, the rate I’m going.” And old joke, and a cold version of amusement shines in her eyes as they remain focused on his golden face. “But the death you smell on me isn’t my own.” It isn’t a threat - merely a reference to her recent meal - but she won’t correct him if he assumes otherwise.
m a z i k e e n . |
@ firion
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