"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
i never wanted saving, i just wanted to be found --
She was not accustomed to the tension that was pulling at her.
It felt as if someone had sparked electricity underneath her skin, like something was crawling and searching for a way out, and she did not know how to rid herself of the feeling. She did not like that she felt distracted, as if her mind was trying to drag her focus to something else, something she could not quite place.
The world had turned upside down (or more accurately had finally righted itself—a few things were still out of place, scattered to who knows where, but more or less Beqanna was back to normal), and she supposes that is reason enough for her to be on edge. It’s what she has decided to place the blame on, at least.
Underneath the ocean, though, everything still felt quiet.
She can’t remember the last time she had lost herself in the sea; perhaps that was a small part of her irritability and distraction. It had been a regular habit, especially when Tephra still existed. The tranquil waters of the volcanic kingdom had been her sanctuary, her home; where Varick taught her as much as he could, despite her own limited kelpie abilities.
The constant din of conversation, the birdsong, the brightness of the sun—they all fade away, replaced by the dull rush of water, and a darkness that deepened the further she descended.
She isn’t sure how long she stayed down there.
Long enough for her mind to quiet.
Long enough for her nerves to settle.
Long enough for her to further decipher why she felt so scattered, and long enough for her to decide it was something that was better suited locked away.
She returns to land, surfacing from the waves as they roll to meet the southern shore, where the river spills into the ocean. Water drips from her in streaming rivulets, her scales glistening in the sunlight; seashells have found themselves tangled into her crimson mane, and her water wings cascade across her sides. Though she is not as ocean-made as her father, she is, at least in this moment, a vision of a siren emerging from the sea.
She does not shake the excess water from herself, and her untamed mess of hair has already started to dry in tangled waves, further embedding the seashells into it, but she decides that is a problem for a different day. With the waves crashing behind her she releases a soft sigh, unsure where to go from here.
adriana
this post doesnt even say anything, you dont even to read it. tldr she's standing on the beach.
The soft cloak of time slips gently around the pale stallion’s shoulders, caressing him with the kind of comforting warmth capable of the longest, sweetest sleeps. Time has changed him, subtly. There’s a light in his eyes that didn’t illuminate his face before. Well-adjusted and handsome, he’s become more charming—perhaps elusive, more private but without the burden of secrets. His walk carries the light footedness of an absolutely adored man, both by wife and children.
There’s a wisdom to him, perhaps. Quiet beneath his handsome swagger, but ever whispering in his ear.
Oh, that creeping darkness. That devil on his shoulder. It whispers in his ear, too. Dormant in these recent years—the world was too hectic for Litotes to focus on anything other than ensuring his family survived—but now, in the quiet, it purrs like a cat. Hisses when ignored. Curls up, hot and soft, on his shoulder.
The beach is a peaceful change of pace, one the shadow-weaver can allow. He breathes in and out, golden eyes closed, the image of a perfectly serene meditation. The ocean crashes in his ears and it’s almost, almost, enough to drown out the shadow feline purring in his ear. But she calls to him, the little cat walking up and down his spine, yellow eyes urgent and unblinking.
You’re not alone, Litotes, she whispers.
This time, he listens.
When Lie opens his eyes, there is no emotion in them. He simply studies the mermaid as she emerges, elegant, from the ocean. Some cruel part of him, some armored piece, comes undone in his chest. She reminds him of . . . what is it that she reminds him of? The lake in the heart of Hyaline?
The heart? Does she remind him that he has a beating, vicious, ravenous heart?
One that longs to break.
Litotes has always been self-destructive, but he doesn’t hear the bomb ticking as he takes a step closer.
Doesn’t feel the sword plunging into his chest as he offers Adriana a smooth, wicked smile.
There’s only a slight ache, a reminder, as the cat on his back kneads excited claws into his flesh.
“Do you always put on such a show for strangers?”
and let the cool air in, feel the night slip in as it softly glides across your back and i hope you leave right before the sun comes up so i can watch it alone
i never wanted saving, i just wanted to be found --
She had not noticed the man standing on the shore, but when his voice cuts through the sound of the waves she does not give any indication that she is startled or unsettled. Instead, she angles her head towards him, the honeyed rays of the sun illuminating the frost-covered scales on her golden face as she fixes him with her ocean-blue eyes. She stares at him for one heartbeat, then two, her lovely head tilting as if she is contemplating even responding to him, but her lips are quirked into a barely-there kind of smile that indicates any hesitation is clearly an act.
She has not yet learned to be afraid of men, just as she has not yet learned that they should be afraid of her.
“Only the handsome ones,” she finally says, laughing and coy, and something almost wicked glints in her bright eyes. It is too easy to fall into this role, to play the part of the alluring siren, and the ocean at her back seems to only strengthen this image.
Whatever had been haunting her earlier is forgotten, and all she sees is the tempting stranger before her.
Languid and unhurried she moves closer to him, sweeping her eyes across his face. He’s a handsome thing, but that is not what draws her attention. It is the look in his eye, the silent craving for destruction, as if he had been looking for a shoreline to break against and she had put herself directly in his path. Something like a warning alights in her chest, a hollow kind of ache, but she looks again at his topaz eyes and the shifting galaxy across his side and finds it is easy to ignore her intuition when the desire to touch the stars is stronger.
It’s in the shadows that Litotes finds his worst—his most carnal—desires. They have lived so deep within his magic, buried beneath the purring shadows he entertained his family with, that truthfully . . . Truthfully, the shadow-weaver forgot they existed. So caught up in the love for his family and the strange, humbling monotony of tending to them, Litotes completely lost the armor around him that made him so destructive.
But he did not actually lose that armor, did he? Broke it down piece by piece, placed it in a wardrobe, occasionally pulled it out to give the dark silver a shine. They moved, as most families do, moved and changed—and the wardrobe was forgotten. Lost to time, warped by rain and covered in dust: he sees it now. Dark brown and displaced amongst the crashing waves. A beam of sunlight splashes down and illuminates the armor as the door swings wide open. The only thing capable of tearing his gaze from Adriana.
The shadows around him shiver. The cat nips his back before diving off of him and disappearing into the water.
“I can’t possibly be that handsome,” Lie finally answers, glossy eyes quickly snapping back to Adriana.
A vicious knight in shining armor, who he’s always been.
“To find a change of pace, I suppose,” he answers lazily, wicked smile curving his mouth. “Why are any of us here?” he adds with a shrug. But then his gaze sharpens and he settles on Adriana with an intensity only the armored Litotes is capable of.
“I want to know why you’re here, though,” he calls, stepping forward coyly. A stray shadow whips out and dares to wrap around one of her legs, flirtatious.
and let the cool air in, feel the night slip in as it softly glides across your back and i hope you leave right before the sun comes up so i can watch it alone
i showed him all my teeth & then i laughed out loud, because i never wanted saving, i just wanted to be found
Adriana had her own armor, though hers is a bit more plain. The frost-covered scales that laced along her body were far too easy for her to hide behind; many did not care for the way it felt, how they melted and shifted beneath the warmth of their touch. They gave the impression that she is something harsh and cold, and while there were moments she certainly could be—her parents both hosted predators’ blood, it was not in her nature to be soft— she could be melted just as easily as her scales.
But it was safer, in her experience, to play the part of the frigid siren.
To be clever and beautiful and untouchable, fitting into the mold of what many thought she should be.
“Why am I here?” she laughs, as if in disbelief that he would even ask, stealing a glance back to the waves that roll lazily up the shore. To her, it felt obvious—seashells tangled in her mane, scales glittering on her skin, and water spilling from her shoulders to cascade along her sides. The ocean was her sanctuary, a piece of her as much as her very heart, flesh, and bone. “I’m here for the sea,” she says, turning her eyes back to him for a half a heartbeat before she feels the shadow that twines around her leg and she looks down.
Part of her wants to recoil; she is not accustomed to shadow magic, and the sight and feel of a nearly tangible darkness sends the slightest prickling of fear down the ridge of her spine. But she is curious, too, and also still far too proud to show when she is afraid; she’d let the darkness swallow her whole before she ran from it. “It’s quieter beneath the waves,” she continues, lowering her head to just barely brush her golden nose to the tendril of darkness that encircles her leg like a bracelet—or a shackle. “I’m sure your shadows provide you with the same kind of sanctuary.”
She steps towards him, then, ignoring the pull of darkness—whether it tries to anchor her in place, or willingly gives once it realizes she is moving closer to the source of its power. “You never told me your name. Don’t make me come up with one for you, shadow-weaver, I promise it will be something dreadful.”
“Hm . . .” Lie pretends to ponder, eyes flashing mischievously. “I quite like shadow-weaver already, but I’d love to hear what you come up with.” His heartbeat slows as the mermaid steps closer, wondering just how much of himself he’s willing to give up. Some instinctual, sick part of him wants to lie—knows to lie. To hide himself.
To be someone different.
Litotes knows a better man, knows plenty of better men. He knows every version of himself other than this one is a better man; but this is the snake-oil salesman his father taught him to be, this Litotes. He hawks a handsome face, a gentlemanly tip of his hat, an alluring swagger.
But he is a liar, and he always has been. He just thought maybe, maybe he learned what it is to be candid. No, he only learned how to be more cunning. How to fold a card into his sleeve just to strengthen his hand right when he needs it.
What is it that pessimists often say? People never change.
So, that poker face of his grins lazily, smugly, dastardly. It gives nothing of the heart within, the pride and the pain and the life he has lived. He becomes a villain as a flash of a smile shines beneath his tipped hat, hands tucked up against his belt, back pressed languidly against a pole. A hero, just in appearance.
“Lie,” he finally says.
The shadow around Adriana’s leg spirals further up, tugging gently, beckoning.
“Can I give you a reason to get out of the water?”
and let the cool air in, feel the night slip in as it softly glides across your back and i hope you leave right before the sun comes up so i can watch it alone
i showed him all my teeth & then i laughed out loud, because i never wanted saving, i just wanted to be found
There is a certain kind of safety to be found in the understanding that this is only a game—that the two of them are playing a part, and that when they inevitably go their separate ways there will be nothing that follows them. She is not looking for love, and she highly doubts he is looking either (and if he is, he will not find it here). There is not much in this world that she will admit to being afraid of, but there is a reason she has always kept her distance from emotions that could lead to lasting scars.
There is something about the cunning glint to his eye that tells her she does not have anything to worry about; this is all harmless, and not only that, it is fleeting.
And it’s the understanding of this impermanence that causes her to cast all her cares aside, to give herself permission to focus all her attention on the shadow-weaver in front of her and forget about everything else. She is brash and young and still does not understand how her actions could have lasting consequences—or perhaps she does, and she just has elected to not care at this moment.
“Lie,” she repeats his name, rolling the single syllable along her tongue as if she is tasting it, savoring it, her blue eyes locked with his. The waves continue to lap at her heels, her mane having dried into long, tangled coils with the help of the ocean-water and the seabreeze, and though she does recoil from the shadows that tug gently at her, she does not entirely give into them. “Maybe you should get in the water,” she says sweetly, an impish glint to her eye when she adds, “I promise I’m not the type of siren that lures men to their deaths.” Unfortunately.
