Fantasy colder than winter, crueler than spring ( ellarose & Syntra )

[Syntra]

Vesna wasn't worried.

See, she never was. There was nothing to worry about, after all-- no terrors hid within the lily white snowflakes, and no nightmares, either. The flowers were sleeping in the frozen ground, just waiting, waiting for their chance to bloom! Calling it death, she knew, would have been awfully reductive. Disrespectful of true endings. (...death. The word tasted bitter on her tongue, like an extract from wormwood, like the blood pouring down her hands. Like something intimately familiar, akin to the memory of a long-lost love. Why, though? She was a goddess. Among the long, long list of the things Vesna didn't need to be afraid of, mortality surely occupied the first place! Deathless she was, yes, eternal, and... well, maybe that was the problem, in a way. An eternal blossom could never wilt, but could it ever truly bloom? Could it defy the tragedy of endings, via celebrating a new beginning? The colors always shone the brightest when their fire was about to go out... ah, the blood. The blood, the blood, the blood, red like alpenglow, like the edge of accusation pressed against her alabaster throat, and--)

"You killed me. Murdered me. Wrapped your pretty little hands around my neck, and took and took and took, until nothing was left of me. I hope it was worth it."

She wasn't worried, though! Blood was life, and that was why it dripped, dripped, dripped from her hands, each drop a curse, each drop a blessing. The duality of the nature, which both gave and took. Utterly normal. Everything about this is. Slightly hysterical laughter bubbled past her lips, and Vesna took her head in her hands. (It hurt. Something from within was pounding, as her mind was a door and a visitor tried to force their way in, and, ah, she couldn't let them inside! Not like this, with her thoughts so, so messy. Shards, broken images, echoes of forgotten pain-- Vesna couldn't throw it all at another's feet, oh no. She had to... she had to smile...)

("Smile is worth more than a thousand words. So, do it! Do it, wench! Aren't you happy?" ...she wasn't, Vesna knew. Still, spring was the bringer of hope, so smile she did, with all her might. Somehow, the resulting grimace resembled an open wound.)

"Lady Vesna," one of the maidens bowed, so deeply she couldn't see her face. (...they had no faces, the goddess was aware of that. Staring too long at her radiance took it away, just like looking into the sun blinded mortals' eyes. Still, they liked to serve her...? At least she thought so. The difference between what she did and didn't think could be hair-thin sometimes, Vesna had come to realize.)

"Lady Vesna, it is time. You ought to drink from the grail, to pour strength into your veins." Ah. Ah, of course! Happily, Vesna clapped and spun around, watching the skirts swish around her ankles. (Light her footsteps were, and whenever her feet touched the ground? Fresh flowers unfurled there, red and bloom, locked in an embrace. "Dance," they'd told her, so dance she did. After all, Vesna did have a habit of doing what they told her. Except, should she really drink? Every year, she'd drunk, drunk, drunk, and the fragments of her memories shattered further. No longer a mosaic, the goddess thought. Broken down atoms, with abandoned electrons and dead neutrons, yes, protons that have been cracked open. ...how did she know the words? Did she, or would she? Timelines stretched strangely when you were a goddess, going back to the past and far to the future at the same time. It resembled a broth, in that, once you put meat into the pot, you could no longer separate all the ingredients. Its essence just... leaked into the water, you know? It had changed, and along with it, Vesna had as well.)

("Drink, Vesna. It is a potion that will spare you pain.")

("Don't, Vesna. It is a potion that will give you pain.")

Ugh! Why did these instructions have to be like a ball of yarn, hopelessly tangled into one another? Vesna just wanted to make everyone happy, and that was hard to do with all the conflicting information. Why couldn't things be nice? But they are nice, she reminded herself. Winter is about to end, and ice shall release all from its stronghold. Why wasn't she happy about this, then? Why did the grail, accepted from the maiden's hand, felt like a razor against her naked skin? They struggled so hard to prepare this drink for me. I couldn't possibly dream of...

Led by some mad instinct, Vesna nonetheless poured the liquid onto the soil beneath her feet, and watched the flowers shrivel and die. What on earth...? (Surely, they wouldn't ever hurt her? She was Vesna, the lady of spring, the bringer of beginnings. Without her, there was nothing.)

"T-thank you," the goddess said, startled.

The faceless maiden, obviously not having seen any of that, merely nodded. "I suppose you are ready for the ritual, then?"

The... ritual? What?

***

The stars shone like diamonds in the sky, and a song was begging to be born on her throat. Vesna wanted to laugh, wanted to dance, wanted to do everything that made her her, but, at the same time? The cold hand of dread was holding her by her throat, preventing her from speaking a single word. It's because I know not what will happen, she said to herself. (Except, see, some part of her did know. That may have been the main reason why the fear in her heart grew, like a spider feeding itself on juicy, juicy flies.)

She walked forward, each step measured. There were people, so many of them-- her followers, the goddess knew, clad in colorful, colorful robes. (They formed a protective circle around her, for which she was thankful. Or could it be a cage of flesh instead? Depended on the perspective, Vesna supposed.)

They walked in silence that was worse than death, worse than coma. Even all the birds of the world had gone to sleep, it seemed, for she could hear each blade of grass rustle beneath her bare feet. (Somehow, each sound was a condemnation to her ears. 'Traitor! Murderer! Oathbreaker!')

The snow was white and unspoiled, like a scenery painted by an old master's hand. Despite that, though? The pond, which shone like the brightest of jewels in the meadow, wasn't frozen. Wind wasn't blowing, either, but the waves on its surface were battling each other nonetheless, locked in an endless conflict. On and on and on, the whirlpool spun, and...

...and that was when she noticed her. Her. Kneeling near the pond she was, a pitiful figure held down by numerous hands. "Lady Vesna has come to end your existence again, wretch," a man spat out. "Your legacy will not last. You cannot claim this land, no matter how much you try!" ...oh. Morana? The queen of winter was called Morana, Vesna knew, even if she'd never met her. Never, never, never! (Except that the word 'again' implied something else. Her fractured memories did, too. Now the goddess understood what the potion did, and what she had done under its influence, and... By the gods.) Still, like a marionette under an enemy's spell, Vesna walked forward.

She knelt down as well, caressing the other woman's hair, and, once her faithful ones stepped aside? Slash! A swarm of petals summoned out of nowhere cut Morana's chains, releasing her from their cursed hold. "I am so very sorry," Vesna said, tears glistening in her eyes. "I never meant to hurt you. I... I just had to."

 

[ellarose]

Every year it was the same fucking shit.

“Oh no, you got me.” Morana drawled, rolling her eyes and lazily throwing her hands up in the air as they circled her like starved wolves. 'They' being Vesna’s devoted little underlings, who were out earning their ‘good follower’ points. Hunting her, the same way they did every year. She pretended to move to psyche them out, watching with mild amusement as they tensed and their expressions furrowed to the point that they looked constipated. They inflated themselves so much self-importance that they seemed about ready to pop with it. Pfft. Look at them all. They were all so serious the lot of them, amping up the theatrics as if their words held so much fucking gravitas. They hurled them at her as if they weighed little more than old socks. And, really? Their words might as well have been old socks. It was an apt comparison for these bastards and just how interested she was in what they had to say. None of it mattered. She'd heard it all before. She’d heard it all so many fucking times now that their words had ceased to mean anything at all. And the more they cared about their bullshit sacred duties to 'collect her', the less she cared about anything in general. “Can we cut the preamble this time, guys? It's a real drag.”

They dragged Morana when they captured her, because of course they did. They always did. (At least she appreciated her own fucking gift for foreshadowing. No one else seemed to. Damn shame.) Even as a willing captive, they really seemed to think they were sticking it to her as they dragged her through the melted, muddy remains of her precious winter snow. Twigs got caught in her similarly snow-white hair, which had lost pigmentation so long ago that she couldn't even remember what color it was before. (Before, before, before. Was there anything before this? Did it matter? The answer to that question was usually a resounding no, so she was just going to save herself the trouble of thinking it through and go with that one.) Anyway, they probably thought the humiliation was humbling or some deluded shit like that. But they should've learned by now that it wasn't, because it never changed anything. All it did was piss her the fuck off.

"I put a curse on you specifically." Morana casually informed the lumbering brute of a man who dragged her by the ankle. "You're going to slip on your way home and kill your whole family." On the first night of spring she was rendered powerless. Apparently this was to ensure the ritual proceeded, to ensure that she couldn't fight back or break the cycle with her own two hands the way she sorely wanted to. This was the only reason why these assholes felt they could get away with treating her like shit they'd found on the bottom of their shoes. Even so, it still shouldn't be taken lightly when death herself doles out curses.They were nothing more than lies that gained traction, fueled by the peoples own damned fears and superstitions. Self-sabotage at its finest, really. Right now, it was all she had.

There had been a time once when Morana wanted more. When she'd burned inside with passion to try and challenge fate. To change it. When her fire was whittled down to nothing, she became desperate enough to ask for something different. The bastards had even gotten her to beg for it. (To think! The goddess of winter, the lady of death. Begging like a fucking dog. Well... no more.) She had tried running. Tried hiding, fighting, screaming curses at the skies. And every damned year they dragged her back to this place. They burned their effigies, they drowned her, and then they threw a fucking party.

What a miserable existence.

Scrape, scrape, scrape. The followers continued to drag Morana unceremoniously while simultaneously dragging the ceremonial measures out. Geez. Couldn't they speed it up a little? It was as if they were determined to torture her, forcing her to think long and hard about what awaited her next. Below them, the underworld was stirring. Morana could hear it whispering like winter's dying wind in her ears, feel it reaching out for her, scraping something beneath the skin. Skeletal arms rattled, rousing and preparing for her arrival at the bottom of the pond. Uh huh. What could she say? It was the one night of the year that everyone wanted a piece of her.

Unfortunately, not even that thought could bring Morana comfort as they forced her to kneel before the pond. They were all rough hands, rough words. It was all she'd ever known. Urgh. She wasn't about to waste her breath on a 'don't fucking touch me'. It never worked, did it? Wasn't worth the humiliation. Then, sure enough, the memories surfaced. (They always did.) Sputtering, thrashing, water in her mouth, her nose, her eyes. Fuck. She squeezed her eyes shut before she could catch a glimpse of her reflection. It wasn't like she was afraid to see the fear written on her face or anything like that. She was the goddess of winter, the goddess of death. She feared nothing. The cold chains fastened around her wrists, locking her death sentence firmly in place. Winter would end. Spring would begin.

Vesna would walk the earth in her place.

"...Lady Vesna? Wow. Can't say I saw that one coming. I'm shaking in my boots." Morana steeled herself, her coal-black eyes betraying no emotion whatsoever when they snapped open again. Vesna. She focused on the bastard spitting at her first, breathing a raspy laugh. Pfft. "My legacy? Where do you come up with this shit? I'm just doing my fucking job." Joke was on him, assuming she was 'trying' to do anything. She'd long since given up trying. They killed her over and over and over and still insisted on keeping up this farce of banishing their evil menace long after they'd wrung out every last bit of fight from her.

Just as spring always followed winter, Vesna would always drown Morana in this fucking pond.

'I hate this part the most.' Morana thought when Vesna kneeled before her, as if she could will her thoughts to burn holes clean through the other goddess's flesh. She couldn't help but flinch when her fingers ran through her hair, stroking as if she were some pitiful little dog she was about to put down. (Might as well have been, huh. Here they go again.) She exhaled a hollow breath, preparing for the worst. 'I hate you.'

...Sorry? Sorry!? Morana laughed when Vesna cried, showing her teeth. (The sound bordered on hysteric. To be fair, she was about to drown.) Please. Didn't she need to save the water for her precious spring rains? If she wasted all of her tears crying over Morana, there was no doubt in her mind that she'd get shackled with all the blame when the season went awry. This was... different. The other goddess often approached the ritual with an emotionless mask, all of those times Morana debased herself with strangled cries and pleading had fallen upon unfeeling ears. So why the fuck was she crying for her? Never meant to hurt you.

Shut up, shut up, shut up! Shutupshutupshutup--

"Ugh. Are you planning on drowning me in your tears this year? This is going to take forever." Morana scoffed, unimpressed. "If you really didn't want to hurt me, you'd get it over with already." Her eyes flashed dangerously as she sank herself lower in the water, white strands of hair coiling on the surface like snakes. She brought her chin halfway under, as if enticing the other goddess to play her role as the executioner. "Don't you understand by now? After all of these years... I just want this cursed night to be over. I want it to end. So end it, Vesna."

 

[Syntra]

The waves in the pond were sparkling, each of them a promise, each of them a threat. Each a separate whisper in Vesna’s ear, too-- the cacophony was overwhelming, like the mindless drive of the sleeping roots to wake up, to stretch, to live. But, you know, not necessarily in a good way. Not in a good way at all. (‘Didn’t want to hurt her, huh? Had to? Excuses, excuses. You enjoyed the way her last breath felt on your face, and how her eyes rolled inside of her head. Life is just death in disguise, and that is what you are, too.’ No! No, no, no. Vesna didn’t know, didn’t remember, didn’t… or did she? Her memories were like the snowflakes around her, drifting in the air, mingling and going their own way before they even managed to touch the ground. …the blood dripping from her hands? The snow drank it, as if it had been starved for years, and Vesna hated it, hated, hated, hated! ‘Don’t look away. Don’t you dare to. This is your seal, goddess of spring. Your seal and the crop that you have sown, back when the earth had still been young. Don’t you wish to reap the reward? Don’t you, don’t you?’ And, the thing was, she already had. The sticky juice was running down her chin, staining her, painting horrific images on her white robe. When Vesna looked down, she could see it! The scarlet fire and the smoke rising from it, drowning the world in grey monotony. …drowning, yes. Drowning was both the question and the answer, locked in Pandora’s box. To open, or not to open? To suffer, or to suffer some more? Time wasn’t her enemy, but it also wasn’t her ally, and certainly not her friend. A wound untreated would not heal, but instead fester, like an old grievance hidden beneath a smile. Smile, Vesna reminded herself. Smile, for your smile brings joy.)

Wordlessly, the goddess stared at Morana. (Morana, the queen of winter. They’d told her to stay away, all those years ago, and, not wanting to upset them, Vesna had followed that code. Not that that had been hard to do. Flowers couldn’t grow in dead soil, and, similarly, the soil wasn’t dead when it bloomed. Fire couldn’t touch ice without melting it, either. The realities in which they lived couldn’t intersect-- not without them being changed fundamentally, akin to a mirror cracking not just in one place but all over. Something about consequences, perhaps? The chains from which not even gods could escape, because the fabric of the universe had been woven from it.) “Drown you… in tears?” she repeated, her voice soft and strained. (The touch of a butterfly’s wings, or maybe the soft rustling of petals in the wind. Always, Vesna remembered how to please, and kept her words quiet, small, palatable. Sun rays in the spring were meant to warm, not scorch.) “Morana, I would never,” except that I have, “I would never want to hurt you. I…” Well, what? What was she going to do? The dice had been cast, the dam broken, and her feet were still wet from Rubicon, the river of choices. She had chosen already, Vesna knew, and that which remained… why, a mere farce. A re-enactment, with audience and fancy masks. (The story had been written already, with a prologue, climax and epilogue. Once the ink dried, you could no longer change a thing, oh no, no, no! Words were dead the moment you put them on paper-- graveyard of thoughts, monuments to feelings. Vesna was aware, because of course that she was. Still, did it have to be this way? Could she not breathe life into the dead pages, and watch baby trees sprout from them anew? Even corpses bore life, returning to the earth that which it had once borrowed from it. Maybe, maybe a restart was--)

“Lady Vesna!” some of her followers shrieked. “The witch, the winter sorceress, has charmed her! Act quickly, before she takes the spark of hope away. The blasphemer cannot be allowed to lay a finger on Our Lady.” Armor chimed softly under the white robes, clang, clang, clang, and somewhere, a sword was being drawn. Sssst! Like a serpent it hissed, with fresh venom dripping from her fangs! But before it could sate its appetite, the petals shrouded the goddesses, shielding them from any blows that might come.

“Call lord Veles,” someone shouted. “Fast, before a tragedy strikes!”

“Did she not drink from the grail?! The grail, bring it to me--”

“I will not end you, for I am not the goddess of endings. I…” A sob ripped its way out of her throat, and for a moment, Vesna thought its strength was going to tear her apart. Why, though? She hadn’t done anything wrong. (She had.) She was an innocent. (She wasn’t.) She didn't even know her. (A lie.) She only wanted to help, just like she never always did!

Vesna allowed herself to sink deeper into the snow, into the embrace that both protected and hurt. “You don’t have to trust me. You really, truly don’t, but I will let my deeds speak for me nonetheless. Morana, lady of winter, shall you have me? To repay my debt, I would like to serve you.” The goddess looked up at her, her golden hair gleaming in the pale sunlight. (The color of harvest, they’d said-- the wheat feeding all the hungry mouths, and the sun to nourish it. Sometimes, it struck her more as a fool’s gold, though.) “Let me give you back everything I’ve taken from you. I… there is nothing I wish for more. I want to be yours.”

 

[ellarose]

"Tell me... why should I care about what you want, Vesna? You will drown me as you have always drowned me. And you don't see me blubbering about it." Morana said, in a voice as cold and crisp as the winter snow she was known for conjuring. Had they turned back time, viewed past reflections of this very moment, perhaps then Vesna would have noticed the tears streaming down Morana's own face. (The goddess of spring hadn't cared back then. Not enough to stop it. Not when Morana cried enough tears over the years to fill the very pond she was sentenced to drown in year after year. Well, she was sick of it. She was over it. So why should she care that Vesna was crying now? The expressions on their faces may have swapped, but their positions sure hadn't.) "I didn't stutter, did I? I want it to end."

The corner of Morana's mouth ticked upward, indicative of an amused little smirk as Vesna proceeded to have a breakdown. Figures. It was so fucking predictable, wasn't it? There she was, acting the part of the good little goddess who would ask to die and uphold their macabre traditions... but when Vesna acted out of turn it was Morana who was assigned the blame for it. The ritual had never gone quite like this before, though, had it? The tears, the sobs, the storm of petals swirling around them and shielding them both from the eyes of the followers. The potential witnesses who would've no doubt still bent their perceptions beyond recognition to paint Morana as their coldhearted mistress of evil. So what did it matter, whether they were in plain sight or out of it? The result would always be the same.

...Did Vesna hear the voices of her people? How they blamed Morana for her actions?

"Serve me?" Morana laughed again, as if Vesna had just told the funniest joke she'd ever heard. Despite the grave implications, it might as well have been a joke. It was hilarious, wasn't it? How the goddess of spring thought for even a second that she could repay her so-called debts with these promises she couldn't possibly fulfill. What, did she fancy herself powerful enough to change the narrative, the roles they'd been assigned? Morana had tried and long since given up the fight. It was naive. It was indescribably infuriating, the way she acted like she had the right to care about this now, after all of these years. What did she hope to accomplish, unloading the weight of her own grievances on her shoulders when it was already far too late for any of that? "And how exactly do you intend to accomplish that, Vesna? Do you intend to follow me around, undoing all of my work? Under the guise of 'helping me', you'll only hurt me. You'll tear what little remains of my reputation to shreds and make yourself look better in the process." Poor Vesna, the people would cry. When she resurfaced, her devoted followers would comfort her with gifts, with sacrifices and sweet nothings and perhaps fill whatever gaping hole she was attempting to fix now. And Morana would go down in infamy as the bitter, evil goddess who stole their glimmer of hope away to uphold her legacy. How nefarious.

...Nefarious indeed. And fucking brilliant if Morana really thought about it. Wasn't this was a golden opportunity for the taking? Had she still cared what the people thought of her, then maybe she would have outright refused. But say she took Vesna up on her offer and a freak accident occurred as a result? (With the exception of the rituals, they weren't allowed to exist in the same space at the same time for a reason.) Naturally, they'd blame Morana for everything. Perhaps they'd rule her unfit for her role. Perhaps then they would finally end it.

End it for good. End it forever. Morana hadn't lied when she said that was what she wanted... because that was what she wanted. More than anything in this world. For it to end. For it to end without beginning again, like it had every single time before.

"Well." Morana changed her tone to something silky and contemplative, twisting a strand of hair around her finger as she tilted her head. "I'm sure I'll find something for you to do." She lowered herself deeper into the water, smiling wickedly like a siren preparing to lunge for her tasty sailor prey. This would be the last time, she vowed to herself. The last fucking time she drowned in this cursed pond. "You can start by dying for me. Ready to go for a swim, Vessy?"

Morana disappeared under the water and never resurfaced. Beneath the surface, she waited specifically to build an atmosphere of suspense, of dread, before her arm elongated and morphed into jagged and skeletal that reached out for Vesna's ankle. Closing her fingers around it, she smirked and yanked the goddess of spring down with her.

 

[Syntra]

Well. Was that it? No hope, no reprieve? Just her sin, not written on paper, but set in stone for all the world to see? Vesna didn't think that! Didn't, didn't, didn't, because, you see, nothing was eternal-- not joy, not ecstasy, but not suffering, also. You couldn't say A without saying B afterwards. History wasn't written in incomplete sentences, and the goddess believed, with her whole heart, that the final comma hadn't been written yet. (The quill in her hand was shaking, the ink making huge, dark blots on the parchment. You know what, though? That was fine. Good, even. Before life sprouted from a seed, it had to break itself out of the shell, and wasn't that what this was? There was a pain to beginnings-- to breaking barriers, to taking the first breath with new lungs, to babies crawling out of their mother's wombs, even. The duel of existence wasn't fought with swords, but with effort. So what if this hurt? So what if just looking in Morana's eyes made her want to recoil, and never want to face her own reflection in the mirror again? It only made sense. Vesna knew now, knew, knew, knew, and with knowledge, there came burden, dropped on her fragile shoulders. She... she would withstand it, though. Just as always. Spring was born from the first swallow who dared to sing, from the first flower that dared to bloom, and this... this wasn't all that different. Her eyes were open now, so she only had to take the first step.)

(Only the first step! As if she wasn't walking towards a pyre, ready to let the flames kiss her skin. Towards oblivion. How could Morana ever forgive her for all the things she had done? For the things she hadn't done, also? Her chances were gone, along with the petals of a flower used in the loves-me-loves-me-not game, and, just like that, only the naked truth remained. The truth of her... no, she didn't remember. Maybe she didn't want to, either. Still, was her premise not valuable? Was wisdom not a treasure, regardless of where you found it? A stream of water always found its way, through rocks and mountains and solid earth, and so, as long as she knew the direction, Vesna would reach her goal. Bravery, that was all it took! I need to make it up to her. I need to, I need to. ...perhaps, with that out of the way, the snake coiled around her heart would let go. Maybe the venom being delivered into her veins would turn into wine, and... ah, did that statement have a second half? A conclusion? Lately, her memory had been shrouded in fog.)

"You don't have to care about that," the goddess offered her a small smile, gathering all her courage. Pain is good, she reminded herself. It's proof enough that I try. "But you cannot make me not care. No matter what you say, I will still want to help you." Each accusation felt like a needle jabbed straight into her heart, though Vesna made no attempt to remove it. If that was what pleased Morana, then fine! (That, too, was a kind of service. To bear the wounds of others, whipping girls were selected-- creatures young and frail, buds without a chance to ever truly blossom. Not that Vesna herself was like that, but she could see the parallels running through the fabric of reality like veins through the human body. Was that what Morana desired...? A doll to absorb her anger? A person-shaped rock that she could kick? A small price to pay, in the context of everything else.)

"I... I don't know," the goddess admitted, the petals shivering with each exhale. (Could they be reflecting their mistress's distress? Perhaps, because as the two spoke, they were growing grey and shriveled. Dead, in other words.) "I haven't thought about this. Until recently, I haven't even thought about you. But, surely, there is something I can do?" She looked up to her counterpart, her ruby-colored eyes wide and innocent. "There's life even amidst winter, I just know it. I could make snowdrops grow in your footsteps, or lessen the pain of the dying, or... sing you a song, I suppose." (They always did say she had a lovely singing voice, after all. Who were 'they,' though? Shadows, shadows drowned in the deepest of wells, and, whoever had owned the keys to it, they'd thrown them away. Oh well.)

"Die for you?" she repeated, confused. "But I cannot die." Vesna watched Morana disappear in the pond, like a nightmare dispersing with the first sun rays, but, oh no! No, that wasn't supposed to happen! Distraught, the goddess leaned closer to the waves, trying to... see something, she guessed. The shock of white hair in the darkness, like stars sailing through the night sky. Maybe she could still pull her out?

...that was hard to do, though, when a ghostly arm grabbed her ankle instead and pulled her down, down, down, into the cruel embrace of the water. (It was everywhere, all at once. Vesna sputtered, thrashed, and reached for the balance lost, but it slipped from her grasp, the same way her world did. Inevitable, wasn't it? Sins, just like your own shadows, always caught up to you. Justice didn't taste sweet. The water invaded her lungs, forcing her to give up, to shut down, to die, die, die--)

The gates of the Underworld found the spring goddess lying on the ground, gasping for the precious air. All the color had drained from her face, as well as any resistance that might have still remained in her bones. Lifeless, you could say. Heh. Vesna could appreciate the irony in that. (Was that what she had subjected Morana to, each and every year? The notion hurt, enough to overshadow her own agony. Oh well! Nothing a smile wouldn't solve, she was sure of that. A smile, and the chance she'd been so graciously given.) "I understand," Vesna said, in a small voice. "Would you like to hurt me some more? Is that why you brought me here? That's fine," she beamed. "Just let me know how I can help. Also, what is this place?" Curiously, as if she hadn't just suggested her own torture, the goddess looked around. "Is this your home, Morana?"

 

[ellarose]

Morana opened her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the darkness as she silently listened to Vesna gasp. They'd... made it. They really made it. There'd been no resistance as they slipped to the other side, no boundary that stood for the spring goddess's protection. (Apparently no one had ever accounted for her attempting to turn the tables that way, eh? Spring and winter weren't meant to exist in the same place at the same time this way. Heh. And she'd essentially just spit on that sacred rule and thrown the bird to the sky. If nothing else, things were about to get interesting. That was for sure. She could only hope that someone, somewhere-- and someone very powerful at that-- was cursing Morana's name.) For once, shock gut-punched her. That night had always been one of helplessness, the embodiment of all those times she'd tried and failed to change her fate. This time, though? This time it had changed. For better or worse, she'd torn up the script of everyone's favorite little ritual. That said? Once more, she swore it to herself. That that would be the last time she ever drowned in that pond. Anyway, time to go. She groaned softly and lugged herself up onto her feet, wringing her hair out in her hands. Droplets of water fell and froze instantly around her boots. This ice gradually spread out across the Underworld in sprawling, intricate snowflakes that coated the bare rock they stood upon and crept around the cavernous walls surrounding them. Icy stalagmites and stalactites formed, emulating sharp teeth in some ferocious beast's mouth. A faint blue-white glow swathed Morana and the snow, providing faint hint of illumination in the darkness. Once this was done, the only patch of ground uncovered by ice was a bare, dome-like area encircling Vesna herself. Huh. That was new.

"'Would you like to hurt me some more?'" Morana quoted Vesna in a mockingly nasally voice, giving an offended snort. This was the downside of the plan. Having to tolerate the spring goddess's... presence. The annoying insistence that she was going to do her any good at all was delusional at best. "Figures. You're all the same. 'Cause it'd totally fit my reputation as a scary, evil queen to get my kicks from torturing poor, innocent little Vesna... right? Pfft. You think I die every year and think of you endlessly, that I spend all of my time down here plotting my revenge against you?" She batted her hand dismissively and rolled her eyes. (To be fair, there might've been a time when she'd fantasized about that. But that was just a fucking phase. She'd grown out of it when it became apparent she was never going to break free from the role they'd assigned her. Suddenly dreaming and hoping about anything at all-- especially murdering the spring goddess-- felt stupid.) She brushed irritatedly at her black cloak, trying to occupy her hands with anything and everything to resist the urge to wring the other goddess's neck. Some kind of emotion was dangerously close to spiking through her voice and she pressed down on that long-repressed desire to sink her claws into Vesna for everything she'd done to her. As if she could dig in and take something from her the same way she'd taken everything from her. To think the spring goddess could get away with drowning her year after year... and Morana had never laid a finger on her once. Morana was covered in blood, yes, but it was her own damned blood. The bloodied weapon was clutched in Vesna's hands. Yet Morana was the 'evil' one. The 'murderous' one. "Don't flatter yourself, babe. While you're all throwing your parties and dancing over my watery grave, I come down here and do my fucking job."

And no, Morana wasn't bitter about it or anything. No fucking way! Who needed company or parties for that matter!? ...But she never forgot how it felt, the first time she'd heard of the parties. Apparently, some mortals got upset because they didn't get an invite to such an occasion... but that was weak, baby shit compared to what she was used to. They all celebrated her death. Her absence. And no one mourned for her... like, aside from the occasional edgy goth kid who claimed they didn't fear her for clout. (She'd tested a few of their limits out of curiosity and in a majority of these cases appeared before them in the form of a monster. The form that explicitly appeared to the cowards who feared her. Most mortals, in other words. It was the form she was known for because it was a very, very rare few who truly saw 'the beautiful maiden with hair as white as snow'. The dying and the souls who were truly comfortable with the inevitability of death saw her this way. The souls who yearned for it without a single pinch of fear. She could relate to them, to an extent... but they were offered release by her hand while she was offered none.) Fuck. Never mind the fact that she had never been to any parties. She'd tried it once, with a random handful of souls she'd dredged up. Either she'd fished up a bad batch or they were incapable of having any fun, because they were all too busy wailing in fear of her to do anything particularly amusing. Whatever. They sounded lame anyway.

"This is the home of the dead. The Underworld." Morana said plainly. Then she raised her arms and the ground rumbled softly as if it was coming alive. One of the icy stalactites fell perilously close to Vesna in the process. (Morana was not a spring goddess who was revered for breathing life into that which had withered away. In the Underworld, though, the goddess of death possessed her own version of this. In a way, they were two different sides of the same coin.) "Come on, guys. Time to go." Who was she talking to? Well, that question was answered in a matter of seconds as grotesque, phantasmic skeletons rose from the snow and floated all around them like the restless ghosts they were. They didn't possess tangible forms down here, but they looked gross. Plain and simple. They were souls taken over the winter season, souls who awaited her arrival to guide them where they needed to go.

Ugh. What awaited them next was a long fucking walk and then an even longer boat ride to guide them where they needed to go. Morana was supposed to make sure that they were all accounted for and that none of them attempted to jump ship. This wasn't normally an issue, though. They were often all so confused and aimless in death that they simply followed her mindlessly. Usually this task was a snore fest.

Anyway. Might as well try to have a little fun first, right? Morana smirked.

"These are the souls of the recently departed. I always feel really fucking sorry for them... so I like to give them each a hug before I guide them onto the next stage. As you can see, there're a lot of souls here." Morana draped a hand over her heart, like the good samaritan she was. Her eyes flicked curiously between Vesna, standing in her snowless little bubble, and the souls. What would happen when the goddess of spring tried to touch them? Heh. Something bad, she hoped. "That's where you come in, Vessy. I want you to give each and every one of them a nice, warm hug. Can you do that for me?"

 

[Syntra]

Bad things didn’t happen to Vesna. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t! They couldn’t, because her days were full of sunshine. For her, bears rose from their winter slumber; for her, bees drank the sweet nectar from flowers and turned it into honey; for her, life itself awakened. For her alone, the earth crawled a little closer to the sun! The very heart of existence beat just to please her, and… and that meant a lot, Vesna knew. More than the stirrings of her own heart, oh so insignificant in comparison. How could she let them influence her, then? Wouldn’t that be just spitting on everyone’s efforts? (See, a goddess didn’t belong to herself. She belonged to the planet, and the trees, and to everyone who did and didn’t want her. Making them carry the weight of her own emotions struck her as deeply unfair-- akin to opening their mouths and making them drink, drink, drink, whether they liked it or not. Not just clean, sparkling water, but a tea made of wormwood. So, despite Morana’s words feeling like a flurry of arrows? Vesna gave her a smile, bright enough to rival the starry sky. Be brave, she told herself. It's fine if she doesn't see now. Even the longest journey begins with the first step.)

“I... I didn't mean it that way,” the goddess protested feebly. "I just thought you might be into the whole 'an eye for an eye' thing. But, I suppose that that really would be presumptuous? You must have hobbies other than plotting revenge. Ah, I know!" Vesna clapped her hands together excitedly. How come she hadn't seen it before? It had been so, so, so obvious! (...perhaps because she hadn't been looking. Perhaps she still wasn't looking, instead staring right into the merciless sun. If it blinded her, Vesna knew, then she'd never have to face it! Face what, though? She did and didn't know, the knowledge buried... uh, somewhere. Deep, deep in the fertile soil, certainly. The corpse of it was feeding much and more, along with the shadows surrounding it. They had claws, so sharp, and in their steely reflection, Vesna saw--)

('No. No, Vesna. Don't look'.)

('Yes. Yes, Vesna. You must look.')

(And, in the end? The goddess averted her gaze, to the disappointment of the audience.)

"Maybe not plotting revenge is your hobby," she suggested, clearly proud of herself for coming up with the idea. Surely, acknowledging as much wouldn't insult Morana? Being insulted seemed like another beloved hobby of hers, come to think of it, but Vesna didn't consider it strategic to point that out. Just an inkling. ('Kindness, child. Kindness is your weapon, so wield it with courage. Do you understand what I mean, Vesna?' ...she did. Far more than she would have liked.) "That is my favorite pastime as well. See, we have something in common! Instead, I watch water flow in rivers, or birds fly through the skies, or flowers grow. Have you ever watched a flower grow, Morana? I believe there's a lot we can learn from them. I mean, the sun can shine with whatever intensity it wants, but she won't open unless she is ready. There is a lot of wisdom in that, I think. Would you..." she looked up to the other goddess, "...would you like to watch them with me?"

...probably not, Vesna thought. At least judging by the way she mentioned 'her watery grave' and 'holding parties.' The knife of guilt pierced her again, and again, and again-- the constant stream of blood pouring down her hands responded to it, too. So, before she knew it? The goddess was standing in a ruby-colored puddle, her naked feet completely submerged. (In it, the goddess could see her reflections, as many of them as there were sides to a story. Vesna wrapping her hands around Morana's throat; Vesna listening to her pleas with empty, glassy eyes; Vesna turning her back on the pond and disappearing, seemingly without a care in the world. Ignoring all of that, she shook her head.) "I have never been to a party, Morana. Any party. I, uh, don't get invited? Spinning the wheat so that it turns out just right takes too much work." And I'd never celebrate your death, anyway. Never, never, never! "...I didn't know you were dying all this time," she admitted. "I figured you just did whatever it is that I do whenever you are crowned. Do you happen to know what it is, by the way? Shameful as it is, I forgot. Goodness gracious, I..." she rubbed her forehead, "...I'm a failure as a goddess." (And as a human, too. Wait, where had that come from?) "I don't even know my own schedule. Although that also means I can run with the winds!" she broke into a sudden smile, her sorrow disappearing faster than a summer storm. "What is your favorite wind, Morana? I can make them come and talk them into doing something nice with your hair."

Eek! Vesna stepped aside and glared at the stalactite, immediately turning it to water in process. Good! Much better, at least. The presence of the departed did fill the goddess with a primal sense of dread, but... gulp. Alright, alright. Morana had asked her, you see? Nicely, too! And offering last solace to the dead souls did prove that her counterpart wasn't as bad as everyone said. A shard of kindness resided in her core, regardless of how much Morana denied it. I've come to serve, she reminded herself. You don't always walk away from service with your hands clean. (No. No, you very much didn't. Vesna knew, as well as she knew that the sky was blue.)

"Eugh eugh blah?" one of the souls asked, watching Vesna with great alarm.

"Don't worry, little one!" the goddess beamed. (The way roots wrapped her ankles, trying to keep her in place? Surely, that meant nothing.) "I promise, my hug will make all of your pain go away. Just... stay still, will you?"

"Brahn!" The poor dear seemed positively distraught now, but Vesna paid it no mind. How could her life-giving touch hurt, after all? She embraced them, pouring all of her love into the gesture, and-- splash!

Gone. Gone, just like that. The soul melted under her touch, akin to last year's snow, and, similarly to that? Liquid remained, grey and questionable-looking. Liquid that somehow ended up in Morana's head. "Shucks," Vesna cringed. "I am so sorry, Morana! I didn't know this would happen. Should I...?" Except that then the substance sizzled, making tiny grey roses bloom all over the whiteness of her hair. Recycled life, in other words. "Ah!" the goddess observed, star-struck. "My, you are very beautiful! Was that your plan? Would you like to be stained with more monster juice, Morana? Right away, right away!"

 

[ellarose]

"Fuck, that's boring. 'Not plotting revenge' is the same as doing nothing." Morana scoffed, picking at her nails. That wasn't even a real hobby and yet Vesna got so excited that she thought it up. She even tried to warp it into some kind of 'bonding moment'. Ugh. Listen here-- they were not bonding! (And besides, she had plenty of, uh... hobbies. Watching devastation ensue as she created the first big snowstorm of the winter, covering everything in layers upon layers of ice. Though honestly, watching the humans bitch and moan about shoveling their paths, clearing their roads and scraping the frost from their windshields got boring fast... unless they slipped and fell in a particularly comedic fashion. Okay. That was a bad example, but that wasn't all! She loved scaring the shit out of geek ass nerds. There was nothing better!) ...Fine, fine. Maybe she didn't have very many 'hobbies'. Couldn't tell her she wasn't doing the best with what she had, though. And what she had was a massive pile of nothing. It all got old. It was boring as fuck. There was nothing left to stick around for, was there? She couldn't trace the moment she realized it, only that it'd happened a long time ago. And it'd happened as she'd been ferrying the souls of the dead with a feeling of envy sinking in her gut like a knife. Thanks to her, they got that release of an actual ending to their suffering. For her? The book was never ending and she relived the same chapters over and over and over again. And she would continue to do so forever unless something changed. All the humans were out there romanticizing immortality and not realizing at all what they were talking about. "...I freeze the rivers, the birds migrate, and all the flowers all wither and die beneath my gaze. We are not the same."

What, do you want me to throw you a pity party? Morana was tempted to voice these thoughts (knowing on some level that was essentially what she was doing for herself-- but in her case it was fucking warranted) but when Vesna pleaded ignorance to the fact that she died? The flow of her thoughts froze just like one of those rivers in the dead of winter with sharp claws of frost creeping over the surface. Every year. She died every year by Vesna's hand for as long as she could remember and the spring goddess couldn't even be bothered to remember it? She got to live without any semblance of guilt on her conscience? Without mustering even a scrap of thought for her and everything she put her through? No. No, apparently not. And it checked out, didn't it? In fact, it was fucking hilarious. So Morana might as well have been air to the spring goddess! (No, not even air. She wasn't even that significant-- she didn't even breathe her in. In Vesna's mind she might as well have been invisible.) The winter goddess curled her hands into fists, cutting crescents into her palms as she held onto it. (What? There was no knife in her chest. She didn't feel a thing. Didn't feel a fucking thing. Because obviously Vesna didn't feel anything, right? So why should she have to?) So she seethed quietly as Vesna prattled on, never melting her cold exterior.

"...You really are a failure as a goddess." Morana clipped icily. What? It wasn't cruel if she was agreeing with Vesna herself, right? "You pledged yourself to me when you should have been taking care of your bird-brained followers. Now you're neglecting your wheat and flowers and shit... and the people will boo-hoo because spring's so fucking late this year." No one else would tell Vesna the truth, would they? They'd point the accusing finger at Morana and Vesna would conveniently forget everything, the way she apparently forgot everything. Good for her, right? Getting to live in oblivious bliss! No one else but Morana could see it... and it was frustrating as fuck. So excuse her for telling it like it was! "You've completely abandoned them."

Morana watched Vesna humor her request with an arched brow. She really wanted the roots that grew around her feet to drag her underground. (It'd just be fun to hear her scream. For reasons.) She tried to will it to happen... but that only caused them to wither, leaving her with uneventful results. Well, that was disappointing. Drowning Vesna ought to be enough to have her title as a goddess stripped away, though, so she supposed there was nothing to be particularly worried about. Then the worst possible result came of the hug as flowers unfurled in her hair.

"No!" The flowers immediately froze at Morana's insistence and she clenched a fist, shattering them into tiny pieces. She glared daggers, as if to insist that she was not beautiful but very scary and ferocious (because she was!) and swept her hands through her hair to brush the ice chunks away. Ugh. No chaos, no destruction, no buff fucking zombies... just frilly little flowers and disappointment! The souls began scrambling fearfully to get away from Vesna, obviously not wanting to get turned from juice into exploded flowers. They hovered around her like flies instead, because she was true release. She was death. At least she was popular somewhere, right? "This is stupid. We're leaving."

"Come on. Just a little further." Morana huffed, feeling like she was herding a bunch of toddlers as they trudged through the snow towards the river. A large, ominous boat surrounded by a swirling black mist appeared on the surface before them and she nonchalantly waved her arms, instructing the confused souls to take their seats inside. Then she held an arm out in front of Vesna before she could board. Alright, fine. Take two. "Not you, Vesna. I want you to swim behind the boat and push it forward." She rolled her wrists theatrically, boarding the boat and languidly taking her seat. She lounged, propping her boots up on the seat in front of her with a devious smirk. "Rowing just gets so tiring, you know?"

 

[Syntra]

So, a common misconception? That cruelty was evil. That it was something that seeped out into the world just to bring ruination to it, like a poison crafted to stifle all existence. Many believed so, including Vesna’s followers. The thing was, had anyone bothered to ask how it had been born? From which seed it had sprouted, and who had sowed the cursed crop? (…in Morana’s case, she might have known. Might have and might not have, depending on so, so, so many things. Did the wind blow just right? What about the sun, was it covered by clouds? Did the moon’s light reach the depths of the ocean, hitting the crystal-clear water just right? No, she couldn’t see. Couldn’t, and it wasn’t her fault! ‘Liar’, something whispered in her ear. ‘You had to’, a different voice said. No chance, and no choice.) The point was, Vesna wasn’t angry with Morana. Not really. After all, how hurt did you have to be to react like this? With a metaphorical sword in your hand, and wearing full plate armor? It had been an innocent remark-- a caress, not a slap to spark a war, but… well. Vesna knew, more than anything else, that that a caress could feel like a punch when the nerve was exposed. “It doesn’t have to be,” the spring goddess pointed out, her voice flowing like a river. “Not doing anything can be as powerful as doing something. It depends on what your instincts pull you towards to, and how hard you have to resist. Mental battles aren’t boring. What do your instincts tell you, Morana?” That they weren’t the same, though… indeed, that much was true. Nobody in their right mind could deny the difference between the happy chirping of the birds, and the cold embrace of winter. Except, how much did that matter? Was there not enough space for both of them? Were they destined to always just fling words at each other, and listen to their distorted echoes? (‘You were the one who distorted them. You, and nobody else.’)

“I, um, suppose that that can be a good thing?” the goddess blinked uncertainly. “Rivers deserve to be frozen from time to time. It must be exhausting to have to run all the time, after all, and so I imagine they are actually rather thankful. They must be praising your name! Knowing my birds, their wayward hearts love any excuse to travel as well. And the flowers…“ all those beautiful flowers, their corpses littering the dead soil, “…maybe, ah, maybe they see death as kindness? As an excuse to rest. I do know how hard they try all the time-- see, being the spring’s crown is a big responsibility.“ Vesna nodded to herself, as if wanting to reinforce her own words. “What do you say, Morana? Do you believe that flowers can get stage fright? They have no shoulders, and yet they carry such a big burden! I wonder if they ever think to themselves to complain. No flower ever has raised their voice at me, but maybe they believe it is inappropriate to do so. Oh no! I hope not. Never have I wanted to be the kind of queen whom her subjects are secretly afraid of.” Morana’s actual words? Vesna could sense them being sharp, as sharp as the winter air early in the morning, but, you know, she didn’t need to listen! Not every prayer needed to reach a goddess’s ears, and the same went for… whatever this was. (As long as she didn’t know, it wouldn’t hurt. And, as long as it didn’t hurt? The smile on her lips could be warm, real, genuine-- a force that could thaw even the deepest ice.)

(‘Coward,’ the voice hissed. It sounded surprisingly like her own, Vesna recognized, but no, that couldn’t be! Her mouth was closed, and… and her mind as well. With nine keys it had been locked, none of which she held in her possession. How could it be her, then? How? ‘Hypocrite.’)

(‘Listen more.’)

(‘Listen less. Retreat isn’t cowardice when it’s the only way not to lose yourself.’)

When the flowers in Morana’s hair shattered, though? Vesna couldn’t help but gasp, placing her hand over her heart. “That wasn’t very nice of you, Morana,” she chastised the other goddess. (Judging by her tone, the winter queen may as well have been but a naughty child that had eaten all the cookies. Without permission, too!) “The flowers bloomed just to visit you, and this is the reception you give them? I doubt they will come again next year. If I were you, I would at least bury them. Returning back to the earth might soothe some of their anxieties.”

It didn’t seem that Morana was too inclined to take her advice, though. Instead of listening, she… proceeded to summon a ship? A ship that she was meant to push? What an odd request, Vesna thought, taking note of the black mist, the depth of the river itself, and the oppressive, ever-present aura of death. (There was nothing to be afraid of, right? She was a goddess. She was a goddess, and Morana had found a way for her to be useful! Joy should have been swelling in her chest, joy and pride, but instead, it felt as if she’d swallowed a frog. A frog that was now jumping up and down in her stomach, causing her to--)

“I see,” Vesna smiled, ignoring the strange feeling. “I will be happy to help, then.”

The goddess took her first step, then another, and another. (The blackness of the river appeared to be infectious, somehow, because the second she first made contact with it? It started to spread, spread and spread, like a large ink-stain, like fast-growing mold. Darkness ate more and more of her, eager for every bite, and… oh. Was it supposed to take her face away? It didn’t feel like that, but it was true that Vesna knew very little about the ways of the Underworld. Stubbornly, she pushed, and the ship sprang to motion. It sailed across the smooth surface, like an arrow shot from a bow, until…)

“Halt!” A large, shadowy dragon emerged from the waters, blue sparks dancing across its ephemeral body. (Like a starry sky, Vesna thought.) It flapped its wings, and the resulting wind pushed so hard against her that the ship, indeed, did stop.

“Your visitor is stealing my darkness, Morana,” the creature accused. “Who do you think I am, huh? Why should I suffer this disrespect?!”

 

[ellarose]

Morana blinked with mild surprise when the creature emerged from the waters, the expression on her face quickly morphing into a shit-eating grin when the boat stopped on the surface before the large and clearly pissed off dragon. Yes! Now this is what I'm talking about! Her eyes, black as coal, lit up with playful little sparks as she leaned back before using her momentum to throw herself into an upright (but still relaxed) seat. The dragon towered over them, casting a shadow. Glittering in the darkness, among the snow and dark waters. And all she could do was cackle.

"Who do you think I am, huh!?" Morana made a theatric show of placing her hands on her hips, mocking the dragon's voice with a non-ferocious, high-pitched lilt. Then she broke into another little fit of laughter. (And yes, she always howled at her own jokes without an iota of shame. She thought she was fucking hilarious and that's really all that mattered at the end of the day.) Pfft. Who did it think she was? She cared nothing of respect these days. Fuck respect! Respect, tradition, entitlement, all of it. She'd spit on everything they considered sacred and smile as they dragged her away. She lowered her voice, the sound raspy and smooth. "Who do you think I am? The darkness belongs to everyone, sparky. You'll need to learn to share."

"Share!?" The dragon bellowed, this concept obviously offending it. (Good!) The sparks danced even more violently across its body. "You expect me to share!?"

That's right. Morana thought, smiling and showing her teeth. She laughed quietly through them. Get angry. Fight me! A moment later, she schooled her expression into something a touch more professional, playing the regal role of the 'queen' that she was.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Morana stood up, lifting her chin now as she stared the dragon down. The boat wobbled but never toppled when she did so and the spirits on her boat all gathered behind her in confused fright. (They should consider themselves lucky, honestly. Not every day the souls got a show on their way to the afterlife. Usually the road was long and agonizingly boring.) "You heard me. I gotta say, your hoarding habit is becoming a real issue. Might be good to cut back just a smidgen. Especially since you've decided it's worth delaying my schedule." The dragon huffed, causing waves to stir, wobbling the boat even more. Snorting at this, she gestured innocuously to the souls gathered behind her on the boat. "Oooh, careful. They'll all take a piece of your darkness if they fall into the river."

"Grraaaah!" The souls were beginning to panic. Some of them held the sides of their heads while others clung to each other's arms.

"Morana." The dragon froze, growling.

"What?" Morana smirked back, posing a challenge. Her fingers twitched eagerly at her sides, phasing between the human hands she was born with and elongated, skeletal claws. Come on. Fight me! Fight me! Yes, she was ready for a fight. Itching for an opportunity to scream out, to punch something, to let it all out of her system. (A fight was a badass excuse for it, okay? The souls watched with pity if she screamed while she cried. But she didn't fucking cry about anything. Not anymore.) Clearly that energy was and would continue to be non-existent with Vesna, who couldn't even be arsed to remember that she drowned her every year. That they were fated enemies. They were supposed to be at each other's throats! Instead, the spring goddess couldn't muster the energy to give her anything other than those paper-thin smiles and metaphorical spiels about the birdies and the rivers and flowers. (Flowers with shoulders. That mental image was straight up nightmarish if you asked her.) How was she even a goddess? Like, why were the people devoted to someone who was so scattered? Because she was easy to manipulate, maybe? After all, she'd gotten into the water without even bothering to protest how fucking stupid it all was.

"I'm not budging. How do you want to settle this, sparky?" Morana tilted her head and snapped her claws into fists. She held them up and widened her stance.

Anticlimactically, the dragon sank and disappeared beneath the surface of the water without answering her. The winter goddess puffed her cheeks out, disappointed, and then huffed all the air out to smooth herself back into a blank slate. What? She didn't fucking care. Not one bit! That's when the boat began to sway again... Morana tilted her head when her hair and cloak blew behind her. They were moving forward. And quickly at that. Wondering whether Vesna grew some extra muscle in the water, she looked back.

...Nope, it wasn't Vesna pushing the boat. It was the dragon. Pushing Morana and the souls out of the way and wading off to face Vesna one on one in the water.

"Oh, come the fuck on!" Morana's fists shrank back to their usual size and she ran her fingers back through her hair, exasperated. (Feeling like she'd been pushed aside... because that was exactly what happened. Rejected for Vesna. As fucking always!) Nursing her sore ego, she scoffed and threw herself back down into her seat. "Coward." Then she raised a brow. What would Vessy do in a fight, anyway?

"You. You're stealing my darkness! What do you have to say for yourself!?" The dragon snarled at the spring goddess.

 

[Syntra]

Ah. Was darkness a precious commodity in the Underworld? Goodness gracious, Vesna just didn't know! And now, because of her shameful ignorance of darkness-based economics, she was... stealing? Maybe? Theft had always been more of an intentional thing in her book, but if nothing else, this little trip had proved just how deep the rivers of her ignorance ran. And the intent... oh, the intent could matter very little. Nobody bothered to ask raging flames if they meant to reduce their surroundings to cinders, did they? They might have only wanted to warm a weary traveller's bones, but the results spoke with a much mightier voice.

(Morana herself was the proof of that, too. Morana, and her crown of frozen thorns. The wish Vesna had had for her was wrapped in sunshine, and where had that gotten her? ...in the company of shadows, swishing their skirts of mist. Laughing, giggling shadows, whose voices summoned the storm. Blood was still dripping from their claws, much like the one from her hands, and...)

('They are one and the same. The blood, that is. Won't you look, Vesna? Look and see and perceive, and know its source. Know the heart that you have stabbed with your very own blade.')

('My very own blade? But I don't have one.')

('Oh, you do, you do! Just look inside of--')

('No, don't!')

The voices spoke over one another, shouted and argued, and Vesna was tired, tired, oh so tired. Had everyone forgotten that a conversation didn't have to be a duel? And, more importantly, who was she supposed to follow? (The directions blended and went their separate ways, like two lovers after a passionate night. Only footprints remained in the blinding white snow, but they seemed to be going in circles, round and round and round. A cycle of... what? Pain? Understanding? Old beginnings, and new endings? Wise women could read the future from tea leaves, the spring goddess had heard, yet no secrets lived in snow. Nothing did.)

Meanwhile, Morana and the dragon were caught up in a heated debate. The winter queen... uh, apparently wanted her to have some darkness? Vesna couldn't imagine what she'd do with it, aside from maybe using it to protect the eyes of newborn owls, but the sentiment was sweet. (See, it was a gift. It had to be! There weren't many things that Vesna grasped, but she did know, as well as she knew her own name, that gifts were a sign of love. Worshipers showered her with them, and, in turn, she was what they needed her to be. A human-shaped prayer, a warm kiss on one's cheek, a glimmer of hope amidst the blackest of nights-- all of that, and more. Could she do the same for her, too? ...no, it wasn't a matter of 'could.' Debts had to be paid, burdens had to be carried. Still, though...) "Morana," she interjected, her voice the fluttering of butterfly wings, "that's very nice of you, though I don't think I need all that darkness. Wouldn't it be wiser to let the dragon have it? Perhaps I could keep a drop as a souvenir, but me losing my face does strike me as a little too much. Something tells me I might miss having one later. O-of course, if the sight of it offends you, I may stay like this! I just do not enjoy the prospect." (Her sweet, sweet face. The last remnant of... what, even? The person she had and had never been, in some distant dream? A foolish comfort to hold on, yet hold she did, with all her might.)

But, just as it was easy to ignore the slow coming of the spring, it was apparently also easy to dismiss her analysis. Sigh. Was nobody going to listen to her? (Not that that was new, mind you. Worship and a conversation were two quite different things, as Vesna had learned-- for the latter, your lips might as well have been sewn shut. ...sometimes, she almost wished for it to happen. If the spring goddess was only meant to listen, why have a mouth at all? What a waste of good flesh. What a waste of space, too.)

Just as Vesna was beginning to give up on being heard out, though? The dragon himself blessed her with his attention! "I... what I have to say for myself is sorry. I never wanted to steal it. If I pay you for the darkness, would that still be considered theft?"

"You... want to pay me?" More than anything else, the dragon appeared baffled. Could it be that nobody had ever treated him with kindness before? A phenomenon more common than she wanted to believe, considering how easily it unlocked hearts.

"Yes!" Vesna nodded, giving him a smile bright enough to light up the entire cavern. "Please, bow down so that I might reach you."

Perhaps wanting to see what would happen, the creature obeyed... and let out a surprised huff when the spring goddess patted his head. "There, there! I'm afraid I can only pay you in cuddles now. Cuddles, and perhaps stories. Would you like me to tell you all the dragon fairytales I know? I do know a great deal! Me and Morana can even... ah, re-enact them for your pleasure. Morana," Vesna tilted her head aside, "do you want to be the dragon, or the fair maiden?" Because, listen, there was no doubt in her mind that the winter lady would want to reimburse the poor creature. Did it not make sense, after all? Righting wrongs could help her repair the damaged reputation she'd despaired over just a few minutes ago!

The literal dragon, who was watching the whole scene unfold, looked at the two in the same way a cat might look at two pigeons. At two pigeons who were too fat to fly, to be precise. "Yes, yes! That's exactly what I want. You simply have to be the fair maiden, Morana. The role fits you like none other." Without a hint of warning, the dragon grabbed her in his scaly hand, and... uh, did something? Probably cast a spell, judging by the sudden surge in magical energy. "And since maidens are known for their lovely singing voices, I made you unable to speak without breaking into a song. Do sing to me about your captured maiden plight, Morana!"

Ah. This... was going well, wasn't it?

 

[ellarose]

Morana rolled her eyes and examined her nails as it became increasingly apparent that the dragon wasn't going to pick a successful fight with Vesna after all. Boring! Of course the fool would let her sweet talk her way out of her thieving ways, with her sickeningly sweet smile and words. Just like she did with everyone, obviously. (Everyone but her, that was. Was she really the only one who saw through it all? Honestly, she was halfway tempted to ask the spring goddess to erase her own face, just to see if she would actually do it. Because the sight of it, all pretty, innocent and unassuming in spite of all of everything she'd forced her to endure did offend her, thank you very much!) Ugh. And now she was spouting some shit about cuddling it? Pfft, what sicko wanted to think about cuddling anything or anyone in the Underworld of all places!? With any luck, the dragon all covered in sparks might just fry her there in the water. (...No one had wanted to cuddle Morana. Never. Not that she, uh, wanted cuddles. Are you kidding? No way! She was a bad bitch who did not need any cuddles or affection. Don't fucking look at her.) Once again, this situation was devolving into the kind of stupid that she wanted to avoid at all costs. Might as well keep rowing on without Vessy and leave her to give the dragon little forehead kisses, lullabies and whatever the fuck else people did to show affection.

"Nuh uh. Nope! This is all you, Vesna. I don't want any part of--" Morana snorted when the spring goddess posed her question. As if! The dragon was not a fucking child who needed a bedtime story-- and she had no idea where it got off pretending that it was. She wasn't inclined to play this silly game of charades. There was no time for games. She had, uh, important shit to get done! Like ferrying those souls to the next stage of the afterlife! Exactly. And then she'd kick back in her castle, where she could... um... make some badass ice spears! And then she'd practice her aim by throwing them at the walls. Yeah. It was always fun to redecorate and shit. Her sense of style had changed immensely since she'd last been home. Another ice chandelier sounded pretty sick.

Intent on going about her (obviously very important) business, the winter goddess reached for the oar at the same time that piece of shit dragon reached for her. What the fuck!? Morana made a disgruntled noise as her body was raised into the air like an abandoned, crappy little doll that some kid had found on the ground. (And she was neither a doll or a fair maiden!) Enlarging her fists into skeletal claws, she pounded ferociously at the hand that was holding her. They bounced off the dragon's scales with showers of blue sparks. Fuck. The creature's skin had a convenient little shield, magic mixed with darkness, protecting it. For now. Wait till the spell wore off, though! She'd make this traitor quake with fear!

"What do you think you're doing!?" Morana shouted, continuing to pound the dragon with her fists even though her efforts had already been proven futile. "Fair maiden my ass! Mark my words, I'm gonna turn you into an ice sculpture and then smash you into little pieces! Then I'm gonna throw the pieces off a cliff and--"

Obviously the dragon wasn't paying Morana's (fearsome) threats any mind as it cast another spell. She swallowed down the rest of her threat, sensing the tingling change in her vocal chords. No. No fucking way. This couldn't be real! She, the lady of winter and death, did not sing. Absolutely not! Ugh. How dare Vesna force her to suffer this embarrassment in her own home!? Was this her plan all along? It was so conniving, so awful, and that must've been her true intention here. Interesting. The spring goddess was craftier than she gave her credit for. (That explained those monster goo flowers, too. That must've also been some kind of trick!) She leveled a glare at the dragon, sharp enough to kill (if only), and pursed her lips as if to stubbornly say that she was not singing.

"Go on, Morana. My queen, you had such a lovely voice! I miss it. And it isn't so often that you have an audience to share it with." The dragon nodded meaningfully at Vesna. "This is a perfect opportunity, isn't it?"

Huh. Morana had forgotten those days long past, where she sang out of boredom. She wasn't sure if her voice was particularly pretty before (what was before, anyway?) but as a goddess, she appeared either sinfully beautiful or sinfully terrifying by default. Naturally, these effects extended to her voice as well. Once it had been a way to test what she was capable of and kill the boredom. Express herself... to herself. (And any bastard who might've eavesdropped, apparently. Fuck!) Over time, though, she'd stopped caring enough to use her voice at all. It was... weird to her that the dragon remembered. (Or cared at all. Why the fuck did anyone care about her fucking voice!? It was meant to strike fear into the hearts of men, not... not console or entertain. And especially not Vesna of all people!) Ugh, this was the worst! If she couldn't punch and couldn't threaten, then what else could she do? Snow whipped around them as her fury built, but that also did nothing to change the position she was in now.

Morana clenched her eyes shut and screamed, willing the sound to break the spell. Instead, the noise came out as a vocalized 'ahhhh'. It sounded so pure and angelic, so unlike the demonic screech she was going for, that she screamed again out of frustration. 'Ahhhh.' Her voice betrayed her once more.

"Ah, see! Just like that. You're putting so much emotion into it. I can feel your agony." The dragon sighed with admiration. (Or smug satisfaction. The creature must've been fucking with her at this point. She was going to freeze this fucking dragon, then smash it, stomp on the pieces, kick the pieces, throw the pieces off a cliff--) "Don't stop! Keep going."

Morana pressed her lips into a tight line and shook her head like a petulant child. Because there was nothing else she could do. To spare her pride, she'd been reduced to a toddler who refused to eat her vegetables by the airplane spoon method. The dragon huffed through its nostrils, sending a ripple effect across the surface of the river. Then it turned to Vesna.

"Vesna, why don't you show Morana how it's done?" The dragon craned its neck towards Vesna, whispering the rest as if it was a secret between the two of them. "I think she's feeling a bit shy... probably because she's so rusty."

 

[Syntra]

Oh, how marvelous! Vesna could scarcely suppress her desire to clap, and, after a moment of deliberation, did so anyway. Wasn't this brilliant, after all? The perfect bargain-- the dragon got his entertainment, they got to sing, and the whole stolen darkness affair was to be swept away from memory. (Forgotten. Forgotten, just like... no. No point in digging up the old bones, covered in dust and moss. The corpse from which they'd sprouted had already been devoured by worms, so what was there to discover? The ghosts of regret? Spring had no time for the dead, Vesna knew. No time for the dead, and no time for mourning. She didn't have it, either! Didn't, didn't, didn't, for not even a goddess's tears could bring that which had been lost. Perhaps they made things worse, even. ...opportunities were doves, carried by wings of ash. The second you spooked them? Up to the skies they went, up, up, up! But, come to think of it, Vesna hadn't lost this opportunity yet. The opportunity to sing. The opportunity to-- to-- ah, no, the rest of the sentence eluded her. Oh well. Smile, she reminded herself. Smile, and not even this fruit will be quite as bitter.)

"But, Morana," she tilted her head aside, confusion reflecting in her ruby eyes, "every story need its captured maiden. Who would it be, if not you? I don't know anyone fairer." Indeed, the eyes of the spring goddess had fallen upon many faces, sculpted by fellow deities and demons alike, but not a single one of them had been half as beautiful as her. (Perhaps it was a compensation? The proverbial coin under her tongue, given to the ferryman? Or maybe, maybe she'd always been like this, even before... before all of this. Before, huh. The word tasted of possibilities, and to Vesna, every single one of them felt like a noose wrapped around her neck. A noose made of daisies, but a noose all the same.) "If I were a dragon, I would absolutely wish to kidnap you to my secret lair. In fact, I think I would insist," the goddess nodded, deadly serious all of a sudden. After all, this was serious business! The dragon's forgiveness hinged on the quality of their performance, and so fleshing their characters' motivations out was essential. Getting into their heads, it was called. So, rawr? (Perhaps, for true authenticity, Vesna should communicate in growls exclusively! Then again, the actual dragon didn't seem to do that? How confusing.) "I would pull every dirty trick at my disposal, because dragons are wicked crearures and I'd simply have to have you. I would stop before nothing if I could-- ah!" she put her hand in front of her mouth, as if something horrible had just spilled from her lips. Her eyes widened in horror, too. Oh, how could she have been so thoughtless?! "I am sorry, Mr. Dragon. Did I offend you? I didn't mean to! I was merely... describing some tendencies associated with your kind. You are the first dragon I have met, if I am to be honest, and you haven't tried to kidnap us yet. Perhaps this reputation is undeserved, then?"

"Bwhahaha!" the dragon roared, folding his wings on his back. "No need to worry. I see I've chosen well, Vesna. Dragon blood must be coursing through your veins, I'd wager, since you understand us so well. I, too, would stop at nothing before getting my queen." The expression on his scaly face turned speculative, akin to a cat that was watching his master's unguarded salmon and wondering whether he could get away with stealing it or not. (Apparently, the answer was a resounding 'yes.') "So, you have to have her, huh? Is that what this is about? I never would have thought that you'd pull off such a stunt, Morana. How very daring! I can only imagine that the other gods are seething-- after all, you've taken their precious, precious prize. Their only ticket to spring, too."

Vesna might have had some thoughts regarding that, but let's just say that gathering them was difficult when... ah, when Morana was singing. The dragon had been right! So pure, so clean was the sound that it struck a chord in her own heart-- almost as if it knew the melody, and wanted to do something, anything, to join in. Almost as if... ('You've thrown that chance away already. They're like doves, remember? And you, traitor, have killed that one with a poisoned arrow. With dozens of them, each time spring was born anew.' ...stubbornly, Vesna shoved the voice away. Just, not now! She had to prove to Morana that there was nothing shameful about singing, because the world did not deserve to be robbed of such beauty.)

"I will try my best," the spring goddess agreed. How to go about it, though? Theory was one thing, and figuring out what those dirty tricks entailed was quite another. You're a big, mean dragon, and have to do big, mean things. That only makes sense. But, ugh, that was hard! She'd come to serve Morana, not to bring her more suffering. I have to harden my heart, she resolved. Greater good demands it. For the sake of the story, I have to... I have to succeed.

Clearing her throat, Vesna bent her fingers so that they resembled claws. (Hopefully? That was the idea, at the very least.) 'Youuu must gooo with meee,' she sang, her voice equally angelic. (A different flavor of it, though. It was a river racing down a mountain, and a lazy summer night at the same time. A pleasant memory, half-faded.) 'I demaaand it, please.' Oh no! Did she need a rhyme somewhere in there? The spring goddess realized too late, and now her rhyme patterns were going to be all messed up. Quick, what rhymed with 'please?' 'I will give you breeeze,' Vesna brought the melody to a dramatic crescendo, and the water rippled in anticipation around her ankles. Did it mean she needed more than that? 'Maybe alsooo a kiss... and deeecorate your room.' Was that too much? In her opinion, the descent into villainy might have been a little too convincing! Uncertainly, her eyes darted between the dragon and Morana.

 

[ellarose]

Kidnap me to her secret lair? Morana rolled her eyes dramatically. What was this farce? This absolute travesty of a joke? Give me a break. The spring goddess must have thought the juxtaposition between the 'fair maiden' she was referring to and the queen of the underworld was real freaking hilarious-- because no one (and let her repeat: no one) wanted Morana. Never ever. Not fucking once! Not until they needed her for something, that was. (...Unless they needed her or wanted to get rid of her, as was the case on that very evening. They drowned her and used the occasion as an excuse to celebrate.) Otherwise? She was left completely to her own devices, to sulk underground until they called upon her again to do her job. Unwanted, unloved, unappreciated... those were words that could be better used to describe her than whatever Vesna was spouting with the flow of a river. All flattery on the surface, flowery just like her precious springs, but Morana knew better. Underneath they were all insults dressed up in a cheap disguise, veiled in the sickeningly sweet sound of her voice. Maybe she didn't manage to offend the dragon she was mimicking, but let it be known that she had offended the winter goddess! (She didn't know anyone fairer? Pffft, yeah right! Morana knew she was fine, sure, but that didn't mean the rest of the world appreciated her reflection with the same eyes. The only love she had ever known was whatever semblance of self-love she could scrape up from the cold fucking ground.)

Morana rolled her eyes yet again when the dragon began, predictably, talking about just how desirable Vesna was. Yup, uh huh. Here they fucking go. She wasn't going to waste her breath explaining her intentions to a nosey dragon. Vesna had essentially begged to come with her, the way she'd been pleading to be 'of use' to her. But predictably, the winter goddess was painted as the villain in this scenario. No one had sight near sharp enough to see through her to her true intentions... and that was a good thing at the end of the day. That meant that when those scorned gods appeared to collect their ticket to spring, they were going to pin the blame on her. They'd incinerate her, end her, just like she wanted. The sweet release of death... it's coming for me, isn't it? Yes, good. Let them come, then! Bring it on! Then she'd finally know peace. She wouldn't have to suffer endlessly, or participate in anything remotely... like this ever again. Everything about this was a mistake.

...It was undeniably new, though. Stimulating in a way that Morana hadn't experienced in years, that caused a part of her buried within to glimpse it with the smallest pinch of interest. (No, no way was she interested! Obviously she was too badass and disaffected to care about silly make believe games. And sing alongs. And...) Ugh. What did any of it fucking matter!?

Make that three times that Morana has rolled her eyes now in the last couple of minutes. (They were going to fall right out of her skull at this rate.) Seriously!? Was bending her fingers the best she could do? That was a fucking coward's way. A real dragon would grow real, authentic claws to make the performance all the more believable! (Like hers, which were indeed ferocious as she continued to pound them relentlessly against the dragon who held onto her.) And what the fuck kind of dragon said please when they were demanding something? ...Never mind that her voice was, from a strictly artistic standpoint, aesthetically pleasant to listen to. Besides, what kind of dragon promised shit like breezes, room decor and... k-kisses!? And she was expected to answer that somehow?

(The concept of looking at Vesna's lips, touching Vesna's lips... it made Morana's heart race like it hadn't in years. Because it was so disgusting, obviously! Gross! Like she wanted to be anywhere near the spring goddess's lips, all pink and soft and... bleh! Her cheeks are only turning red because she's fucking enraged about this! How dare she sneak that visual into her mind!?)

"Yeah? Well you're the weakest dragon I've ever seen!" Morana's comeback flowed out in a melody. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the dragon glaring at her, probably for insulting poor Vessy... and she glared right back. How dare it make her sing every line!? "I don't care if that's mean 'cause I'm the fucking queen." Um, what? Why was she rhyming? It was almost as if she was playing along... but don't be mistaken! She wasn't. Not even slightly. This was all part of her genius plan. All she wanted was to get this over with faster. "Come any closer and I will bite." She bared her teeth for dramatic effect, as if to show off the fact that she'd make a much, much better dragon in this scenario. "I'm fiercer than you, silly dragon, I'll give you a fight!"

The dragon huffed and, as if giving up, held Morana by her ankle so she was hanging upside down now. The winter goddess let out another scream (which sounded like another vocalized 'ahhhh') and she waved her fists around to try and connect them with the monster's dumb, sparky body. (Unfortunately, none of these hits connected.) The dragon batted its eyes as if it was an innocent maiden upon noticing her death glare. "What? I thought it'd help you get into character." It tsked at her. "You're supposed to be a damsel in distress, Morana!"

 

[Syntra]

The weakest dragon she had ever seen? That, Vesna thought, was rather rude. How many dragons had Morana even met, anyway? Because, if her sample consisted of her and Mr. Dragon only, then losing to him wasn't too bad. The colossus had had many, many years of experience being a dragon, and the goddess wouldn't dare to compete with his... uh, sense of dragonness? Essence of ferocity? Goodness gracious, she really did need a goddess-to-dragon dictionary! Besides, strength didn't only reside in claws and teeth-- it resided in your ability to get back to your feet, no matter how many times you'd been kicked down. In the will of the seeds to spring forth, forth, forth, and push their way through the frozen soil. In the compulsion to live, in other words. And, yes, Vesna might not have known the first thing about being a dragon, but--

('That has never stopped you.')

('Always, you did what they wanted. Would you have snapped your own neck, had they asked you? Or was she not worth resistance?')

--but, she pushed those thoughts away, clinging to the present with all the desperation of a spider whose web was about to be smashed by a thunderstorm. But, but, but! Ehm, where was she? Right! The goddess's inner eye may not have glimpsed the true nature of dragons yet, but she did have the resolve. The resolve to prove that her new friend's choice was a worthy one, and that she could, indeed, wear the mantle of the scaled giants with pride! ...Vesna hoped so, at least. With all her heart. Could she please, please be a dragon? (You see, that would mean that she didn't have to be herself. The blood pouring down her hands? Nothing but a fleeting fata morgana, like a half-burned canvas. The paint would have melted in the heat, and... and that seemed appealing, for reasons she didn't want to know. Didn't, and couldn't. What sense did it make, though? She was Vesna, the bringer and spring, and there was nobody else she'd rather be. Nobody! Flowers bloomed in her footprints, and she was so happy, happy, happy, to be granted... something... Something nice, most likely? Memory failed her, just like so many times before.)

"Who even decides a dragon's worth?" Vesna sang, sounding only a little annoyed. Of course, she'd never be truly angry with the winter queen, but could she not play along? The crime of stealing the darkness was a great one, and to cleanse herself of the sin, they needed to tell the story. Stories followed certain conventions, too. Just, who had ever heard of the virtuous maiden criticizing her kidnapper? That, the goddess was sure, wouldn't make it easy for a young dragon to develop a healthy sense of self. Not in this cruel world, where your failures defined who you were! Truly, Vesna's heart ached for the poor souls whose formative experiences had been tainted by these ridiculously high expectations. "Such a way of thinking brings me no mirth! It is kinder to praise, and, ah... I like your face?" A perfect rhyme, and it also happened to be true. No reason not to use it, then, was there? (Pink bloomed in her cheeks at that, but the goddess paid it no mind. Paying attention, she had learned, only ever resulted in more fresh scars. Wasn't it better, kinder, even, to look away?)

('Coward. Fool. Traitor.')

('Look. Look now.')

('Don't! Not like you will change anything, anyway.')

Vesna shook her head, as if hoping that the movement alone could shake those thoughts away. It never did, but what else was there for her to do? And the cycle... the cycle did bring her some comfort, even if it revolved around. Something about the predictability, most likely. (Like re-reading a book that you could recite from memory, really. A beloved story, spun from hope and dreams. Why couldn't hers be like that, too? Hers, and Morana's as well? ...something told her that the answer was buried beneath all the cycles, too. The worms were gnawing their way through the corpse, munching, munching, munching, and, strangely enough? That brought it to life. At least in some sense of that word.)

A... a fight, though? A fight-fight? Because Vesna didn't want to fight! A fight could lead to Morana getting hurt, and that was the last thing she wanted to do, and, and, and!!! (A series of images flashed before her eyes, sharp like ice. Morana's face contorted with pain, gasping for air; the waters of the lake rolling over her hungrily; the sound of her name, called out into the silence of the night. The goblet, lying abandoned on the ground. The liquid inside? It had been red, red, red, red like blood, and... ah. What was the dragon doing?!)

Rare disapproval crossed Vesna's gentle features. What was the dragon thinking, hm? The Underworld's customs may have been a mystery to her, but hanging upside down couldn't have been too pleasant in any of the countless dimensions this universe offered. That was, after all, why heads were designed to go on top of the body."Let her go!" she sang. "Or at least ask first, otherwise her body might burst. Please?'

"Oh, come on, Vesna," the dragon rolled his eyes, shaking Morana around carelessly. "Don't be such a spoilsport! Everyone here will agree that our ice queen here deserves to suffer a little. It builds character, and gods know that she has very little of that." And, astonishingly enough? Most of the souls nodded in agreement! Some even pulled out little transparents with inscriptions like '0/10' or 'we didn't vote for this queen.' Well... obviously? Since queens weren't elected in the first place. Regardless, Vesna refused to believe that anyone, let alone Morana, deserved such a fate! What a mean, mean dragon. Maybe he deserved to have his darkness stolen, if all he was going to do with it was to hang maidens as if... as if they were cloves of garlic.

Holding on that thought, Vesna tapped the ground. Deep, deep within, thorny vines were sleeping, and, at her behest? They woke up, rushing forward to stab the dragon right in the eye.

"Auugh!" the beast cried out in agony, letting go of Morana in the process. (The vines caught her, but, strangely enough, didn't prick her skin-- the embrace was gentle, like that of a mother.)

"Thank you, thank you!" Vesna sang, blessedly oblivious to the nature of the interaction that had just transpired. Her, hurting anyone? Pfft, what a load of nonsense. (Aside from, you know...)"See? Everything works better with a plea, or three!"

Of course, the issue with waking things up was that you often had no control over what, exactly, responded. So, when the ground continued shaking? Vesna couldn't say she was surprised. Neither was she too shocked when small skeletal squirrels poured out, for some reason rushing the dragon.

"No, not the squirrels!" the creature screamed in what seemed to be genuine terror. "Dammit, I... Morana, help! Please!"

 

[ellarose]

Morana clenched her eyes shut against the vertigo of being shaken about like a child's mishandled plaything. This wasn't how any respectable goddess was meant to be treated. It was how she was treated, though, therefore the audacity of the dragon and all of those simpleminded souls didn't particularly surprise her. She was the villain, the common enemy, and therefore everyone's favorite punching bag. (Did they even realize what would become of them if she didn't go to the effort of ferrying them to the afterlife year after year? No. They didn't recognize her efforts or the service she did them by offering them that release. It was thankless work. The kind that everybody took for granted and wrote off as 'scary'.) Suffering builds character. Pfft, sure! Laughable, really, that she suffered every waking moment since her conception. Those bastards wouldn't know character if it bit them on the fucking nose! That she of all people should be told that she deserves to suffer even more. (What more do they want from me?) They all claimed that she was heartless without looking in the damned mirror, without seeing that it was them who lacked hearts for treating her like a raging dumpster fire no matter what she said or did. (Of course she had character. Plenty of it! If she didn't she wouldn't have been able to laugh in the faces of all the hypocrites who treated her like trash the way she did.)

Never mind that Vesna of all people spoke up as if she was attempting to come to her rescue through all of this. Geez. Wasn't she flipping the very script she insisted Morana follow along with by doing that? The dragon wasn't supposed to save the maiden from another dragon, after all. (No, it didn't fucking mean anything. Just like it hadn't meant anything when the spring goddess said she 'liked her face'. That was Vessy's whole shtick... acting like the wide-eyed, innocent heroine who only ever said the purest, most selfless lines in the book. 'Aw, look at Vesna.' People would coo, 'That witch doesn't deserve her kindness, but she's bestowing it upon her anyway!') Gag! Reprimanding words and fake claws wouldn't do shit against a real dragon. Vesna was going to try to save her (try without really trying, because obviously it was all an act to save face) and sigh ever so sadly when her attempts to talk things out didn't do shit. The dragon might take pity on Vesna and set Morana down then and only then. (In the aftermath, they would all revere Vesna as a heroine while informing Morana that she ought to kiss the ground she walks on to show thanks.) And yes, maybe these made up scenarios were starting to get a little out of hand (although they were all rooted in a reality she knew all too well) because before Morana knew it?

'Auugh!' The dragon exclaimed. (What the fuck?) Morana felt herself slip from his claw and her eyes snapped open just in time to see the creature get pierced right in the eye. Haha, sucker! Served him right for fucking with her! But, wait... that meant...

"Oof!" Morana, fully expecting to land in the river and dreading it, gazed down with short-lived awe when that didn't happen? Instead the very same vines that attacked the dragon also caught her in something of a safety net. In a world where she wasn't used to anyone having her back... this was strange to say the least. So strange that it stunned her into absolute silence. (Vines. Only Vesna could have done that. Which meant that Vesna attacked a dragon on her behalf. There was some part of her that couldn't process that-- didn't want to process it-- and so she quickly discarded it as a fluke. This was some kind of bet the other gods and goddesses had going on, wasn't it? Some cruel fucking trick designed to 'melt the ice queen' or some shit. Joke was on them, 'cause she wasn't fucking buying it! ...Never mind the fact that none of them wanted or expected their precious Vesna to end up in the Underworld to begin with. Then again, there was that weirdness with the spring goddess claiming to want to serve her. It had to be part of a larger scheme somehow.) "I am so fucking over this." (And yes, she was still forced to sing these words.) Frustrated with her role as the damsel, Morana picked her way through the vines with her claws and slipped into the river with a splash.

Water all around her. Darkness all around her. Fuck. Morana quickly swam towards the boat of souls before she could get caught up in it, frightening the souls with her presence as she threw herself over the side and back into her proper seat. (Spineless cowards. They better be afraid after rating her a zero out of ten.) Everyone's tones changed pretty fucking quickly when she was in the vicinity, or if they needed something from her. Very much like the dragon when the avalanche of skeletal squirrels came running at him.

"Oh? I don't know." Morana tilted her head to the side, tracing one of her long claws contemplatively over her cheek as she took her sweet, sweet time considering it. (Thank fuck her voice was freed from that ridiculous singing spell. Maybe because the dragon was preoccupied with the squirrels?) "They seem perfectly harmless to me."

"I'm sorry Morana-- your excellency-- my beloved queen! Please!" The dragon panicked as the squirrels began climbing over his limbs, gnawing away with their skeletal jaws at his scaly flesh. (He's not sorry.) Morana frowned, watching curiously as more of the squirrels piled on top of the dragon. (They're never sorry.) It served him right. (They're only ever sorry when they want something.) It served him right. "Morana!"

"Sure thing, sparky. Just a sec." Morana said, her frown twisting into an impish smirk. Raising her arms, she sent a large wave crashing over the dragon and squirrels... which she then promptly froze in place. Heh. It made a fine piece of artwork if you asked her! An ice sculpture of a bastard dragon in a moment of agony, recognizing what a grave mistake it was to bad-mouth his queen. The edges of the frozen dragon and squirrels twinkled like fine crystals and a silence settled over the Underworld where there was once noise and chaos. She dropped her arms so heavily they dangled at her sides before she dropped herself back down in her seat. See what happens? She cast a glare around the ship, watching as the souls scattered to the other end of the boat to steer clear of her wrath.

Morana examined her claws before shrinking them back down to their normal size. She appreciated that brief moment of quiet for what it was.

"...Get in the fucking boat, Vesna. It's been a long night." Morana directed the spring goddess to approach with the flippant wave of her hand. "I just want to go home."

 

[Syntra]

Awww! Poor, poor dragon. Now, don't get her wrong-- Vesna very much didn't approve of the stunt he'd tried to pull, nor did she enjoy the way he had disrupted their performance. The trauma of losing his darkness must have been horrible, but how did that justify him taking it out on others? On Morana, of all people? Still, there was a thin line between punishment and cruelty, and... and Vesna didn't think anyone should be walking it. Not really. ('It's because you know how treacherous it is. You've stumbled into it, haven't you? You dumb, dumb child. Always, always it ends in blood! Or do you think it nobler, kinder, just because you haven't shed it?' ...no, Vesna didn't think that. She didn't think anything at all, mostly because her head was empty, empty, empty, like an egg whose insides had eaten by a parasite before it even had the chance to hatch. Something told her she was yet to hatch, too. A goddess, or a puppet? So thin the difference was, you could use it as a blade of a knife! ...and maybe, maybe Vesna was hoping to do exactly that. What was she going to cut, though? The thread that bound her to her own fate, or something else?)

"Morana," she glanced at the winter queen, her lips pursed. "won't you help him? He's... he's your subject." Indeed, he was, but perhaps that wasn't the main reason she hoped that forgiveness could bloom in Morana's heart. Perhaps she was asking for someone else-- someone too cowardly to speak up, someone too cowardly to stop. Someone who had been following the same script for all her life, hoping against hope that the well-trodden path would somehow lead her somewhere different. It wasn't too foolish, was it? Because, see, even if you planted the same seeds over and over, you wouldn't get the exact same plants. Each was unique, much like snowflakes were. And, when Morana did help? Vesna clapped her hands excitedly, oh so happy that the dragon didn't suffer anymore. "That seems much more comfortable," she observed the thing from all the angles, marveling at the wonder of it. (He didn't scream. Didn't scream, and no screams meant no pain. No agony. Whenever her hands wrapped around Morana's throat, she also didn't scream, and that... that meant that it couldn't have been so horrible. Right? It couldn't hurt, because she was Vesna and her job was to bring joy.)

The coveted darkness began to stream down her face, drip, drip, drip, and the spring goddess had to agree with her counterpart that it was time to move on. They had places to be, after all-- places to be, things to do, words to say. (Forgiveness wasn't bought with inaction, Vesna knew. An eye for an eye, it was said! Always something for something, never something for... well, nothing. The oldest of the truths of this universe, hidden right within its essence. What would Morana demand of her? What price would she be expected to pay? The questions swirled around in her head, the same way salmon swam against the stream, and, perhaps for the first time since she had become a goddess remembered, Vesna felt at peace. The decision had been made, had it not? The power had left her hands. The rules of this game depended on Morana now, which... was freeing, in all honesty.)

('A sheep. You've always been a sheep, you stupid, stupid girl. What, does thinking for yourself hurt you that much?')

('Follow. Just follow, and nothing will ever be your fault. Tempting, isn't it?')

('No. Don't drink from that cup.')

('What other cup is there, though?')

None of that mattered, though, when Morana called out to her... and when she asked her to follow, not in the water, but on the ship. And, no, she didn't have to say that twice. Smiling from ear to ear, the spring goddess commanded the vines to carry her to the ship-- after all, she wouldn't want to accidentally steal more of Sparky's darkness. That would have been so very rude! Gently, as if they were carrying their greatest treasure, the vines put her on the deck, and Vesna gave the souls standing around one of her brightest smiles.

"Eek!" Except, they seemed to shun her? Whenever she so much as tried to look at one of them, they only showed her their back, as if... as if her eyes could turn them into stone. Peculiar. Peculiar, and perhaps it also would have been sad had it not been for the fact that Vesna didn't get sad. There was no reason to, seeing as everything in her life was perfect.

"Why do they dislike me so?" the spring goddess asked, pouting ever-so-slightly. "...Is it the same for you? Outside of the Underworld, I mean. Perun and the others," the king of the gods along his entourage, in other words, "say that you're a wicked witch. That, before you, winter didn't exist and that you brought it into this world because you felt like it. Because, to you, dying screams are the sweetest music. It's not so, though, is it? I... I don't know why I think so," Vesna turned her gaze away, staring into the endless darkness before her instead. (In some ways, endless darkness had devoured her past as well. It was both before her and behind her, and she was... kind of standing in the middle of it.) "Perun has never lied to me, and yet..."

 

[ellarose]

"They're dead. Probably don't feel the need to kiss your ass now that you've got nothing more to offer them." Morana supplied with a languid shrug. (She shoved oars at two of the souls and motioned for them to do the rowing. They grunted with annoyance but complied with her orders nonetheless.) Anyway, she felt she was being generous with this answer given that there was a long, nasty list of insults she could have dished out if she were feeling even nearly dedicated enough. Fortunately for Vesna she was exhausted. A night of being hunted down by the spring goddess's own followers and drowning tended to have that snazzy side effect. She kicked her legs up to lounge and stared blankly at the frozen tunnel ceiling as it passed them by. (The people only ever claimed to care about them if they wanted something from them. That was what it meant to be a goddess. No one really gave a shit about who they were when it came down to it. It was all about what they symbolized. And while she hated Vesna's guts, she could acknowledge that people most likely used her in the same exact way. That was an intrinsic part of the gig. It almost surprised her that the spring goddess couldn't see it for herself after all of this time... but then again, Vesna also didn't have to suffer the cruel fate of drowning every year. In her version of reality, perhaps she could remain blissfully ignorant. Believing she was loved by all. Didn't sound like a particularly terrible existence. Feh.)

Of course, then Vesna felt the need to make this about Morana and her standing aboveground. (Wicked witch. Dying screams are the sweetest music? Geez. Those fools make her out to sound so over the top and theatrical, don't they? Her face almost burned with secondhand embarrassment for Perun and his lackeys, coming up with poetic labels and phrases like that to paint their epic fucking narrative. The fierceness of the villain clearly made the heroes look that much cooler, so naturally they had to crank their assessments of her character up to a fucking thousand.) When Vesna questioned that (obviously fake) narrative with such a grave expression on her face, Morana couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Morana was so over trying to convince people who she 'really' was. (She'd probably forgotten that somewhere along the way, anyway. Who the fuck was she? Don't even try asking her!) People were going to label her with their own definitions no matter what she said or did.

"Make no mistake. I'm the wickedest witch around, sugarplum." Morana couldn't take herself too seriously. She snorted and then burst into a fit of cackles. How did Perun say any of that shit with a straight face? (Those silly little accusations couldn't hurt her if she laughed them off. If she leaned into them.) She stretched out her skeletal claws, casually showing off just how long and threatening they could get, nearly grazing the tunnel ceiling above their heads. "I only exist to ruin everyone's fucking day and that gives me such a thrill. There's nothing like it."

What was the world 'before', anyway? Morana couldn't say whether she was responsible for the creation of winter or not. If she started it because she felt like it, though? If she felt like it, it was because the cold, heartless environment she was trapped in made her feel like it. From that point forward there were guidelines set for her to follow. They wanted the cycle to continue as it had... if her winters had truly been so 'evil', they possessed the power to strip that from her. They needed her. They just didn't want to admit it.

Morana shortened her claws and swung herself forward so that she was sitting upright, leaning casually closer to close the distance between herself and Vesna.

"Aw, of course Perun's not a liar! You can trust him." Morana smiled dangerously, baring her sharp teeth in a way specifically designed to make her doubt everything she'd ever been told. (...Like this their faces were so close. Agh. Vesna looked so familiar for someone she was kept apart from. For someone whose blank expression had only seen through rippling waters as she drowned.) The winter goddess's smile flattened into something dead and unfeeling before she could read too much into it. She curiously stretched one of her sharpened claws out towards Vesna's neck, entertaining the concept of wringing it. Of tearing her to little shreds. (No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on the concept of grabbing her, though, her flesh stung the closer she came to grazing Vesna's flesh. Ouch! The pain quickly built into something unbearable and she had to wrench herself away before she could close the distance between them entirely. Feverish sweat beaded at her brow. Ugh.)

The pain only added to Morana's exhaustion. (...Even if she wanted to act on her revenge fantasies, she wasn't going to derive any pleasure with this burning sensation searing her flesh. Winter and spring. They weren't meant to touch.) Almost like a wounded animal, she invited herself to a seat at the other end of the boat to put distance between them again.

"You should've trusted him, anyway. I'd kill to see the look on his face when he learns of this." If anything, Morana could hope that Perun felt insulted when (if) he realized what had actually fucking happened. (Even if he did learn the truth, though, he wasn't going to let that show. He'd claim that she kidnapped Vesna and that Vesna had no say in what happened.) "You've heard that I'm a wicked witch. Why ask to serve me, then? Don't tell me... do you want to try your hand at being wicked, Vesna?"

 

[Syntra]

…huh. Did others only love her because she had something to offer? Was that love so fragile that it shattered the moment that ceased to be true? Vesna hadn’t really thought about this, mostly because… well, mostly because she didn’t think a lot in general. (Thoughts were poison, others had taught her. The more you thought, the unhappier you were, and thus it was optimal to not think at all. After all, was it not enough to follow one’s instincts? It worked for ants while they built their mazes of twigs; it worked for seeds when they sprang to life; it worked for birds, as they sang their love songs. Vesna didn’t necessarily think she was better than them. Why, then, try to rise above that?)

(‘Oh, how right you are. You really, truly, aren’t better than the worms burrowing their way through the soil. In fact, I’d say that you are worse. At least worms don’t have eyes, you know? You’ve been blessed with sight, and yet, yet you refuse to see the truth.’)

(‘The truth is an illusion.’)

(‘It is not, no more than the earth beneath your feet is.’)

(‘But how do you know that the earth isn’t an illusion, too? You perceive it with the same senses you perceive everything else. Your eyes cannot unlock the true nature of things, because nothing can. It is better to sleep. To sleep and not dream.’)

Sighing internally, the goddess shook her head. Lately, the voices in her head had been so very loud-- louder than the streams of water rushing across mountains, slowly grinding them to dust. They were so combative, too! Vesna wished she knew which one to follow, which one to obey, but everything, everything was shrouded in mist. (Why couldn’t she make all of them happy? Why, why, why? Never had she wanted anything but that, but it felt like that very goal was getting further and further away from her. ‘That’s what happens when your hands are slick with blood, sweetie. It’s hard to hold onto anything, huh? Including yourself.’) “I never thought that that’s why they love me,” she admitted, her gaze downcast. “I do love many people without expecting anything from it. In fact, I… I expect nothing at all. They do bring me sacrifices,” that Vesna didn’t want, by the way, “but I still would have adored them even if they forgot my very name.” (From time to time, the goddess thought that that would have been for the best. Just like there was no need for her to have a mind, there was no need for her to have a name. You see, without it, she could have… could have… What, actually? Existed? Existed, unburdened by the terrible weight dragging her down, down, down, deeper than the Underworld itself was? Maybe, maybe not. As always, the answers remained locked away.) “What even happens to them once they reach their destination?” the goddess asked, for once succumbing to her curiosity. “Is anyone waiting for them, or are they just… discarded?” (Discarded, just like Morana had been. Still, still she could see her broken body, the vacant stare of her dead eyes, the way her lips had frozen in a silent please, and water, water, water, all around her--)

Morana continued to speak, and, despite the harshness of her words? Vesna was surprised to find out that the tension in her shoulders was melting away, like the last snows in the beginning of spring. All that venom notwithstanding, conversation was a chance, wasn’t it? The opposite of disregard, cold and harsh and indifferent. (Oddly enough, it felt… well, familiar. Akin to re-discovering a book that you’d really loved, before you threw it away because it was meant for children. Vesna didn’t know what to think about it, but, again, that wasn’t new. Everything had been easier with that chalice, where oblivion waited right at the bottom.) “Has anyone ever told you you have a nightingale’s voice?” she fluttered her eyelashes, clearly the very embodiment of innocence. “You don’t even need to be singing for it to be obvious. I think that, if you didn’t use it for threats so much, more people would be able to see it.” ...oh. Had she overstepped? Morana didn't seem too interested in what she had to say about her, after all, and maybe this would only result in... in whatever things the wickedest witches did in retaliation, Vesna supposed. Gasp!

"Well... I hope that you're having fun ruining others' days, then?" the goddess raised her eyebrow. "I mean, I won't judge your hobbies. That wouldn't be very nice of me. What's your favorite way of, ah, spreading villainy?" Given all the suffering the winter queen had gone through, Vesna thought that she did deserve to pass some of it on. The economics of agony did sort of work like that-- in order to get rid of it, you had to give it to someone else. (Maybe, maybe she could absorb it? As a way of paying her debts? A false lead, perhaps, but the only one she had, glowing in the darkness like the stars on the night sky. I will follow it for now, and see what happens.)

"I... yes. Perun wouldn't lie to me," Vesna nodded vehemently. The honorable lord of storms would never-- he of all gods knew what the weight words carried, and the impact of a phrase carelessly dropped. Yet, despite that? "Still, I don't think you're bad to the bone. Or rather, maybe some ways of being bad aren't actually that bad? What I want to say is, nothing is ever black or white. Even rot, reviled as it is, has a place in the living realm. Often, it reveals that which is weak." But, regardless, wasn't being bad a big responsibility? Already, Vesna's shoulders were cracking under everything she had to carry, and adding even a feather seemed like too much. Like getting dangerously close to her limits, that was.

"I... don't know," she admitted. "Sometimes, I think I've been wicked all this time. Do you have any tips for, uh, maximum wickedness?" ...was Vesna actually entertaining this? Maybe, for reasons that didn't fully make sense even to her.

 

[ellarose]

"...Discarded?" Morana echoed as if she'd been slapped. (It jostled her out of her thoughts-- or rather her fuming silently to herself as Vesna went on and on about how much love she held in her heart for her people and whatever. Blah, blah, blah. Wasn't she so nice and perfect!? So selfless. It made her sick. Of course she never considered that their love might have come solely from what she could provide when they were willing to drench their hands in blood for her. Hunt Morana down as if for sport for her.) The souls on the boat seemed to stir and fret over her reaction-- some of them looked tempted to jump ship. She took a deep, composing breath and braced her hands on her knees. It there was anything she felt inclined to defend, it was this. (Don't put me on the same level as you. It's not the same. It's not, it's not, it's not!) "That's not what it is. In the afterlife they experience release. Release from their suffering and strife. They're finally able to rest."

Morana wanted it more than anything. She envied the souls she ferried down the river. The souls who didn't have the chains of immortality infinitely rattling behind them.

If not for the agonizing threshold she needed to pass over to reach out and touch her, Morana would have pushed Vesna off the damned boat. The satisfying 'sploosh' of the spring goddess landing in the water would have sounded more like a nightingale than her voice did! She imagined herself doing just that a few times on loop and while that did help to sate her rage a little, it also accompanied a sinking disappointment when she was forced to recognize the reality that that could not come to pass. Not now. It'd backfire in the worst possible way and it wasn't worth the pain. In the present moment the other goddess was still sitting there across from her, fluttering her eyelashes as if she was making an innocent observation and not insulting Morana's entire reputation-- which rested upon a thorny, dangerous throne of ice and bones! (Never mind the fact that none of those three things were related. It made sense in her head and a throne could be more than just one thing!) Maybe she didn't particularly enjoy the many, many downsides that came with possessing a reputation like this... but it was the one that she got stuck with. One of the very few perks was getting the satisfaction of seeing those who badmouthed her quake with fear when they finally confronted her face-to-face. (Not Vesna, though. Not when she stared blankly as she drowned her, nor as she spoke to her on this boat. As if everything that made Morana menacing (and angry, angry, angry) was meaningless and insignificant to her, melting away like snow in spring. As if she wanted to skip to the part where they were friends without putting in any actual work. Maybe this was a part of some kind of bet to show that sweet, precious Vesna was capable of befriending anyone with her charms? Well... not Morana! It wasn't going to fucking work.)

"I don't exist to please anyone." Morana scoffed, her lower lip sticking out a bit too far against her will. Almost to the point that it looked like she was pouting. (But she wasn't pouting! The wickedest witch to ever witch did not pout.) Besides, it wasn't as if she could please anyone even if she tried. She had tried and failed over and over and over. "My voice strikes fear into all of their hearts and I like it that way! So I'll speak as many threats as I want. If you think you can reform me with your empty flattery you've got another thing coming."

Morana arched a brow as Vesna continued to prattle on with more and more nonsense. What? She had to be making it all up, right? Just fucking with her to see how she would react? Or was it something more sinister, perhaps?

"...Pfft. There's no way to 'spread villainy' down here. My fun dies with me when you kill me every year." Morana snapped back, almost like a wounded hound. (Ugh, this was nauseating! Why was Vesna acting like she was here to be nice as if drowning someone repeatedly wasn't the very opposite of 'nice'? She was supposed to look down on her with disdain, give her reasons to hate her even worse. Fuel a legendary rivalry. Pick a fight! Something.) Either way, she wasn't about to go telling Vesna of all people her hopes (crushed) dreams (shattered)-- let alone her hobbies. Those belonged to her and the spring goddess wasn't allowed to know her sacred secrets! There were some things that she couldn't have, okay? And especially not the very few things in this world that actually belonged to Morana. For all she knew Vesna was gathering intel to bring back to Perun, specifically designed to ruin her fun. Her lower lip jutted out a little more as she peered over the side of the boat, looking into the water as it passed by. She growled at the sight of her own miserable reflection and turned away again. Anyway, there were no nerds around to prank in the Underworld. (Unless they counted sparky.) That was about the extent of it. The Underworld was lifeless and therefore dull. Boring.

"You... don't know." Morana repeated flatly, rolling her eyes. What was the point of any of this, then!? "Don't tell me you've abandoned your people and deprived them of their precious spring just to learn all of my secrets?" She batted her eyes, as if she were a hot commodity. She wasn't. (And let it be known that she would reveal none of her secrets! They had to be earned, thank you very much!) "To do something like that you really must be wicked. I don't think there's a whole lot you can learn when you're clearly an expert, Vesna." She cackled and held her (unsharpened) nails out like claws, mocking the way that the spring goddess had (badly) acted out the scene earlier. "Like that performance back there? You got sparky's mannerisms down perfectly!"

"...We've still got some time to kill before we get anywhere." Morana tilted her head towards the front of the boat. Time didn't necessarily 'exist' in the Underworld-- which meant it felt like an eternity to travel from one place to the next. "What do you do for fun?" (Um. She wasn't particularly interested or anything. She was just bored!) Then she raised a hand, realizing what a mistake this could turn into. "And don't you dare say singing. Don't sing. I don't want to hear it."

 

[Syntra]

Truth be told, people didn't really talk to Vesna. They worshipped her, yes, and fell to their knees whenever the spring goddess graced them with her presence, but their words were rarely more than... well, cotton. Something soft to be stuffed in all the edgy corners, to make sure that nobody would get hurt. Of course, that was fine! Vesna didn't need to be acknowledged, in the same way the sun didn't require praise to shine. (...didn't, didn't, didn't. According to lord Veles, at least, and why would he lie to her? 'Vesna, my sweet, you shall do what must be done. The burden you bear is heavy, but nobody else can do it for you. Isn't it wiser to find joy in it, then?' Yes, it was. It really, really was, and the spring goddess was much too wise to tear her script into shreds. Without it, what would the world devolve into? A song without an end, a story without a climax, a poem without a meaning. Life unrealized, killed long before it could even hatch from its egg. And yet, yet! When Morana looked at her, making it obvious that she was really seeing her... her, and not the symbol of spring... it felt nice. Fresh, akin to the soft summer rain.)

('Not the symbol of spring? But that is all you are, child. Aren't you?')

Was she? Was she? Vesna wanted to say yes, because it was true-- it was true because nothing else could be, in a sense. 2 + 2 always equaled 4, whether you liked it or not. And she did, by the way! She did, because she was the bringer of joy and there was nothing, nothing better in the entire universe. No greater happiness, no greater responsibility.

('That's right. Just retreat into your little shell and wrap into yourself. Not like you can do anything better.')

"Ah. Is... is that so?" the goddess asked, blinking all the distractions away. "How nice. Sometimes, I wish I had a moment of peace for myself as well. I don't really get a lot of it, you know? Making spring happen is a lot of work, especially since you insist on freezing the earth to the last handful of dust. I must sing to it, otherwise it just will not wake up. In a way, you could say it's the opposite of a lullaby?" Vesna shrugged, peering into the darkness surrounding them. (From within, she could sense creatures watching them with a thousand eyes, lonely and hungry, hungry, hungry, like soil parched. In a way, she understood them. In a way, she hated them.)

"Of course you don't," Vesna nodded. "Nobody exists to please others. Nobody but me, I suppose. Did you know?" the goddess turned back to her companion, her ruby-colored eyes all wide and innocent as the blood continued to drip down her hands, in this gentle rhythm. (Gentle, and yet also the cruelest of them all. It was the anticipation of something horrible locked in the soft sound of footsteps, or in the unexpected shadow falling over your shoulder.) "It is what I have to do. My mission. Nobody else can make people happy, and so the task falls to me. Veles says it's a terribly difficult job," and, sometimes, she could see his point, "but I don't think so. Do you find what you have to do difficult, Morana?"

Aww! Vesna had really wanted to learn some tips from the resident expert herself, but it seemed that she hadn't quite earned that right yet. "Does that mean I am unworthy?" she asked, pointedly ignoring... well, all the things she wanted to ignore. You know, the details about her depriving the people of their spring for... what? What, exactly? A chance to redeem herself? An opportunity to please someone who mattered for once? None of those options did the spring goddess like, and that meant they did not exist. They were just flecks of light, born from staring into the sunlight for far, far longer than you should have. Indeed! This was about her simply not impressing the wickedest witch to ever witch enough to unlock the access to her arcane secrets. (Yet. A small word it may have been, but very, very grand in its overall importance.) "Nevermind," Vesna balled hands into fists, determination radiating off her in waves. "One day, I will convince you that I am capable of being a villain almost as great as you are. Surely, you will teach me then? I would still like to be a villain that brings joy to people, but it doesn't feel to me like those two concepts are mutually exclusive. After all, I... I think that you do bring joy to me. Talking like this has been nice, at least." Nicer than she was willing to admit, in truth. It wasn't proper for a spring goddess to... to... ah. Just like that, the thought was gone! It had sprouted wings and flown, flown, flown, away from her, away from everything. (Good.)

"Me?" The spring goddess tilted her head aside, both pleased and not. Ah, to think that Morana had thought to ask! (Questions, too, were a rare currency in her world. You did not ask Vesna-- you told her, in a firm voice, what needed to be done. That, or you didn't speak to her at all. In order not to dilute that which was important, her ears had to remain pristine, clean, rarely used. Attuned to the frequency of the stars, forever listening to their distant, distant echoes.) ...of course, that she wasn't able to answer the question in a satisfactory manner did sort of rain on her parade. Would Morana get angry? Would she decide that talking to her was a waste of time, and reduce their contact to insults? (Insults were still better than what she'd had, Vesna decided. At least those felt personal.)

"I don't remember everything, I'm fairly sure. Memories don't really like me, you see? But I am certain that I like to paint. I think I painted a lot long before I became a goddess," what, "and it allows me to capture the world in a state I want it to be in." Absentmindedly, Vesna began playing with a lock of her hair. "And, ah, I also like being a villain! Doing villainous things is to me what breathing is to mortals. For example, last year I... I let some flowers bloom before others," she whispered, as if she was greatly ashamed of herself. "They must have felt so terrible about that. Being left out isn't nice, after all. Wouldn't you agree, Morana? Or do you like it when other gods don't talk to you? It seems to me that they don't, mostly because..." All the words abandoned her, though, when a large, shining castle emerged on the horizon.

"Ah!" Vesna gasped, putting her hands before her mouth. "Is that your home, Morana?"

 

[ellarose]

'I think that you do bring joy to me. Talking like this has been nice, at least.' Morana held onto the icy disposition she was known for all while she seethed with the heat of a thousand suns on the inside. The spring goddess had to be saying these things just to get a rise out of her. She wanted a reaction. Wanted to push her so far that she did something that might justify all of those horrible rumors that Perun and all the others spread. (And then she would return with all kinds of stories to tell them and they could have a laugh over it. Do whatever it was they all did when they gathered on the surface... when they gathered without her.) That she might have considered it nice to have someone to talk to in the Underworld for once? That was completely irrelevant. Being dragged across a forest and then drowned obviously did things to her head and she wasn't in the right frame of mind to be deciding what she did and didn't consider 'nice'. Out of sheer stubbornness, she shut her mouth and refused to answer another question, let alone say another word. She wasn't going to tell Vesna whether she found her role difficult or her thoughts on whether or not she could 'teach' the spring goddess to be a villain.

Morana guessed that she and memories had that in common then. (That they didn't like Vesna, that was!) She was tempted to say just that, but was much too committed to her silence to provide anything more than she already had. But then the spring goddess said something interesting. 'I think I painted long before I became a goddess.' What? For someone who said that memories didn't like her, being able to list one that outlived her goddesshood was... striking, to say the least. Unusual. The world around her blurred for a split second and her head throbbed, as if something was trying to push its way inside of her skull. (Before, before, before. What was she before? She couldn't remember. Not that it fucking mattered anyway! Maybe once she humored the idea that someone in her past life might've actually cared about her... that there was someone on the other side that she could reunite with one day if she ever made it there herself. Someone who would be waiting for her. Someone who would actually be happy to see her for once. That concept became easier and easier to paint as a childish fantasy as the years passed by, with all of them ending the exact same way.) While the winter goddess was tempted to scoff at the spring goddess's version of villainy, she pressed her lips tight when it morphed into commentary on how Morana herself was left out. (Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off!) Of course she didn't care. She didn't care.

That was when Morana's castle appeared on the wintry horizon at long last. The wind breathed icily towards them, a bitter cold radiating off of the exquisitely crafted walls. This, with the exception of some of her finest storms on the surface, was one of the things she was proud to have created. She sculpted every inch of it herself, each block and stair to every groove on every pillar. On the inside were her sculptures, her spears, her throne, the underground river tunnels. It wasn't a warm place by nature. (It was made of ice.) It wasn't a 'home' so much as it was a place to kill her time while she waited for the next winter season. But it was hers, hers, hers. Shrouded in the darkness of the Underworld, it was the only place that ever truly sparkled.

Morana considered then that there was no guest room. She'd never had visitors before-- or at least not those who intended on staying. The thought crossed her mind to create a room for Vesna... but the urge disappeared as quickly as it appeared. What!? No. Hospitality and villainy did not fit in the same fucking category! She could just as easily point the spring goddess towards a closet and ask her to stay there. That was what someone truly wicked would do. (...Or would throwing her in a prison be more ideal? Except then she would have to add a whole entire dungeon onto her castle to fit that image and that sounded like it would take a lot of work.) Aside from that, of course the traitorous thought to lift a single finger for the spring goddess only crossed her mind because she wanted somewhere to point towards and banish her to, so that she could have some time to herself. (...Because clearly she needed more of that. She was alone because she wanted to be, damn it! She was perfectly fine like this. Just had to wait until someone came looking for Vesna and then endure her inevitable punishment for 'stealing her away'.)

"It's my castle." Morana emphasized sternly, adjusting her posture and holding onto the side of the boat as they neared the drop. (There was a sharp drop down that would take them deeper underground, towards the portal where the souls would get off.) They could hear the rushing of waters indicative of the coming falls and the winter goddess decided that if Vesna didn't figure that out for herself, it was too bad so sad for her! Because she was so villainous that she wasn't going to warn her to hold on tightly! Ha!

Anticipation built in Morana's stomach and the souls all clutched each other and wailed as the boat tipped over the edge and went speeding down, down, down towards the tunnel to the afterlife that was essentially the cellar of her castle. (Hehe. That was the part of the trip she liked the very most, if only because it was actually exiting. And like most fun things in the Underworld, she had to create it herself.) The boat slowed towards the entrance and rocked to a stop before a large, glowing portal. It stood like an oversized mirror or perhaps a door-- it was a whirlpool of ethereal whites and blues.

"Alright everybody. Time to go." Morana exited the boat onto one of the snowy platforms, waving for the souls to follow her. She widened her stance and closed her eyes tight. When she was ready, she extended her open hands out towards the portal. Her form gradually became more and more phantasmic. Focusing on each of the souls and their connection to the afterlife, visions of their different lives flashed through her mind as she sent them one by one through the portal. Their bodies emitted the same ethereal, ghostly glow before getting sucked within the heart of it like a vacuum. The second she sensed that every soul was taken care of, Morana flopped backward, confident in the soft embrace of the snow she would land on. "Ugh. Give me a minute." She sighed and covered her face. The first round was always so exhausting. "The cellar's lame... but wait 'till you see what it looks like upstairs. I made this whole castle myself." (Ugh. Why was she still talking!? But, ah, maybe there was some part of her that was sort of excited to share this place that she created for the first time ever. It made perfect sense for an artist to want to share their work, right? To receive some validation and praise for her genius? Yeah! That was what this was. It had nothing to do with Vesna herself or anything like that.)