what if i was nothing without you | ANY/Nev Pony

[prague]

PRAGUE

a touch of wicked, pinch of risqué

She has become quite stir-crazy as of late. With talks of warm on the lips of all near and far to her ears she can't help but feel keyed up with energy. Lagertha had requested she travel with her to the Chamber, as a protector of sorts she assumed, but no further commentary had been made about it.  Typically, she would go on her own but instead she feels the meadow a more suitable escape. The Jungle was her coveted space but it felt suffocating when you hear a ticking of war drums, the humidity didn't help matters. She wants to set things ablaze, to strike lightning on a group of trees and force forest creatures out of their homes and furrows.


When agitation and anxiousness meet magic, weird things happen.


She is not one to typically draw attention to herself or anyone else but today is very different. She shifts into a lioness and stretches her body out on her front pads, a yawn escapes and she creates a thunderstorm. It maneuvers in stride with her as she makes her way into the meadow, waiting at any moment to open the flood gates; much like the silver lioness. Prague had been feeling a lot lately and that was never good. Even though she was immortal she was starting to feel the sense of mortality, truly, in others. Most of her children had passed into the afterlife, many of her friends and her lovers (if you could call them that). She felt at unease and it clouded her judgment as of late. She can barely remember the times when she had a vision of peace, a heart full of love and ready to give - the flame is nearly extinguished. She wonders what will happen to her when it finally goes out. She is not overwhelmingly 'evil' spirited but she is very temperamental. She sighs as she reaches a nearby tree, a shelter from the torrential downpour she is about to concoct. The feelings she has are indescribable in entirety but anger is in there somewhere, along with a touch of heartache.


A mild roar escapes and to follow suit, the rain starts.

ooc; i'm terrible at these. prepare for your pony to have to swim later.

[Kingslay]

KINGSLAY

It is too easy.

It is too easy – the way that he finds her sleeping soundly in an almost-cradle made of the bent and yellow meadow grass. The stems of wildflowers sink down against her soft body, and it almost looks as though the petals themselves are woven through the locks of her hair. It is too easy, because she is snoring softly and the heave and sigh of her breath draws him in like the smell of blood draws in a predator. It is too easy, because her spindly legs are curled under her tiny body, and they’re too long for her still. It is too easy, because he finds her faster than she will find her footing.

A cloud of dust rises and settles. The earth runs red with her blood.

He had wanted it drawn out. He had wanted to listen to the howls of her ending, but it was too easy. It was too easy, because the brittle crack of her breaking neck echoes through the meadow as the dust settles in an empty almost-cradle made of the bent and yellow meadow grass. He doesn’t have the luxury of time. He doesn’t get to savor the taste of her death.

‘Why?’

It’s the last and only word she says. She mewls it, soft and sweet against his ear, and he watches the light fall away and turn her eyes to glass. He says nothing as she dies, just feels the thrum of her heart lose itself into oblivion, and then, when there is nothing left of her living he sets fire to her flesh and breathes in deep the acrid spiral of smoke tangled with skin. He watches her body melt away, and to him the crack and sizzle of burning yellowed fat turning to gristle sounds like a chorus.

But it was too easy.

There is something stirring in his gut. It coils around the bones of his ribs, and hammers fists against his chest. It feels like hunger, but it isn’t. It feels like salivating jaws that gnaw on his bones. It feels like instinct, but it can’t be. It asks him for a challenge. It asks him for something new, something harder.

It asks him, and so he moves towards the boughs of an oak tree as the smell of rain mingles with the smell of smoke and death, because he sees something through the eyelets of the low hanging leaves that doesn’t read so simple.

And so, he made the Gods themselves bend at the knee.

KINGSLAY BY NEVAEH | HTML BY MAAT | IMAGE © ILYA KISARADOV

so, he just murdered a child.