Futuristic 〄 Help me find my way––!! | (syntranator & starboobie)

[starboob]

That wounded look on her pirate's face? Oh, it sends about ten tsunamis of guilt over the princess as she had forgot to account for Iskra's lack of understanding around play. Divinities, she has just barely begun to learn how to joke! (Ah, in her desire to show Iskra a new joy in Life, she forgot who her pirate is, fundamentally, as a person.) No matter. The princess will not beat herself up over it, for it is a rather small misunderstanding in her opinion and she is more than willing to allow the pirate to sling some mud back at her to prove her point. (Though she can already hear the number of questions her pirate might ask about how it's fun to throw mud at another person.) She raises her hands to cover her mouth, ready to offer an explanation but, alas, the Divinities have decided that the conversation is not important.

Always, always Verity knew she would get married someday. This is a fact that has been as inevitable as the sun rising and setting each and every day. (As a small girl she had fantasies of her wedding and dreamt up so many different scenarios that she could probably fill a few volumes dedicated to planning the event.) It has even been rather obvious to her that she will someday marry Iskra. If not Iskra then who else? She has promised her heart and soul to her both in the privacy of her mind and plainly. Of course, all of that would lead to marriage. Even with Iskra's shortened life cycle, she knew they were destined to make this bond. She just did not expect that day to be today, let alone now. But the poet before them seems adamant that it happen sooner rather than later and with the stars blessing the here and now? Why she sees no reason to protest.

And when she turns to face Iskra, to ask her of her thoughts and feelings on marriage, she is surprised to see the pirate on her knees. That is not the custom where she is from and so she is rather confused until the captain starts speaking to her. Her eyes widen as if trying to soak in every detail of this moment and she cannot help the tears that spring forth or the wide smile stretch from ear to ear––she wants to interrupt, say ‘Yes of course!’ and she wants to hear the pirate's proposal as she intends it to be said. So she keeps her jumping heart from leaping and only clutches her chest.

Then a strange thing happens—though perhaps it’s not so strange given their lives. As the pirate offers her proposal, two ghostly hands land gently on her shoulder. The hands are both covered in an intricate, almost lace like pattern that she would recognize anywhere, having studied those hands whenever her mothers cradled her; having imagined what those marriage markings would look like on her own hand someday. Her heart stops for a moment and when she breaks her gaze from the pirate to stare up at her mothers, they are gone, but their message is known all the same—they accept Iskra as a welcome daughter. Though even without their approval Verity would have said yes, it still means the galaxy to her that they sent her blessing.

When her Iskra finishes, she, too, drops to her knees, tears streaking down her cheeks for both the joy of the moment and the brief visit from her mothers. She takes the pirate's shaking hands in her own. "You are all I have ever needed. You are more than I ever could have dreamed, my dandy lion," she kisses each of Iskra's fingers, then leans over to kiss her cheek, "Yes, a thousand and million times yes! It would be my honor to share this bond with you, to be yours and only yours forevermore."

The poet then claps her hands together, "Oh, happy day! Now, there is not a moment to lose. I understand that both of your respective ceremonies differ and so I shall do my best to honor the most important aspects of both.”

The woman snaps her fingers together and from where they stand in the patch of ivy, a hexagonal arbor appears over the poet, covered in a rainbow of flowers and each glittering with crystals. In this light, the couple are graced with prism reflections across their skin. Verity’s heart beats fast, like its eager to jump out of her chest and make a home inside of Iskra. (Some brides may get nervous, but what is there for her to be nervous about? At this point, this wedding is a formality and nothing that will happen under the arbor will change what her and her pirate have already promised.)

“Please, lovely couple, whose hearts beat as one and whose blood flows for the other, step forward,” the poet smiles, taking her own step back to make room for the princess and her pirate to stand under the arbor. “Under this arbor whose six sides represent the tenets of a healthy relationship—trust, honesty, flexibility, growth, support, desire—you are to be each others from this day forward, for as long as you decide. For at any moment one of these tenets may be broken or ruptured and the challenges that poses shall be up to you to overcome. Today is a promise to always give each other a chance,” she smiles in this knowing way that Verity cannot quite decipher, though perhaps that is for the best. “Now, starlings, join your hands together. Princess, I believe you know what to do from here?”

The princess nods, lacing her fingers with the pirate’s own, then turning to face her. “Just repeat after myself,” she smiles, and squeezes her pirate’s hand. “Under the stars today, with the Divinities’ blessing, may the sages guide us so that we may prosper and bear the fruits for our descendants.” As the holy words are spoken and repeated back, threads of light jump, weave, and circle around their entwined hands, appearing to form some complicated net of knots around them. By the end of the promise, the net of light touches their skin and brightens. It is not painful. It only tingles as it burrows and seeps into their hands. After a few seconds it dulls, and a fine white imprint is left on their hands, marking them as wed by Verity’s custom.

 

[Syntra]

Words. Prior to meeting Verity, Iskra had thought they were but a communication device-- a way to let your opponent know that, yes, they should drop their weapon, or perhaps to signal to your friend that the path was clear. A mere thing of convenience, in other words. To think that they could awaken emotions in her, though? Genuine ones, so deep that an ocean seemed like a joke in comparison? Ah, that was yet another thing her princess had taught her! "Verity," she muttered, her throat feeling suspiciously tight. (Tears were glistening in her eyes, too, and for once? For once, Iskra let them fall freely. No, there was no shame in that. It was just... too much, really, all of it, and surrendering to her impulses only proved to her princess just how powerful this moment was for her. Who was she to play a heroine here? A soldier, a queen, a tool-- all of her life had been reduced to titles, she felt, so here, she could be merely Iskra. That's what she loves about me, I hope. No, no, that's what I know.) "It's an honor," the pirate gripped her hand. "I promise to be a worthy wife to you, my dear. For you, I'd even tear out a piece of the sky, and make a scarf from it. All of the stars I'd give to you as well, hanging on a silver string."

The woman's words, on the other hand? In they went and then right out, not even long enough for her to catch their true meaning. (Again, it was too much. Just, knowing that Verity's smiles belonged to her? That they would be hers for the rest of the eternity, too, and everything else that she was willing to give? Overwhelming, overwhelming, overwhelming, and Iskra couldn't get enough of it.) "Always will I give you a chance," she looked at Verity, a shy smile playing on her lips. "We've gotten good at this, don't you think?" In a way, the pirate appreciated all the past conflicts now-- they'd hurt each other, yes, beyond imagination, even, and still, still they had managed not to burn the bridges. How many women could say that about themselves? Not too many, she'd wager. (It was easy to allow the anger take its course, for it was a confident captain. Anger did not hesitate, nor did it pause to think-- under its guidance, you always had somewhere to go! ...too bad that the path it chose led to damnation, inevitably. Over all those seductive words whispered into your ear, words of righteousness, it could be hard to notice.)

"Under the stars today," Iskra repeated, her voice firm, "with the Divinities’ blessing, may the sages guide us so that we may prosper and bear the fruits for our descendants." No, she knew not what would happen, but she also didn't care. This was a custom of Verity's people, was it not? Then nothing could possibly make her flinch, or make her lose her way. (Distantly, the pirate still felt a pang of guilt. Had she not spat upon her ancestors, back during that cursed trial? Would they accept her, now that she begged to become one of them? Rejecting her, Iskra supposed, would have been a fitting enough punishment! Even so, I shan't leave her. Should they decide I'm not worthy of that honor, I will watch over her from the shadow, at least, and perhaps earn my redemption in that way.)

Whatever Verity's ancestors might have been, however, they also proved to be rather forgiving-- in front of Iskra's incredulous eyes, their hands were joined, never to be parted again. Ah, her heart threatened to leap out of her chest! ...and then it was her turn, she realized. "Verity, I... don't take this the wrong way, but I have come to believe that I do not wish to do this the way my own people once did. The ceremony is, ah... very specific. Not in a good way, either. It would require me to spill your blood, and that is the last thing I wish to do." 'Through blood, devotion,', one of the mantras said. In other words, blood over water, right? And, in mixing your own blood with that of your bride, you truly became family, with everything it entailed. Except that, you see, Iskra didn't agree with that narrative. Not in the slightest. Had that been true, would her own kinswomen have treated her like an instrument, to be used and discarded? Would she have found her true family among a rag tag band of lowlives, gathered from all the corners of the galaxy? No, no, and thousand times no!

"I don't like the implications," Iskra admitted. "Starting a union with bloodshed just seems like an ill omen to me. Moreover, I... do not feel a part of my old culture anymore? It's hard to describe, but that is what my heart tells me. For that reason, my star, I think we should start a new tradition-- something that would belong to us and us only." What, though? What could carry such deep symbolism without buckling under the weight? The answer came to her faster than she expected, and Iskra had to smile.

"Verity, my beloved, let's plant a tree together. What better way to express our trust? The trust that we will both be there to see it bear fruit? I... know not much about relationships, but with you, I have learned that they need love. Trees need that, too. I suppose that I like the parallel," the pirate shrugged. "Together, we will care for it, and in doing so, perhaps we shall also bloom."

 

[starboob]

Once, Verity had made a pact with the Divinities. When she was young with volatile teenage feelings, she begged them to send her her person for she was so tired of waiting, so impatient. Her mind had been now, now, now! So she took up an impossible task of counting all the wishing stars in the sky, squeezing her eyes shut to make her wish more powerful, more heard, in hopes the next morning she'd wake to a some sort of miracle. She promised the Divinities that she would wish on all the stars in the sky if that meant, in exchange, she could get her chance at some fairytale. At some point, of course, she gave up. She settled for lesser, and once something downright awful. Now, among stars, she realizes why she had been made to wait. She realizes just how powerful her wish must of been that it took the Divinities many moons to conspire and thread her heart to another, one who existed beyond the limits of Aurora and the entire planet of Celestia.

As she looks at the pattern on their joined hands, she recognizes it as her wish come true. When she looks into Iskra's watery eyes, she recognizes, too, that they gave her not just a person but an entire constellation––a woman full of so many stars, so much history and brilliance that her heart finally feels matched in radiance. She presses her lips to the back of Iskra's hand and drapes her arm around her neck, her own happiness spilling over from her eyes and the grin she wears could probably power an entire planet.

"The bond we make is ours," Verity says simply, not at all offended that the pirate does not want to wed under the traditions of her people. She does not understand it as Iskra rejecting her or not wanting to marry her in some meaningful way. Quite the contrary, given what she knows of Iskra's people and their customs. Easily, she agrees with her pirate (her wife, partner, lover, heart and pulse). "Thus, it should be sacred to both of us and whatever you deem to be appropriate, will make my heart swim, I am sure." It already excites her that Iskra wants to create something that is uniquely theirs and for no one else. For two people from different worlds who have had to forge their own paths, find their own ways, she can think of no better resolution. (Besides, she does not exactly like the idea of spilling more blood between them. There has been enough of that, she thinks.)

At the suggestion, the princess smiles––or somehow finds it to smile even wider than before and rapidly nods her head in agreement. "There is no better symbol for our union than the tree, whose roots shall grow deep and make it strong. Through all we have been through, we have grown together and so to shall our tree, the ultimate symbol of the famous princess and pirate," she laughs at the sobriquets assigned to them. "But more importantly, of Iskra and Verity," because did they not fall for each other's truths and look past titles, roles, and reputations? "It shall last long after we have passed and, with hope, continue to supply those who walk Inure with its fruit." (In the back of her mind, she thinks it will be a lovely reminder of Iskra in particular when she is gone.)

The poet smiles down on both of them, as Verity pulls them towards a spot near the waterfall for their tree. From her pocket she pulls out a peach pit, the very same peach pit from Hryzn. "I had hoped we would be able to plant this seed someday," pressing her lips the rough pit and then passing it to Iskra. "How is a peach tree, the sweetest and softest of the fruits, not our perfect symbol, my little lion?" she leans over to kiss Iskra's nose. Then, wanting to be as personally involved with this process as possible, she moves the dirt with her hands, digging a hole deep enough for the seed.

Once the seed is buried, the poet standing over them, and gestures for them to rise. "Ah, then by the rites of Verity and Iskra," somehow their names sound like a spell from her lips and Verity is not sure why. Perhaps because this is the first time an entity has used their names? "You are married." The poet places a hand each on their shoulders and bends down so she is eye level with the newly weds, "The Divinities and goddesses alike have a gift for you. For your wedding night," she smiles in this knowing, salacious way and produces a small vial from her between her ample breasts. "This ought to make the night more exciting for you both."

 

[Syntra]

Why had her heart ever been filled with doubt, anyway? It was Verity who was listening to her, and... well, her princess had always strived to understand her, for better or worse. Their success rate wasn't one hundred percent, but so what? The point was that they kept trying, trying and trying, and no barrier could last forever! ...not when they were there, taking it apart brick by brick. "Yes," the pirate nodded. "Exactly my thoughts. We will not live forever, my dear, but the memories of us might. Why not let the others enjoy what we once shared, then? Too see that your actions can reach this far into the future, that they can touch so many lives... it brings me comfort, I suppose. One would even say that there might be a point to all of this. To existence, you see?" Once, in much darker times, Iskra hadn't even dared to hope for that type of immortality-- she had been but a cog, destined to break apart. Now, however? Now she could see that there was so much more to her life, and, ah, that left her speechless! "I don't know. Foolish as it is, I would like to be remembered as the person I am, rather than what they wanted me to be. I don't wish to be a scary captain, either. Is that so much to ask, to be known as Iskra? As one who was loved and loved in return?" Quite possibly, if she were to be honest, but no longer would that stop her. Oh no, all fear had left her! ...if she needed something, you see, the pirate would ask for it. Even the most ridiculous wish was born from her soul, and so it was her responsibility to see it flower.

"You kept it?" Iskra blinked, surprised beyond words. "That is... ah, that is perfect. I cannot believe it, but at the same time? At the same time, I can, because it's so you that it almost makes me weep."

Just like Verity, Iskra, too, needed to savor the moment. (The soil around them smelled, so, so sweetly, and was it just her, or was it calling them? The wind itself was whispering their names, it seemed! This is right, Iskra said to herself. All my life, the entirety of it, has been leading to this very moment. I know that to be true now. Was it worth it, then? All those lives lost, all that blood spilled? ...no, no, that was a poisonous way to think of that. Tragedy wasn't currency, you see, and besides, how could they say they wouldn't have met even without it? How, how, how? We would have, she decided. The universe has made her for me, and myself for her. There is no way it wouldn't have brought us together. The pirate wouldn't drown herself in regret, but it was... sort of nice to realize, she supposed? That she owed the Holy Vessel nothing.

Married. 'Married, married, married,' echoed in her ears, over and over, and Iskra felt as if her heart was about to burst! ...then it did burst, almost, when the woman pointed all those fun, fun implications. "A-ah, by the Shade. W-wedding night, you say?"

"Yes, your wedding night," she chuckled. "I assume you know the secrets of the marital bed, Iskra? Please, tell me that you don't genuinely believe that hand-holding is the height of intimacy. It is cute, don't get me wrong, but I am certain that your princess would love to taste more. Am I right, Verity?" And, the thing was... well, the thing was that Iskra would love to taste more, too. Hadn't it been wonderful, after all? Sweet beyond reason? All those moments when her princess had set her blood on fire were etched in her memory, even though there had never been a proper conclusion. What would happen if they allowed their emotions to run their course, then? Would she even withstand it? (Her princess wouldn't judge her for abstaining, the pirate was aware of that by now. Still, it was expected from her, wasn't it? And not giving each other a chance, at least, would be a betrayal of their vows!)

"Verity, I..." Suddenly, Iskra's mouth felt very dry, but she still forced herself to swallow. Look her in the eye. No running away this time, dammit! She's your wife, the light of your life. There is nothing to be afraid of. "I am sorry. I would love to, but I don't know how. I... I don't know if I could please you properly, either. Will you... will you show me? I promise to learn. Ignorant I might be, but should you teach me how, I will play the sweetest melodies with your heart. I... I want to make you feel good. As good as you deserve, my dear."

 

[starboob]

It does annoy the princess that the poet teases her pirate in such a way––perhaps believing that she has not earned the right and, at the same Time, she understands that her Iskra (her wife) does need for these things to be stated plainly. Oddly enough, despite how much she has desired Iskra and waited for a moment to take her between the sheets, she had not really thought of it happening on this night. Somehow, the event slipped past her radar––perhaps because she had not wanted to place any expectations on her wife. She is willing to take their physical relationship as slowly as needed, because she knows this is all new to Iskra and Divinities know she could have benefited from partners willing to take things slower. So color her surprise when the captain makes such a proposal! The suggestion alone floods her mind with visions of their heat––what she imagines it to be at least, and that alone is enough to cause her chest to swell and her cheeks to flush. "If this is truly your wish, then I shall be happy to guide you. I imagine you will be playing a rather different instrument than my heart, however," she smiles and takes the pirate's hand. She turns to bid the poet a farewell, but finds that she has already vanished, perhaps knowing her presence is no longer needed. "Follow me, my darling wife."

It takes everything in Verity to remain as casual as possible as they navigate Inure and pass by several friends, but the truth is? She practically has them running to her bedroom, the potion clutched in one hand and Iskra's hand in the other. Her mind races with ways to make their first night special, memorable, and most importantly safe. (Shall she have them undress at the same Time? Will she undress herself first? Will she even be able to resist the temptation to slam the pirate against the wall, pin her down, and ravish her on the spot? The ideas flow as freely as water and the swirl in her belly is rapidly traveling lower.) Just as they reach her bedroom door, Verity turns around, biting her lip while she undresses her wife with her eyes. "This," she says, lifting the vial, "I suspect will have a similar effect as the sharasha's flesh. As curious as I am to know what the divinities of the galaxy have intended for us, I would like for our first moment to be ours, truly ours. Without potions. I want for us to experience each other in our entirety, my darling wife. ...At least for our first round," she smiles coyly then grabs the doorknob from behind and pulls Iskra inside.

The choices all plague Verity's mind once the door shuts behind her with a sense of finality. And when she turns to face Iskra? Her heart thumps erratically in her chest as she knows what is about to come next. She takes a deep breath and sits Iskra down in her desk chair. Leaning over her pirate, she whispers into her ear, "We have all the Time in the world and I intend to rile you up, my darling. Don't hate me for this." She punctuates her comment by licking the shell of her, wearing a smile as she pulls away from the pirate. The princess runs her fingers through her hair, mussing it so her long tresses fall over one shoulder. (Her only Regret right now is not wearing a more appropriate outfit––though she knows Iskra would likely want to devour her in anything.) Recalling one of their first intimate moments together, she turns back to the pirate and begins to sway her hips. (Again, the want for a better outfit arises, but she considers this part of their authentic experience.) Slowly the layers of clothing are removed until she is left in that familiar thin fabric that sparkles and obfuscates her in the most frustrating way. She drapes herself over Iskra's lap, wrapping her arms around her neck, and peppering kisses over her neck, "Carry me to the wash, my darling. We’re going to start this exploration slow."

***​

Has it been days? Weeks? Verity is not sure, nor is she concerned about the passage of Time. She should have guessed how voracious their appetites would be given her own dry spell and Iskra tapping into a pool of desire she had once repressed. (The vial also lays empty on her nightstand and that likely had only aided their marathon.) The flash of memories pull at her lips, cause her heart to flutter, and when she looks at her hand and sees the mark of their union? She breathes out a laugh, though tries to keep herself as still and quiet, as her wife sleeps on her chest. She grazes the tips of her fingers down Iskra's spine, waiting for her darling to rouse.

 

[Syntra]

It had been... ah, Iskra didn't even know to describe it, if she were to be honest. Maddening, maybe? Yes, maddening, but the things that had happened had also blessed her with the gift of clarity-- never before had the pirate been so very aware of her own body, or of Verity's, for that matter. (It had been sweet, too. Sweet and warm and safe, so much that tears had filled her eyes! That had been one of the things she hadn't known, either. To think that she could weep, without sorrow crushing her heart? That those tears could be the messengers of happiness of all things? It only went to show just how little the pirate still knew about the world, and that was a joy in itself. No, really. You see, if she was this ignorant, didn't it mean that mainly good things were waiting for her? ...once, Iskra had read a legend about a woman who had been given a cursed box. She had opened it because, duh, that was what you were meant to do with boxes, and due to that, plague, despair and sin had flooded her planet. A great tragedy, indeed. You know what still remained at the bottom of the box, though? Hope, purer than freshly fallen snow. The promise of a better future, now that no more evil remained. And, call her pretentious, but wasn't it the same with her? Strife had followed in her footsteps, so, so insistently, and often, it had guided her hand, too. Sometimes, Iskra had thought the guilt would straight up choke her! ...it hadn't, though. It hadn't, and now she could finally enjoy the good things for once.)

"Am I still dreaming, my dear?" Iskra asked playfully, watching Verity through her half-closed lids. "Because I'm seeing a face so lovely that only my own mind could have come up with it. Truly, I don't think that the universe is generous enough to offer me such a sight! I haven't been worthy enough." (She absolutely had been exactly that, though. It was just that... well, Verity had introduced the concept of jokes to her, you see? And, ever dutiful, Iskra tried to keep up. They still struck her as a rather counter-intuitive way of complicating communication, but to understand what others saw in it, the pirate supposed, she had to give it a try.) "Good morning, my wife." My heart, my life. The very reason I was able to see the light in the darkness. "Whatever shall we do today? I know you wanted to see more of the wonders of the galaxy, and so I was thinking I could show you the harvest feasts on Huarangha. Have you ever been there? The climate of the planet is blessed, they say, and they aren't greedy with its gifts. For one sacred day, they will let you plant a seed, and it shall grow before your very eyes! It will only take an instant. Would you like to witness something like that, Verity? I believe that they will let you keep whatever you grow that way, too. I've been wondering whether we couldn't acquire one of the rare, slow-blooming roses for our garden that way." Yes, their garden! Words like 'my' had felt lonely lately, so slowly, Iskra was phasing them out of her vocabulary.

As Iskra spoke, she put on her shirt, trousers and coat, oh so methodically-- the layers of fabric seemed almost intrusive now, but she still couldn't scar her subordinates, she supposed. (Did they have to leave their bedroom, again? Existing there had been quite comfortable for the past few days, thank you very much! Myrne probably wouldn't mind taking over, too, and... No, you are still a captain. Your women rely on you. Why would you abandon them for a few moments of pleasure? She wouldn't, of course! ...which still couldn't change the fact that the thought was tempting, enough for her pulse to begin to race. Ah, how did women even manage to do anything but love one another? After discovering what it was like, Iskra couldn't believe that they actually had other hobbies as well!)

"First, however, I believe we should go get some breakfast. What do you think, Verity? Saavika is cooking today. I don't think that she can truly enjoy food anymore," much like herself, "but apparently, preparing spicy meals is one of her greatest joys in life. Eran says that, to her, it's like an explosion in her guests' mouth. Would you like to try and see whether her reputation is deserved? Legends claim that she has sent five women into hospital so far."

Unfortunately, however? Unfortunately, they weren't about to experience domestic bliss today.

"Verity!" Ressie barged in, holding a sealed letter in her hand. "Sorry, you two, but this is supposed to be important. For you, princess. They urged me to deliver this one real fucking fast. Like, as if my life depended on it!"

The letter, as Verity most likely was able to tell, was written on expensive paper, and smelled like strawberries. Strange, right? Not as strange as its contents, however.

Would you want to meet your sisters again, traitor? Recently, they have been rather insufferable, crying for their sister and everything. Honestly, my ears tire of their screams. Can you imagine just how tedious it is, day after day? So, come visit me if you like! Follow the coordinates, and do wear something nice. I don't want to see you in anything too embarrassing.

xoxo

 

[starboob]

"Iskra!" the princess laughs, covering her face with her hand. "You say the sweetest things," 'and make the sweetest noises,' she would have added, but she knows that comment will only leave them rolling around again. As much as she'd like to never leave this bed, her sense of safety, she does think it is Time for them to show their faces again. (What is the crew even going to think? It is doubtless that they heard nearly everything and while Verity has no shame, she suspects the teasing is going to get temporarily worse now that they have officially gone to bed together.) Still, she cannot hide her disappointment when Iskra does get up, stealing her warmth with her. She pouts, propping herself onto her elbows while she watches the pirate dress. (Why must she cover herself? That has to be the highest sin.) "I do think that might be a suitable honeymoon for ourselves. It sounds like something from a dream." Of course, she very much thinks she's living a dream with her luck, still coming down from the high of not only her marriage, but their last few days together.

Lazily, the princess swings her legs over the side of the bed and hops over to the vanity, tilting her head to look at all the marks on her skin with satisfaction. She smiles at her reflection then reaches for a silk robe to toss over her naked figure, tying it loosely around her waist. At the mention of food, her stomach growls. “I would eat anything at this point—not to say you are not a satisfying meal,” she kisses Iskra’s ear and helps the pirate fasten her sword around her waistband. Then, hooking her fingers into her wife’s belt loops, she pulls her flush against her. “Are you aware of how infuriating you are? How is it fair for you to look this handsome? How am I expected to want anything more than you? I am going to have to do something about this later tonight,” she grins.

Naturally, their moment is ruined. She doesn’t back away hurriedly from her wife as she might have in the past when they were caught in the middle of something. Instead, she half turns to receive the message from Ressie before waving her off.

When she sees the seal stamped on the letter, that alone is enough to freeze her blood and she immediately backs away from the pirate. The color drains from her face, her knees weaken and she slumps back onto the bed to sit. Panic floods through her and she hasn’t even read the contents of the message, she just expects the worst. (Of course the divinities of the galaxy would work quickly to steal their peace. She should have known.) Her distress is plain on her face and if not on her face, then in her shaky hands as she breaks the seal and reads the message.

Reality crashes over her in an instant and she is forced to remember that she does not live a fairytale. She crumples the letter and tosses it into the incinerator rather than show this to Iskra, her wife. (Her wife! Should she not share her despair with her? Absolutely! And yet the princess feels like fleeing all over again because she does not want to involve Iskra in this. There is some part of her that screams to keep her wife as far away from this mess as possible.) Yet, she knows she cannot keep secrets from Iskra as much as she wants to. "Seraphina," she finally manages, physically unable to say more as she buries her head into her hands, letting herself weep. (Images, the nightmares she has had of her sisters flash through her mind––each one worse than the next. There is so much Fear she could choke. She almost does.) For several minutes, all she can do is cry and let the tears stain her cheeks.

"It's a trap, Iskra," she sobs, "She doesn't even need to hide it, because she knows I'll come if she uses my sisters as bait. I-I have to go, you understand?" Finally, her watery eyes meet to look at her wife with a sense of finality. Like she knows this is their last moment. "I haven't a clue of how to prepare––I don't want to assume all is hopeless. I want to believe I can best her, but Iskra? I just... I have a wretched feeling about this. As if I am going to lose my Life." She looks to her wife, grabbing her hands, "I shall not give my hope, of course." She promised Iskra that she would not do that, after all. More importantly, she wants to keep the hopeful princess alive, the one who believes in happy endings for all. (It is just oh so difficult in a moment such as this.) The princess wipes her tears and stands, going to her wardrobe to find a suitable outfit for a queen slayer. "Iskra, I know that you would follow me to the ends of the galaxy, through black holes, and beyond... I know you will follow me here, too. I cannot stop that," she is not certain whether she wants to either, "but for as much hope as I want to muster, I Fear something dark is on our horizon. There is no coincidence between the sage's message, our marriage, and this letter arriving so soon together." While she speaks, she puts on the only traditional outfit she has from her homeland, the one she wore when she first came aboard Inure. "Can you please tell me that we shall be okay?" She does Fear the pirate's honesty and yet, in asking this question, she knows she will only get the truth. She does not know her wife to be one to lie for the sake of others. And her honesty is what she needs, even she poses the question in such a way that it seems she demands a lie. Whatever her wife may tell her will ground her and prepare her for whatever happens next.

Sooner than she would like, they are in a vessel smaller than Inure with a small group of women, heading towards the coordinates sent by the queen. "I did not need to look at a map to know where she is sending us. This is a star system close to my homeworld. We went here once on some business with the former queen. It is one of the few civilizations we do extraterrestrial business with. Though why she wants to meet here, where she has no jurisdiction, is beyond myself. I cannot think it is some way to neutralize the playing field," she mumbles that last part, chewing her lower lip with worry. 'This is stupid. You should turn back. Your sisters are likely not here. ...You would be remiss to ignore her and be wrong.' Scattered as her brain is and planning for every possibility, she gives Iskra a grave look. "If I am taken, you must contact Halen. I know she is," the worst, "not our favorite ally, but she will at least know how to get you to Celestia and into Aurora. She will have valuable information on the landscape and the best course of action. You will have Time, know that. Seraphina... she takes her Time with her enemies."

 

[Syntra]

During the past few weeks, Iskra had learned how to read her wife's face. The tiniest motion of her eyebrow, or perhaps a coquettish smile? Both of those told her many things, in terms much clearer than letters possibly could. The most perfect way of communication, indeed! Instant, like telepathy, or perhaps it was just their hearts talking to one another, without the barrier of words. And now... oh, what the pirate could read in her face now filled her with terror. "Verity," she put her hand on her shoulder, perhaps in an attempt to ground her in the moment. (To remind her, oh so gently, that she was there, ready to soothe her fears. What was a wife, after all, if not your ally against the world? The one to hold your hand, even as the galaxy crumbled?) "Verity, what happened? What kind of disgusting villain sent this letter?" Because, no, the message she had received couldn't have been good! (In her eyes, Iskra saw horror, and hesitation, and yes, perhaps also a dash of mad hope. The whisperings of an age that had never been, crawling from the depths of her mind. Ah, what was this? Who intended to shatter their peace?!)

"Seraphina," she repeated, tasting the bitterness of that name. (The queen. The counterpart to her Holy Vessel, with the same rot living in her wretched heart. She had been the one to take the princess's innocence-- to strip her of her illusions, in the same way one might pluck a hen's feathers before dismembering it. Her own past cast dark shadows, indeed, but you know what? Verity's were darker, for they were still alive.) "Shhh," she caressed her hair. "Cry if you must, but know that I am here. No matter the challenge, we shall handle it together. Have we not persevered throughout all of the challenges so far? We will go there and see." A trap it was, that much the pirate could see plainly, though in the end, that meant nothing. How many hunters had gotten ensnared by their own trap, after all? By their own hubris? Arrogance, too, was poison, and women like Seraphina injected it straight into their veins!

"I understand," Iskra placed a small kiss on her brow, "and I am glad that you understand my own heart as well. No, my guiding star-- I do not intend to stop following your light. If I did, how could I ever look into your eyes again? I couldn't. Aren't they my family as well, after all? I wasn't allowed to do right by my biological one, so allow me to correct it here. If there is a chance of them being alive, I must investigate it." And if the bait in the trap proved to be fake... well, would Verity need her any less for it? No, no, and thousand times no! "Worry not. I promise that, for as long as my name is Iskra, nothing shall change between us."

Formal wear was still a great source of frustration for the pirate, but for once, she refrained from her usual comments. Verity's grief was too great for that, you see? No need to deepen it with words, big, clumsy and so, so unnecessary. (Thankfully, her wife had picked most of her suits for her. No, there was no question as to whether they were fashionable enough-- with a princess's sense of style, Iskra was sure to blend in with whatever crowd that would be... well, wherever it was that they were heading. Sigh. No, the lack of intel wasn't encouraging, but she knew that they couldn't exactly spend weeks mapping the terrain.)

"Halen?!" Iskra's voice was a mix of disdain and shock, though she swallowed it nonetheless. Just... this was Verity's hour of need, alright? Any and all personal grievances had to be cast aside, much like torn clothes. "You won't be taken," she said, her voice firm. "Even so, if it brings you some semblance of peace, I shall agree. In case all of our plans go up in flames, I will go and contact Halen. No need to be afraid-- I wouldn't place my own pride above saving you. You know that, don't you? My beloved."

When the vessel finally landed, they... found themselves in what seemed to be a parking lot? It was full of ships, both large and small, and Iskra thanked all the goddesses for the camouflage they provided. "Hmmm... it seems to me that everyone here is attending some sort of event. I mean, they are all heading towards that mansion on the cliff. Should we do that, too? It would explain why Seraphina asked you to dress nicely, at least." And, for the record? No, the building didn't at all strike her as a place they should visit. (The stench of fear was hanging in the air, like a thick curtain hung there by the goddesses themselves. What did it matter how beautiful the architecture was, or how many stars were reflected in the ponds surrounding the structure? 'No!' her instincts screamed at her. 'Don't!' But Iskra had to, and so she did.)

The sweet melody of the violin swelled when they entered, hand in hand. Countless couples were swirling together on the dance floor, the party apparently in full swing, and in the middle of it all... oh, by the Shade! In the middle of it all, there was a column, with a young woman nailed to it. (Blood was dripping down her mouth, the ruby trail drawing one's eyes to her shredded shirt. Her captors had only granted her a smidgen of modesty-- what was covered was that way only thanks to her hair, long and greasy and so dirty that Iskra almost wanted to cry. Was she even alive still, or were the monsters praying to a corpse? And, more importantly, could that be...?)

"Verity," she gripped her wife's hand tighter. "Is that... is that someone you know?"

 

[starboob]

Once they arrive at their destination, the panic that's been in ebb and flow all day comes back in full swing. So much so that the princess feels like she might throw up as the nerves crawl around her stomach like unwelcome bugs. 'Please be nothing. Please let them still be safe,' she prays, taking her wife's arm and grounding herself in the fact that Iskra is right here. That she will be with her no matter what, until the very end, whatever that end may be. "I know that with you, I am in the very best care," she offers her pirate a weak smile as they step towards the mansion––one she does recognize. Well, she recognizes the seal that hovers and glows above the rich estate. "This mansion belongs to a galactic council member. Though I know not much about her, other than a silly rumor that she drinks the blood of youth to rejuvenate herself. Seraphina was fascinated with her 'research,' so I suppose I am not surprised to learn the queen of Aurora would want to attend this gala." She squeezes her pirate's arm as they step over the threshold of the estate. She sucks in a breath and tries to wear a friendly face amongst this sea, her eyes scanning for hair so silken it sings and cheeks speckled with strawberry fields––the girl with a face of an axe, made all of sharp edges.

As much as Verity would love to enjoy a gala such as this, with her wife dressed so handsomely, there is no part of her that wants to join the throng of couples engaged in their choreographed highborn dances. This party is a battlefield and Verity is looking for the enemy. 'She could be anywhere, wearing any face,' she realizes. Again, her grip around her wife's bicep tightens.

Then, before Iskra even points it out, she sees the column, glistening with diamond dust. Her eyes land on the tortured victim. Easily she could be mistaken for a skeleton, but Verity would still recognize her anywhere. The planet they are on must stop spinning, because everything stops. Her heart. Her blood. Her breath. Screams erupt in her ears, so loud that a headache splits and cracks open her skull. In all of her confusion, she doesn't realize the noise comes from herself or even recognize the tears that sting her eyes (or all the eyes on her). Abandoning Iskra, she runs towards the woman unsure of whether or not she wants to find her alive or dead––unable to determine what would be worse. "Blythe!"

Once in front of the woman, the woman whose appearance so resembles Verity that it is impossible to deny they are sisters, the princess grabs her lulled head and almost wishes she hadn't. The splits in her lips look like starved deserts, blood drips from her ears, and something has been done to her eyes for they do not look like those sweet lilacs that Verity knows. They are pitch black and it's hard to know what, if anything, that she sees. "Nnngh," is all her sister manages, jerking her head away from Verity's touch, tears welling in her eyes. She moans again, still unintelligible.

"B-Blythe, Blythe, sister, it is me––Verity," she tries to reason, but her sister is having none of it. Instead, her struggles become worse and, the princess, assuming it is because of the touch, lets go of her. But her sister continues to shake, mumbling or moaning, her attention seeming to be on something past Verity. (So she can see?)

"That one just wouldn't shut up. Much like you, actually," a girl with a silver whip tongue snaps, the smirk heard in her voice without Verity even needing to turn. "Would you like to hear what happened?" Without waiting for a response, she continues, "Of course you do! You just love your silly little stories now don't you, snake?"

"Don't." Verity manages, still not turning around. Still not ready to face her, but her hand is resting on Telos, ready. "Don't you dare, Seraphina."

"It's queen Seraphina, princess. Are you not going to fake like you respect me? Or have you finished shedding that snakeskin?" Seraphina tilts her head to the side, "Now turn around and bow to me, you miserable bitch. It will be much worse for Blythe should you refuse."

When Verity turns around, her jaw is clenched tight and while there is a part of her that wants to flee, wants to avert her gaze away from the queen, she does as she think her wife would and faces her Fear. Her sea green eyes lock with the queen's soulless ones. Seraphina looks as elegant as ever, in a soft powder blue dress made of some thin, veil like material that flows without wind. Her sharp features are dusted in glitter, making her seem almost ethereal if one did not know better. The scimitar hangs at her hip for show, because everyone knows it's the spear that she trusts. The one she twists in her hands, just waiting for the moment to strike. (It could be any second, really.) There is space between them that gives the queen a clear advantage with her ranged weapon to Verity's close quarters one. Everyone's attention seems to be on the spectacle now, as if this is the main event of the evening. Verity bows.

Seraphina, quick as a whip, sends her spear through the air, aimed at the space between the princess's neck and shoulder.

 

[Syntra]

Don't, Verity. Please, don't say that you know her. If she was a stranger, you see, the woman would have been a mere part of a statistic-- a monument to the queen's cruelty, to be sure, but also someone who wouldn't spark the princess's temper. A non-threat, in other words. (Was that selfish of her? Indeed, doubtlessly so. Her wife had been aching to find her sisters for so, so long, and yet here Iskra was, hoping that they would stay separated for longer. Ah, such wretched, wretched thoughts! ...thoughts wretched enough, it seemed, to be punished by the Shade immediately.) "Verity," she grabbed her wife's hand tighter when it became obvious that she did, indeed, recognize her. "Verity, let's not be rash. Seraphina is baiting us. We cannot act without..." ...without thinking, the pirate wanted to say, but it was obvious that her voice no longer reached her ears. You know, since Verity simply left her behind? Yes, that reaction spoke more eloquently than even a thousand words could.

Shit, Iskra cursed internally. Shit, shit, shit! (Everything, everything about this smelled of death. Almost against her will, Iskra was reminded of the battlefields long past-- of the fields littered with corpses, staring at her with their vacant eyes. 'One day,' they said wordlessly, 'you will join us, too. Your death will be crueler than ours, for your sins will drag you deeper. It shall never, ever truly end. Are you looking forward to it, soldier? Are you ready?' And, no, she wasn't, but for some reason, Iskra sensed that that time had come. Oh well! If she was to perish defending her wife, it was still a better, more honorable death than she deserved. My sisters, fellow Seeds, are you here with me? Are you watching? I, Iskra, will attain what you couldn't. For all of you, not just myself, I shall prove that it is possible.)

Unsurprisingly, Seraphina used the opportunity to crawl out of the woodwork. (Beautiful, Iskra thought automatically, but you know what was peculiar about it? There was no warmth to that notion, no impulse to touch her. No, the pirate judged so with the cold detachment of a scientist examining a poisonous flower-- a flower so bright and striking that it might perhaps enchant you, but before that, it would kill you with its fragrance alone. Truly, the sweetest smells were sometimes used to mask rot! ...the scariest part of her, though? Her eyes, without a shadow of doubt. They were cold, colder than steel, and within those depths, a beast was lurking. A beast that... resembled the Holy Vessel, actually? By the Shade, Iskra could only imagine how many lives it had claimed! How many families it had torn apart, how many nations, how many dreams--)

"Verity, no. No! Let me fight in your stead," Iskra begged, knowing full well just how pointless it was. (The way Verity's lips formed a thin, stern line? Indeed, there was no way that she was listening to her. At that point, her brain had switched to its one goal mode, and she was powerless before that. Still, panic made you do desperate things sometimes, didn't it? Maybe, if she was convincing enough, her wife would see reason! ...she had to. Just, where would Iskra go without her guiding star? How would she navigate the wild seas? The sages hadn't brought them together only to tear them apart once again! That... that wasn't the nature of marriage, dammit. Did their vows mean nothing? Would Verity throw them away like that, solely to seize her revenge? No, she isn't like that. I know it. I know it!)

"You need not stain your sword with her blood. Of that, it is unworthy. Focus on helping your sister, and I shall keep her at bay. You are the one with everything to lose, so why, Verity? Why are you so eager to embrace it?" It was like trying to stop a flood with a bucket, though, and Iskra could only watch with growing terror as the women began to dance.

(She could see it, all of it. The confident technique of the former gladiator, and the anger that stole precision from Verity's blade; the queen's self-assured smirk; the snapshot of their future, too. Of the future where their 'we' turned into an 'I' once again, that was. It was coming, too! Iskra could read the fight, more reliably than she could an open book, and...)

Her body moved on its own. Without thinking, the pirate stepped in front of Verity, pushing her backwards at the same time. Backwards, far away from the reach of the spear! "Run," she urged her. "Run, before she--"

Slash.

Silently, the pirate's body hit the ground.

 

[starboob]

Ugh.

Despite things not going according to plan, that night ended in a tragically predictable way. Seraphina wishes she could say that she were amused or tickled by the surprising turn of events, but really? Once her spear landed in the wrong target, she knew the fight was over. Not because the queen could not recover her spear, but because of the rush of ill-dressed women who flooded the scene afterwards and that little queen's entourage who aided the exiled princess. (At least Verity put up a better fight than last Time, short as their spar was, but you wouldn't congratulate a toddler for learning to run, now you would you? That's just the natural progression of mobility and just because the cretin can run does not mean it's going to be the city's pride on the track. A similar thread of logic applies here.) Her only real satisfaction of the evening? Seeing that traitorous snake's face morph when the blood of that disruptor splattered across her. She looked oh so shattered and that's when Seraphina decided to steal the body in the middle of all the chaos. Yes, she lost Blythe, but she gained something even better.

See, those marriage markings on the corpse's hands? And the memory of a matching pattern on the snake's? Ah, she should have known that hopeless romantic would use her exile to find bullshit such as true love. 'So much for Halen's little claim that you're out there gathering allies.' (Desecrating this corpse may not help squash the insurrection, true. Nor will it be as fun as turning it into a lovely instrument, but there is satisfaction in knowing it will not make it to the ether so unrecognizable. No ancestor will be able to claim it and its spirit will be forever lost. The satisfaction is knowing that the princess will lose her wife after Death, too.)

The corpse lays flat on a white table, still dressed in its soiled threads from the other evening. The stain that stretches across the fabric has dried and no longer is it a breathtaking rose, but a disgusting purple-brown blotch. Such a shame. Curiously, she fingers the tear in the shirt where her spear had been, eyeing the wound beneath. 'This should have been Verity's mark,' she curls her nose and rudely plunges her fingers into the opening––except that, she's met with resistance. Where she should have been able to poke this animal's cold heart, she is met with bone. Bone she knows she broke through. Her brow crinkles together and without a second of thought, she tears the shirt open. Buttons fly across the morgue and clatter over the floor, but Seraphina pays them no mind. Her eyes are transfixed on that healing wound.

"My, my, my..." she gasps, a deadly smile forming on her lips. The implications of the corpse healing itself are just too delicious to ignore. "Well, you may have been a better steal than imagined," she pats the corpse's cheek. "I hope the princess wasn't too attached."

***
​

Over the next few days, Seraphina makes a point of learning everything she can of Verity's apparent wife. The information is sparse, but her reputation is one that the queen can respect––a ruthless savage, after all, speaks to her heart. That aside, however, she is far more interested in her curious reputation as one who evades Death. Mostly because the rumors are so far off base. Too many believe she can shift her organs around at will, that she possesses a phantom body, or that she uses body doubles––none suggest a supernatural healing factor, that the queen has clear evidence of now that the corpse is under her microscopes. (Annoyingly, the sage sisters cannot determine why she continues to heal despite being dead. Nothing reveals how a corpse with no pulse can heal and that is what the queen wants to know. How many more sisters must she send to be stoned before there are results? It's like they have no value of Life.)

In the floating palace, the corpse has been moved from the morgue to the lab. The labs are typical of what one would expect. Stark white, incredibly sanitized, and neatly organized. There are rows of subjects in tankards filled with some blue-green liquid, some in cages behind electric force fields, and others writhing in pods. It's hard to tell which of the subjects has it worse. Those in the tankards look as though they could have been human once. Now they have so many different animal appendages sewn to them it's hard to tell what the host body was. Then those behind electric barricades... well, they at least look human. It's just that their cybernetic enhancements seem to be turning on them, for some reason. Perhaps it is those writhing in the pods who win, then, for they all at least look themselves.

The queen's heels click through laboratory over to her newest subject, the former corpse, who lies strapped down to a tilted table, dressed in a simple tunic and thin hospital trousers. The monitors checking her vitals indicate she has a pulse and the queen, ever dutiful, wants to be the first to welcome her to Aurora. "Getting involved in affairs outside of your star system is rather unwise," Seraphina smiles, approaching the former corpse and stroking her cheek. "Though I am feeling kind, so your sentence will not be exaggerated. I am simply curious about your Death defiance and why such a gift has been wasted on a pirate. I simply want to learn everything there is to know about you."

 

[Syntra]

Splash.

The stain was blooming all over her shirt, the lovely one that Verity had picked, and, in all honesty? Iskra knew it was over. The signs were there-- the slowing of her heartbeat, the way her vision flickered, but most of all the cold, the cold, cold, cold, conquering new territories with each passing second. (She could no longer feel her fingers, either. Where was her sword? The pirate had heard something hit the floor, but whether it was the weapon or her own body, that she couldn't tell. Ah, if only there was a way for her to slow the villain down! To... to provide ample distraction, in order to facilitate her wife's escape. To make the sacrifice meaningful.) "Verity," she managed to say, over the blood dripping down her lips. (Breathing had turned into a chore, too. There was lead in her lungs, molten and white-hot, and it was burning, permeating every pore of hers! ...at least she wasn't completely cold, the pirate supposed. Silver linings, eh?) "G-go. You must. Now!" Because, you see, staying would be a mark of foolishness. There would be not one corpse, but two-- two lifeless, grotesque things, only similar to Verity and Iskra in their shape. Food for worms, really. Did she wish such a fate upon her wife? No, of course not! Unlike her, the princess couldn't crawl out of that abyss, and that... that made the decision-making process very simple. Why would you throw away a diamond when you could do the same with a pebble you'd found alongside the road, after all? (...and yet, yet some selfish part of her prayed for her to stay. Don't listen to me, she thought, in a feverish haze. You never do, so don't start with that now! Please, please, don't abandon me. I can't do this again, not alone, not like this--)

But, oh, she could. She could, and she also had to. Funny how that worked, wasn't it? (The sun may have found it difficult to rise each day, again and again, with no end in sight, yet nobody cared about its feelings. In that regard, the pirate was the same. Dying was what she had been born of, so why resist it? Why reject that gift? Always, always would death lurk in her own shadow, offering a helping hand. 'Do you wish to escape suffering? You only need to ask, pirate. Or should I call you a Seed? For such a paltry existence, you sure have many names.')

Before all strength left her, Iskra realized, with this cold satisfaction, that Verity was gone. Good, she smiled, oh so weakly. Good. (That was the last thought she had.)

***

The planet of ashes was usually a lonely place, but not this time. "No. No!" Iskra screamed, resisting the firm hands dragging her... well, somewhere. Somewhere she didn't want to be. "Unhand me at once. I cannot go with you yet, dear sisters. Can't you see that I still have work to do? A mission to see to its fruition?")

"Ooh, look at her," one of them giggled. "She's become terribly conceited, hasn't she? Thinking that she's better than us and everything. Well, you aren't, Iskra! Get those silly ideas out of your head."

"Yes, indeed. You are one of us-- a fellow Seed. Have you forgotten?" Forgotten, forgotten, forgotten, echoed in her head, over and over. Well, had she?

"Seeds don't have families. Seeds don't have wives." Iskra couldn't see the woman, but from her tone alone, she knew she was frowning. "Truly, has your memory become so poor? This is concerning. Perhaps your time is nearing its end, poor little soldier. How do you feel about that?"

"No, you're wrong. I can explain...!"

"Oh, but nobody wishes to hear your explanations," she patted her head from behind, never allowing her to glimpse her features. "We are merely here to make you remember. To make you realize your worth. Aren't you happy to be coming home, Iskra? To the one place where you belong?"

The hands dropped her, and all of a sudden, she... found herself in a dark pit, narrow enough for it to be hugging her frame. (What? Where was this? Never before had she seen anything like that in any of her dreams, and--)

"A grave, just for you. Aren't you oh so lucky? The remains of most of us were scattered by the wind, or eaten by coyotes. The privileges you get to enjoy are astounding."

"Please..." she whispered, but by then, it was too late. (Perhaps it always had been.) The ashes got into her mouth, and she was choking, and, ah, were they trying to bury her? It sure seemed like that, given the shovels that materialized in their hands.

"Sleep, sweet Iskra! Sleep, and never wake up!"

***

With a start, the pirate woke up. (The edges of the world were unusually sharp, and the light felt like needles in her eyes-- she'd blink to get rid of the sensation, but even her eyelids refused to obey her.)

"What..." she opened her mouth, testing her vocal cords. So far, so good. (The strange, almost robotic rhythm to her speech? Death simply made you sound like that, 90% of the time. ...wait, death? Had she died again? Curious. Curious, but also unsurprising, in this vaguely disappointing way.) "What happened? Who are you?" Iskra didn't recognize her, but obviously, the woman had to be a friend. Why else would she have the access to her body? Verity and the others would never have allowed an enemy to touch her, of that she was sure. So, a new subordinate, then? Yes, that explanation satisfied her tired, disoriented brain. "It's my Shade," the pirate said, with great effort. "It won't... won't allow me to die. Where's," she gulped, her throat dry, "where's Verity? And Myrne? I need to see them."

 

[starboob]

A shade? The other infuriating things this woman strains to say are largely ignored (for now) as the queen tries to recall if she has come across such a phrase in her studies on immortality. "Won't allow you to die?" Seraphina tilts her head curiously to the side. She looks almost innocent when she's inquisitive and it's easy to see how a princess once fell for a face like that, even with eyes so calculating they could only ever be looking ten steps ahead in all directions. "Are you favored by this divinity?" More importantly, how could one gain its favor? 'Don't rush, Sera. You have all the Time to unravel this little mystery. Besides, is this shade's gift even worth it? This... woman hardly looks the lively person she had been mere seconds before my spear snapped her spine and pierced her heart. Ugh, how unqueenly would it be to come back from Death so utterly helpless?' "Excuse my curiosity," she smiles sweetly, but in a way one might think a wolf is cute before it attacks, "but it is important I understand just what I am dealing with."

Methodically, she gathers her long strawberry colored hair and slicks it back into a low bun. "I hate making a mess of my hair. It's just so disgusting," she sticks her tongue out and curls her lip. She steps out of the subject's sight towards a tray cart lined with surgical tools and drags her finger delicately across them. (Well, some are surgical, some... some just meant for brutality.) Feeling a rare kindness, she selects a razor blade. There is all the Time in the world to learn from her subject, after all, and why not save some of her favorite methods for last? This may be a titillating test of her patience! Will the sage sisters not be proud of her virtue? Ah, yes! Yes, and yes. She hides the blade behind her back and returns to the subject's side. "When you awaken from Death, are you always so forgetful?" her eyes narrow to slits, sharp like the edge of the blade behind her back, "Or are you trying to annoy me on purpose?"

"It is your own fault you are in this predicament so I would have thought you'd be able to remember. Or was our introduction just so not memorable to you, hm?" She reveals the blade in her hand, tapping it against her glossed lower lip. "It really was rude for Verity to not introduce us, no? I am her queen, after all, and I am concerned with the princesses' personal affairs. Now, thanks to her rude manners, we are forced to meet like this! Ugh, right?" With a surprising amount of nonchalance, she makes a small cut in the subject's tunic then tears it open. Lightly, she drags the edge of the blade over her stomach, just the lightest cuts forming. Nothing too painful. "I think I know just how to make an impression. Let me spell out my name for you!"

With deep strokes on her subject's paper stomach, she begins to carve out her name on her abdomen. "Perhaps this will help you to not forget in the future. The next Time you awake from Death, my name ought to be the first on your lips, am I understood?" she asks. Her eyes, however, remain on the wounds, watching them carefully. (Ah, would it not be so hilarious if Verity saw her wife with another woman's name etched on her? She thinks so––not that she plans on returning her subject ever. No, this Iskra is hers. ...She will have to do something about that insulting marriage marker then. Hmm.) "You are also to demand nothing from me. I am your queen. In fact," she starts carving into the subject again, this Time spelling out her title. "Or if you prefer, 'your majesty,' 'your grace,' or, 'your highness,'" she carves those honorifics as well. "Any of these are suitable."

"You are also to forget the name Verity," she snarls, "lest you want to offend me. She is awaiting her punishment, but I might let you see her if you cooperate."

 

[Syntra]

Favored? Ah, if only Iskra's throat hadn't burned so much, she would have laughed. "You could... you could say that, I suppose. I am favored, to the extent it is possible to favor one's meal. Hasn't Myrne told you?" It usually was Myrne who was responsible for explaining the intricacies of her condition, and most of the time, the researcher did a fine enough job. How come, then, that this recruit was so woefully underprepared? Had her friend suddenly decided to protect her privacy? A baffling choice, to say the least! (When sailing the star currents, you see, there could be no secrets. A captain's life belonged to her subordinates, and theirs to her-- under such circumstances, omitting key details such as her inability to die was just playing with fire. Just, how could you strategize without understanding what kind of hand you'd been dealt? You couldn't, end of. Not very effectively, at the very least.) "I... I'm sorry, but I know not your name," Iskra admitted. "Can you call someone from my inner circle? My, ah, my wife. Or Myrne, or Eran, or..." ...or anyone who she didn't feel so uncomfortable around, to speak plainly. Anyone who didn't trigger her alarm bells quite like this woman did, beautiful but terrifying, with eyes that resembled a bottomless chasm. (Why did looking in them feel like signing her own death sentence? She was but a fellow pirate, another member of her crew, and doubts were utterly misplaced here. Among friends, trust was paramount!)

"What?" Iskra raised her eyebrow, the string of her thoughts thoroughly interrupted now. "Annoy you? I strive to do no such thing. I don't... I don't even know you." More importantly, was that any way to be addressing your own captain? She would have commented upon the disrespect, but her mind felt slow, slow, slow, like a fly drowned in honey-- as if the time stopped for her, but continued normally for the rest of the world. (Of course, slowness didn't mean a complete halt. Still, still the cogs in Iskra's brain turned, so when the woman introduced herself as Verity's queen? You know, the one who had stolen everything from her? The pirate's eyes darkened.)

"Sera...phina," she spat out, as if the name was too disgusting for her to hold in her mouth. (Immediately, the memories came flooding back-- the bait, how eagerly they'd taken it, and the cold, cold tip of the spear stuck in her chest. Oh, by the Shade! The edges of her situation were beginning to become much clearer, but Iskra wasn't sure whether she liked the resulting image. An enemy's toy, the pirate thought. Is that what I have become? Well... as long as Verity was safe, she supposed, this was fine. Better her than her wife.)

Struggling against her exhaustion, Iskra raised her head. So what if her eyes were closing on their own, and she could barely hear her own thoughts? Resistance was her second nature, like an additional layer of her skin. "You," she began, "are nothing. A dead queen of a dead land. One who only knows how to wield fear, nothing else. To your infinite misfortune, though? I am not afraid. I have been ready to die since I was born, and have died more than you lived. Your paltry threats cannot scare me. Nothing you can do will reach me, you vile creature." And, yes, Iskra did know that she had just earned herself a special kind of hell! The thing was, not a single part of her was for sale-- not her dignity, not her deference, and least of all not her loyalty. Seraphina couldn't have any of it, no matter how much she cried and stomped her feet. (Plus, if she taunted her into going overboard? Perhaps, by some lucky coincidence, the queen would extract her Shade, and then it would be over. No more torture, no more suffering. Wasn't it better, indeed, than becoming her fancy doll? ...ah, Iskra only regretted not being able to say goodbye to Verity. Why did their time together have to be so, so short?)

The scalpel was felt against her skin keenly, but the pirate only gritted her teeth. "Is that the best you can do? I thought you were more inventive than that. Even when I was a child, they subjected me to greater horrors." Although, what? No. No, that couldn't be! "Verity isn't here," Iskra said, trying and failing to sound one hundred percent convinced. "I... I know she left. I saw her." More or less.

 

[starboob]

"Oh, Iskra," she says her name like an insult, "Are you also the common fool who fills up on bread before being brought your dinner? As I said, I must know exactly what kind of thing I am dealing with," she laughs, the joyous sound bouncing off of the sickly white walls. "Just as you cannot use a plastic spoon to cut into a steak, I must know the proper tools to use on you, my love. I do appreciate you letting me know that my handiwork is most unsatisfactory to your tastes. Feedback begets improvement, am I right?" The queen discards the scalpel, too, because aside from her subject's unimpressed look, she becomes quite fascinated with the way the woman's body starts mending itself. Not a scar or scratch left on her. Well, that just won't do! (Not that all scars are physical, but the queen does have penchant for wanting to leave her mark.) This only means she will have to a get creative and there is something rather satisfying in that realization. It's been a while since her artistry has been inspired. Lately, she has found herself in a creative rut––how sad, right? 'I see why Verity liked you, hm. You must have been quite inspiring to that little space cadet.'

"A dead queen ruling over a dead land?" Seraphina doesn't know what to make of this and she doesn't mind letting her confusion show. She reaches to place her palm flat against Iskra' head, seeming to help her keep her head up. She leans in close, so that their noses are just touching. (Strawberry and vanilla, that's what the queen smells like.) "You sound as though you speak from experience. Are we kindred spirits, Iskra? I think you may be my twin flame if the stories of your ruthlessness are half as true. I should like to meet that Iskra sometime. Not now, of course. Your current state makes you quite pathetic but it does help me understand Verity's attraction. She loves her broken things, " she sighs as if exhausted and lets go of Iskra's head. She fastens a strap just above Iskra's elbow and then release the one around her wrist, holding her wrist in a vice grip. "But I should like to see what you can even do––I hope you're not boring." She then reaches for a pair of scissors, sharp and crescent shaped. "First, however, I want you to consider something about myself. The difference between you and I. You have defied Death. I have never died. When you wake up again, be ready to face me, because I want to see if you can bring me down." The scissors open their hungry jaws and clamp down, snapping, on the subject's pinky and ring finger. The digits drop to the floor. "Can your Shade fix this? I am curious of the limits of your supposed power."

She picks up the two fingers, curled, soaked in blood and inspects them with disinterest. She presses the bloody ends to Iskra's lips. "Are you hungry, my love?" she giggles, "You are so much like a vampire, perhaps you also have a taste for flesh. Have you heard of vampires, Iskra? I've discovered my recent interest in immortal creatures and I find them most fascinating. They're just so sensual and cruel, I love it."

Though all he prior playfulness drops when that snake is mentioned. With sweeping fluidity, she takes the scissors and jams them into the subject's hand, twisting until she can feel the bones breaking. She does this again. Then again. Finally, she splits her hand down the middle up to the subject's wrist. "I said to forget that name. That snake is a stain on this country. She has brought evil to this land and poisoned our waters. You understand? What makes you think I would let that little bitch escape?" Those soulless eyes, somehow vibrant and colorless, dig into the woman and dare her to challenge what she says. She waves her hand through the air and a screen appears. She taps on screen and an audio clip starts playing, "My wife! Let me see my wife!" Verity (?) sobs, "Please, she has done nothing––don't take her from me too." (Is it real? Is it fake? Seraphina lets on nothing.)

"Your fingers aren't growing back," she comments, inspecting Iskra's mutilated hand. "Pity. Lucky for your wife I did not take the important ones. Not that you'll ever be able to be with her again."

 

[Syntra]

Ah, so she was that kind of person. You know, the kind of person who was thoroughly in love with the sound of her own voice? The Holy Vessel had been her faithful mirror, and that made her wonder briefly whether it was some unofficial requirement for the role of a queen-- whether you had to wrap yourself in self-adoration to escape the bruises responsibility left on your skin, ugly and gaping. (Was that the cause behind their bitterness? Their cruelty? Iskra knew the pain of being asked too much, of carrying a weight too great for her to bear, and Seraphina must have been familiar with the concept as well. Was that what had twisted her into a monster? ...regardless, a beast was a beast. A sad backstory wasn't an excuse, as her victims would confirm.) "I will only say one thing, Seraphina," Iskra spat out. "You speak far too much. Don't you ever get tired of running your mouth?" There, more oil to the fire! (The explosion was imminent, and maybe, maybe the flames would cleanse her. In death, salvation, right?)

More poison dripped down Seraphina's lips, and the pirate shielded her heart. (She is nothing. Nothing! A petulant child who has lost her toy, and is currently stomping her foot. Of course that she wishes to feed on my despair-- no other meal would satisfy her. Which, pffft! Why did she think that her opinion mattered, again? Verity saw her worth, and nothing could take that away from her. A guiding star's light didn't disappear just because you couldn't see it, now did it? It was still there, shining brightly in your mind.) "Don't misunderstand," she stammered. "I merely happen to have eyes. With them, it is easy to perceive the truth. Why are you yearning for a twin flame, anyway? Are you lonely at the top? Perhaps you would not have struggled so had you not been this-- aargh!" Her hand exploded in pain, pain so searing that volcanoes paled next to it, but somehow, the sensation still wasn't as horrible as... well, as hearing it happen. As knowing that it was a part of herself that she had just said goodbye to. My sword hand, Iskra thought, in a haze. How will I wield my sword now? ...of course, that question only made sense under the assumption that she would ever see the sunlight again. Certain curses were blessings in disguise, indeed! Never would she be truly broken, for Seraphina would burn her to cinders. At least... ah, at least Verity doesn't have to see me like that. (In her wife's memories, she could be whole. And, considering the pirate hadn't dared to even dream about that? A victory it still was, even if stained with blood. Something that belonged to her only.)

Revolted, Iskra turned her head away, as far as her restraints allowed her to. "Do you... oh, do you know no shame? What are you waiting for? Just kill me already, Seraphina. We both know where this will end. Why prolong it? Because you're bored? Spare me the nonsense." 'Sparing,' however, didn't seem to be in Seraphina's dictionary. The pirate gritted her teeth, listening to the symphony of breaking bones-- a sound that felt intensely familiar, for so many reasons. It's not so bad, she tried to convince herself. You've done this before, remember? Think of an ocean, deep and blue and cool, and of the scarlet of the morning sky, and anything, anything that isn't this. (A good method, usually, but not when your very thoughts hurt, hurt, hurt! So much that Iskra wanted to cast them away, along with her skin. Along with that which made her... well, her.)

Seraphina's words flowed around her, not quite entering her ears, but when Verity's face appeared on the screen? Delirious as she was, the pirate struggled against her restraints. (No, no, no! Seraphina couldn't have her. She'd seen her leave, yes, right before the last death had claimed her, unless... unless that had been a lie. An illusion fabricated by her mind, designed to put her at ease. Oh, by the Shade! Could this be true, somehow? Had Seraphina captured Inure's entire crew? It wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility, and it was with that realization that her soul was gripped by terror.)

"Verity," she muttered, as if that name was a prayer. "What did you do to her, you monster?! Unhand her at once! You have no right. No right, can you hear me? Let my wife go, or there will be consequences." What kind of consequences, that much Iskra couldn't tell, and so she decided to shut up. ...for now.

 

[starboob]

"Lonely?" she scoffs, rolling her eyes, "Of course my position is a lonely one. That is what it means to be a queen, to be above the rest. The mountaintop is only so big and, frankly, I'm not interested in sharing. I seek my twin flame not for comfort, not to steal me away from isolation, but to meet my match. To meet the woman who understands what it means to burn." Watching her subject's mouth open while her face twists in agony, lights a rare spark in the queen's eye. Her glossed lips part ever so slightly when the realization of what has been lost seems to cross her captive's mind. Is that her heart that flutters? Yes, perhaps. Her blood certainly does feel hot knowing she seems to have struck something––she dare not assume gold, but this is a most delicious discovery. 'Scream like that for me again, pirate. How sweet that noise is, my nightmares may be soothed.' There is the temptation to take more, more, more from this woman––see how much of her she can chop off before the reaction dulls her senses, but the queen, a daughter of Patience, resists. The longer she waits, the more gratifying it will be next Time. Let this Iskra believe she will only take those two digits before claiming more of her. She clutches the fingers to her chest as if they were precious stones. (To Seraphina, they just might be.) "Oh, please never feel the need to silence yourself, my love. You have a song inside your soul that I cannot wait to hear."

"If you wanted to be dead, you should have died when my spear went through your chest. Usually that is enough for any woman, but clearly, you wanted to come back and meet your divinity. I appreciate the devotion," she smiles in this scorching way. (It's also hard to decipher whether or not she jests or if her arrogance has truly grown so large.) "You should feel blessed that I have chosen to grace you with my Time. There are many who wish they could hold my attention for even this long. Death will be granted once you have earned it, my love."

While she understand the utterance of that foul name as defiance, it is wholly (holy) satisfying to watch that fire within her subject die. She is not foolish enough to believe that it has gone out entirely––that would be rather disappointing––but she will keep this leverage in mind when this Iskra becomes too unruly. "Consequences? Do you not understand that she is suffering the consequences of her crimes and that you are here suffering yours? What makes you think you have anything to deliver to me? Other than your devotion, there is nothing for you to hand me." Seraphina, still holding Iskra's mutilated hand, kisses her palm in this almost sweet way. She even licks the blood from the closing wounds, swirling her tongue around the openings all while wearing a smile. "In my kindness, I will let you in on exactly what that snake is experiencing. It may be child's play for someone inured to such Violence, but remember who our dearest Verity is and imagine how well that pathetic cretin is taking it."

"How did you even fall for such a pathetic woman? I understand that like attracts like, but she is a monster by cowardice. Your stories make you seem like a monster because of greatness, much like myself." While she talks, she rummages through some supplies. Finally, she pulls out two thin snake-like devices and attaches them to Iskra's hips. At first, they only sink their teeth into her flesh, but, slowly, whatever venom they are spilling into the subject starts to burn a hole into the pirate. The robotic snakes wriggle beneath Iskra's flesh, worming around inside of her, biting at her organs with their acid venom. "Comfortable? How do you think your little princess faired? These aren't the exact snakes I used on her, of course, I don't want her dying too soon, but there are enough similarities, my love," she strokes Iskra's cheek. "Have you ever heard her scream? A true melody."

 

[Syntra]

My love, she called her, and never before had Iskra felt so revolted to her very core. How dared Seraphina use that sacred word, with the same lips that spewed acid? With a tongue that only knew how to cut and slash? "I pity you," the pirate said, despite knowing much better. "You have no idea what love is. Just, no. The only reason that you even mention it is the shock factor, isn't it? The contrast, that is. Your aim is to make me feel uncomfortable, Seraphina. There's nothing deeper to it. It's transparent, and cheap, and to be entirely honest? More than anything else, it's also funny. Like watching a puppy try to intimidate a grown lion, indeed. You understand not the gravity of that word, and so you cannot wield it with grace!" Because, no, using the title instead of punctuation wasn't going to terrify Iskra. It only highlighted the woman's own arrested development-- her eyes were blind, her ears deaf, and any chance of her ever getting better was crushed beneath the steel boot of her arrogance. How was that supposed to be scary? Or, more precisely, anything but utterly pathetic? (Thank you, Verity, for teaching me, Iskra thought. Only because of you did I learn how to be whole. An actual person, not her faithful imitation.) Once, she might have walked the same path Seraphina did, but now? No, not at all. Not anymore.

"Consequences will always come for you," Iskra whispered, her glare fierce. "They are not something disconnected from what you do, or some abstract divine punishment-- they are the very fruits of your efforts. You asking a question, and the world responding. It may not be me who strikes you down, but someone... someone will. Be merciful, and you may earn your redemption yet." (Would that work? No, most likely, but with her hands bound, Iskra couldn't do anything else! Wait for me, Verity. Be strong, and sooner or later, I shall come for you. No, the pirate doubted not that Verity could withstand it! She may have been made of silk, but silk wasn't weak just because it was also beautiful-- only the sharpest of swords could cut it, after all.)

"Neither of us fits into your convenient boxes," she uttered, disdain bleeding through her words. (So what if she was in pain? What if her wounds were pulsating, reminding her of everything she'd lost? None of that had shattered her spirit, and Iskra would prove that.) "The only monster here is you. I shan't explain myself, for you wouldn't be able to grasp it anyway. What is it like, being such a prisoner to tired cliches? A queen you may be, but your soul will never be truly free. Remember it, queen." But then, then Seraphina called forth her snakes, and Iskra closed her eyes, and-- and--

***

Inure was unusually quiet. Normally, its boisterous denizens might have sung, and drunk ale, and celebrated the gift of life, but all joy seemed to have left them-- it was as if some villain had snuffed out the stars themselves, to tell the truth. One might even mistake the ship for a town of ghosts, actually? Because almost everyone had retreated to their own cabins, to be alone with their thoughts. To mourn, most likely. Of course, 'almost' was the key word here, and Verity was about to have a run in with one of those exceptions.

"Verity!" It was Myrne, naturally. The silver-haired woman never minced her words, nor did she lower her gaze-- where others avoided her with this quiet, panicked kind of pity, she was able to look her straight in the eye. (Was that a small mercy, or a special kind of punishment? With Myrne, you just never knew.) "Got a moment? Come, we need to talk. Now, if you can." Her voice was firm, as always, but not necessarily unkind. In fact, if you knew her, you could even... sense traces of sympathy from it? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, she put her arm around Verity's shoulders, and guided her towards the bar-- the same bar where they had all drunk countless times, reminiscing about their pasts and dreaming about their futures.

"I will not ask you how it happened," Myrne sighed. "Partially because it doesn't matter, and partially because I knew you did everything in your power to stop it. It is not easy for me to say this, Verity, but I trust you. Not in all regards, perhaps, though when it comes to Iskra? Even a blind woman could see how much you treasure her. No, I... I do not doubt you." With a practiced motion, she poured the princess a cup of wine, and then did the same for herself. (The liquid was bitter, but did it not fit the moment? Would anything else not be an insult? No, the captain's friend had chosen the most appropriate brand, indeed.)

"No, I need to ask you about that Seraphina of yours. What is she like? What can we expect from her? What treachery is she likely to resort to? I... don't intend to give up on Iskra, Verity. She's the closest thing to a daughter I have." Usually, Myrne was steel, but even steel could have cracks, and now... now the princess got to witness them, with the way her voice shook. And the dark circles under her eyes? Ah, only now was it visible just how old the woman truly was. "We need a plan first, though. I am not barging in there like..." '...like you did,' she most likely planned to say, but then thought better of it.

 

[starboob]

Everything.

...Nothing has made sense since that evening. On more than one occasion Verity has convinced herself it had been a dream, a nightmare and that her Iskra will knock on her door with breakfast and a book. That never happens. The princess even refuses to leave her bed for a number of days following the incident, hoping that if she waits long enough her pirate will come to wake her, as she used to, and that they will tear each other's minds apart and laugh and jest and dream and wonder. Instead, the loneliness only reminds her of reality.

("Keilani! Unhand me! Iskra, she's––I cannot leave her!" she screamed, hysterical, while the sea of people thrashed around them, carrying them in a riptide towards an exit. "Princess," the little queen had said, her voice carrying that eerie age, making it hard to see her as a child or doubt her authority. "She is dead. Do not waste her sacrifice." Her throat back then had been too tight and her mouth too dry to explain everything.)

She wishes that it could have been a comfort to have one of her sisters back. That there could have been relief in knowing Keilani's women and some other allies whose names she did not get, managed to free her from her bonds, but Blythe is not the same. (No longer is she that happy outspoken girl.) She tries to remember what Iskra told her once, that her sisters would not be the same and someday they might smile again. It's just so hard to see that day from here. Especially when her sister had been, at first, inconsolable and nearly impossible to approach. They had to restrain her, knock her out with sedatives in order to treat her and figure out everything that had been done to her. (When she was finally subdued, they discovered robotic parasites crawling in her ears that possibly damaged her hearing, possibly poisoned her brain. There's evidence that her lips had been sewn shut at one point. Her tongue has been split down the middle. They don't know what happened to her eyes, but her visibility appears to be low. She doesn't always recognize Verity and when she does, it's never good. It's been advised she stay away from Blythe until they can sort out how to communicate with her and figure out what she even understands of herself and her situation.) It's a lot for the princess to hold. Still, Verity tries to remember that Iskra would not want to her despair. There is hope if she keeps looking for it.

In the meantime, Verity has set them on a course for home. She eats. She sleeps. She takes care of the garden––especially their tree. She practices her drills. She does this all so that she is prepared for the day they enter her planet's atmosphere and she faces that evil queen. That does not mean it is easy. So much of her aches and there seems to be no relief. Her eyes seem to be dry wells or perhaps she is scared to let herself cry for if she does, she is not certain she will stop. Yet, even while her heart is squeezed, she feels numb like there is too much feeling to feel anything at all. Part of her accepts this as a rare grace during a graceless Time.

She's been happy to be left alone as she doesn't think she has it in her to talk or be cheery. Not that any of the pirates would expect that from her, she knows, but she doesn't want to hurt any of them with her volatility. (She accidentally lashed out at Ressie just the other day because she happened to be in the kitchen when Verity discovered they had run out of milk and honey.)

However, when Myrne approaches her and treats her, well, normal? She never thought she'd be thankful for the old crone, but it comforts her. Makes her feel normal. She lets the older woman sweep her over to the bar and accepts the wine––Divinities know she could use the drink. When the older woman admits that Verity has earned her trust, at least in some areas? She wishes she could tell Iskra––not that Iskra would fully understand why this is so important to the princess, who, since learning that the woman across from her has more or less adopted Iskra, has vied for her approval. "I shall not make you a fool for trusting her with me," she promises, "We will get your daughter back––if I have to pull her from the ether and bargain with Death, I will."

Though of course Myrne's not here to commiserate (not entirely, anyway) and when her agenda is made clear, Verity drinks.

"Seraphina..." Where to even begin unraveling that woman, she does not know. "I don't think I have ever understood her. Perhaps, I understood her the best and even then there are so many things about her that she keeps hidden behind her cruelty. Myrne, there is no bar too low for her. Just look at my sister––she's barely an adult and has experienced more horrors than most women. That is likely not even her worst. But make no mistake, she is not careless. Her talent is anticipation, but even she can be wrong."

"If we go after her, she will try to lead us off her trail and play games. She will bait us with holograms and audio so real it will be hard to doubt their veracity. I have fallen for them before," her tone darkens and she takes another sip of the bitter wine. "We could be exposed to hallucinogens to make matters worse. But honestly? I don't expect her to hide herself for long. For as calculating as she is, she is also slipping further into whatever curse has taken over her mind. The country is in full civil war now that Halen has arrived back on Aurora and Seraphina is desperate to end it. I can think of no other reason why she would wander off-planet for myself rather than wait for my eventual return. If the rebellion were a snake, she sees me as the head. My betrayal was so loudly announced it encouraged a short war before I was forced to flee. It's her belief that if she gets rid of myself she will subdue the rebels. Regardless of whether that is even true," and Verity doubts it is, "we can probably bait her."

"I assume by now she has figured out Iskra's undying condition," she drinks, "Thus she knows I will come back for her. She will assume that we will come to her, but that will give her the upper hand. I believe our best bet will be to bring her out. There's potential for us to first join the rebels then make our way to the palace. In fact, we may have to so that we do not get shot out of the sky upon arrival."

"I don't want any of the crew fighting this war, but I will show myself. If I can make my entrance grand enough, that ought to piss her off enough to face me directly. Without her games." She does worry how that might make Iskra's situation worse and yet she also suspects the queen is so thirsty for her blood she might lunge at the first opportunity she gets to strike the princess down. She drinks again, staring into her glass and remembering the first Time she ever drank with the crew. How bold Iskra got after a single glass... Her tone shifts, "I don't know about you, but I'm furious with her for stepping in the way of that spear. I know why she did it––to her it was logical, but, damn, could she not have thought about what it's like to see her die? At the hands of the woman she knows I Fear the most? I want to yell at her, sometimes. Obviously, I can't and I won't but. Fuck. Fuck her need to be a shield." She finishes the glass in a few large breathless swallows.

 

[Syntra]

The mark of a true scientist wasn't her desire to tinker with advanced machinery, as one might expect-- no, that was but a symptom of her nature rather than its unchanging basis. You know what that basis was, on the other hand? It was her ability to listen, and draw proper conclusions from it. To cut through all the superfluous bullshit, only to reveal the very core of the problem. Was it any wonder, then, that Myrne happened to be an expert at that? Ah, surely not!

"I hear you," the silver-haired woman sighed. "So, what you're saying is that Seraphina is basically a nightmare. She also happens to be a queen, too, and that means that her resources are infinitely richer than whatever we might be able to scramble together. By the goddesses, you truly know how to pick your enemies, don't you?" The chuckle that escaped past her lips was thoroughly unamused, yet also not insulting-- while you could say a lot of things about Myrne, you definitely couldn't accuse her of being entertained by the situation. "I am not blaming you, by the way. I love Iskra, I really do, but that doesn't change the fact that she's always been a little shit. My duty this, my place that-- never did she shut up about any of it, and where did it all lead? I don't think anyone in the galaxy has slain more queens, or opposed more goddesses. What I'm getting at is..." for a rare moment, Myrne appeared almost bashful, "...that it wasn't your fault. No matter what you may think in that thick skull of yours, Verity, it really wasn't. If even half of what you say about Seraphina is true, Iskra was guaranteed to cross blades with her. For some reason, she cannot stand those types breathing." (Did she really believe that, or was she just trying to convince herself? And, if the latter was true, what were her motivations? ...Myrne kept her cards close to her chest, however, and her expression betrayed nothing.)

"It was her fate, if you want to give it a fancy name. You know what our fate is, though? To save her. That's what a crew is for." The more Verity spoke, however, the more Myrne frowned-- by the end of her little speech, her face resembled a crumpled magazine. "I don't like the sound of that," she said, without hesitation. "Using yourself as bait? Really? I will not condone that, Verity. Never. Iskra threw away her entire life just to save you, and this is how you repay her? What if we manage to retrieve her, but only at the cost of you ending up in captivity? Do you think she'd thank us for that? Besides, you are not immortal. Curse Iskra's logic as much as you like, but she wasn't wrong there. She wasn't wrong, and I won't allow you to do anything that would render her sacrifice void."

Myrne took a sip from her glass before looking up at the endless sea of stars above their heads, floating without a care in the world. (Where had she gotten the confidence from, anyway? Why did she think Verity would just obey, like a faithful dog?) "I'm not saying that your idea is stupid, however," the older woman added. "Joining the rebels is a sound strategy. Baiting Seraphina strikes me as a wise step, too, but... no, not with you. You sacrifice a pawn, not your queen. How do you feel about androids, Verity? Seraphina isn't the only one with access to advanced technology, you know-- I can make a copy of you, barely different from your true self. It should be enough to distract the queen, I think. And, in case we need to spice it up? We shall ask Eran to supply us with some of her most creative explosives, too. The microscopic ones. After all," Myrne grinned her wolfish grin, "doesn't everyone love surprises? And there's no bigger surprise than your rival being this... hmm, explosive." Oh. Oh! Sometimes, it was easy to remember just how terrifying Myrne was-- the woman never failed to remind you, though, and this was definitely one of those occasions.

When Verity made her confession, though? The pirate chuckled. "Yell at her all you want," she lifted her glass, as if she meant to drink to that. "Goddesses know that she deserves it. Frankly, Verity? I didn't want to offer any unwanted opinions, but I believe that you've been a little too soft with her. A woman needs to respect her wife more than that, don't you think? Enough, at least, not to make such big decisions without her input. Still, I get her as well," she sighed. "Do you think that Iskra would have enjoyed watching you die? Truly? Don't be ridiculous, Verity. Not even you can believe that narrative. That aspect regardless, I don't think you can curse her name for what she did-- not with the plan you suggested, anyway. Hypocritical much?"

"Tell me more about the rebels," Myrne implored her. "What do they have at their disposal? How do we contact them without alerting Seraphina to our presence?"

 

[starboob]

For all their past grievances and catty remarks, Verity finds solace in Myrne––perhaps the only woman who might care about Iskra more than herself. (Though the princess would never say that aloud.) The things she says are not even hard pills to swallow. Maybe it's the wine that opens her up or maybe it's because she knows this pirate does not mince her words. Either way, she is thankful that they are having this moment even if the circumstances bringing them together are less than ideal. "Well, you once told me that like attract like, so are you really all that surprised you gained two fools to look after?" she smiles, in this tired way and where it feels wrong, it is also a welcome relief that she can still smile. Because at least she is not so numb to have lost her best feature, even if it might be thanks to the alcohol. (Even if it feels wrong, she believes that Iskra would want her to find reasons to smile despite these trying Times. In fact, she knows it.) "I should hope someone hammer it into our thick skulls that we cannot always step in front of arrows, but I can make no promises for either of us on that end."

The princess then pulls up a holo-map of her home country and begins telling Myrne everything she knows. "Now, the rebels have successfully captured..."

***​

How long has it been? That is hard to know for the cell Iskra has been moved into lacks windows, lacks light, and lacks any semblance of Time. It's a small cube with barely enough room for the prisoner to stretch out her legs. There isn't even a bed. Though that probably doesn't matter given that Iskra has been bound to the wall with her arms raised above her head. If there is any thanks in this thankless situation, it might be that Seraphina has been too preoccupied with the rebels to pay any mind to her prisoner and has not visited her since their last session. (One that nearly blinded the prisoner, but Seraphina seems to want her vision intact. For now.) This does also mean that no one has visited her. If Iskra were daring, she might hope she's been forgotten, but she should not get so hopeful.

From down a long corridor, the sound of a door swishing open is heard, a faint light trickling in, but only just barely. Iskra is kept so far down the line that the light is hardly noticeable––it registers more as lighter darkness than light itself. While she might have expected to hear the queen's familiar heels clicking against the tiles, today the footfall is much too heavy. Too heavy, even, to be the queen herself. Soon it becomes apparent that it isn't her but a new face. (Or maybe one she'd recognize from her wife's memories.)

"Greetings," this new voice starts, pressing her palm to a panel and lowering the invisible barrier to the prisoner's cell. She's a uniformed officer, given her attire. The stranger or not stranger crouches to take a look at Iskra, grimacing at the axe that's been left in her skull. (Seraphina wondered if she'd comeback with such an item lodged in such a vital spot. "Praise the Shade," she had said just a week ago when Iskra took her first breaths again.) Carefully, the woman grips the handle of the axe and begins to lift it slowly. "Apologies if this hurts. I'd rip it off like a bandage, but the queen does not want you dying. This must be done slowly if I am to help that," she explains, her voice low.

She continues her work silently at first.

"Iskra, right?" It's a stupid question, because most know this name if they are close enough to the queen. She cannot shut up about her newest toy. Her newest claim over the traitor princess. "There is a rumor you are close with the queen's enemy," she seems overly cautious about saying the name of a certain princess, as if it might trigger an alarm. "If that is so, then you are a friend to me," she pulls a little more on the weapon, then stops to wipe the blood leaking from wound before it can get into Iskra's eye. She waits for the wound to close before continuing. "I cannot help much, but I offer this, Iskra, the princess is safe. She is not here, but she will be––they says she is bringing an army with her, that she'll take the throne that should be rightfully hers," even in this low darkness, somehow her smile flashes. Perhaps it's the hope the princess inspires that just speaking of her can brighten the darkest corners. "But today, you are to fight the queen and so I offer you two pieces of advice: keep your eyes on her spear and attack her left side if you would like to stand a chance." Finally, this woman, who has yet to introduce herself, takes out to two prosthetic fingers from her pocket and attaches them to Iskra's hand. The tips of the robotic fingers light up for a second and then twitch on their own, sending a jolt through the pirate. "Try to wiggle those and get comfortable with them. Takes some getting used to but, hey, you might grow to like them more than your originals," the woman lifts up her own cybernetic arm for show and laughs, albeit humorlessly. "What is your experience with gladiator matches?"

 

[Syntra]

Verity, my love, was this how you felt when I put you in that dreary cell? When I demanded from you that which you could never grant me? The memory felt fuzzy, as if she was viewing it through a misted window-- fuzzy and strangely distant as well, shrouded in indifference. It… kind of resembled a clip from a movie? A clip from a movie that had perhaps moved you to tears once, but also one that you’d seen so many times that it inspired no emotion whatsoever now. All the edges that had been ground to dust, really. No, Iskra tried to tell herself. No, this cannot be happening! It just can’t. I… I still remember everything. Seraphina won’t take her away from me, no matter what vile tricks she uses. I am just… tired, is all. Waking up the ghosts of pasts is always exhausting. None of this means anything. And, hey, that theory might have been convincing! At least to those who didn’t know how the Shade worked-- how it wrapped its hands around your throat carefully, so as to not spook its victim, and then, only then, did it strike. How, by the time you noticed, it was already too late. (…for her, it had always been too late, since the moment she had first taken breath. How to escape the symptoms of an illness that, for you, was synonymous with fate? The rot that was feasting on your very essence? You knew this day would come, she reminded herself. You’ve always known, and yet you promised her the world. Why did you do that, you foolish woman? All you could ever give her was a handful of ashes, and false hope watered with tears. A plant that would never bear fruit.)

Even so, Iskra decided to persist. She didn’t truly think her efforts would go anywhere, mind you-- fairytales never rewarded pirates, and so there was no reason to pray for some form of narrative justice. More than that, it was… about not having anything else to do, perhaps? About holding onto the last pieces of her shattered self because she couldn’t not do it, like a machine that had been programmed to perform one task only. Ironic as that was, it did provide some much-needed sense of routine. I’m Iskra, she said to herself every day, when another sleep cycle ended. I’m Iskra, and I’m a person, and regardless of what she does to me today, that will not change. She can break my shell, but not me. My true self will die before that happens. (Thinking of Verity did help, a little bit. Whenever death came for her, with its hungry jaws and sharp teeth, the pirate dedicated her last moments to her wife-- to remembering how soft her lips were, how brightly her light she shone, how her words both cut and mended. My guiding star, where are you now? …some part of her liked to think that Seraphina didn’t have her, and was just trying to get under her skin. Had she had access to the princess, after all, would it not have made sense for her to use it in more creative ways? To, for example, force her to torture her wife? A twisted mind like that of Seraphina’s could have come up with that within seconds, and yet, yet she had restricted herself to showing her some footage! Why? Maybe because the worst is yet to come. The sage had said that, hadn’t she?)

…in moments like this, Iskra wished she hadn’t angered so many goddesses. Even so, they had never helped her before, and so she didn’t really think they would have sent in the heavenly cavalry now.

(Pointless. Pointless, pointless, pointless! The trajectory of her life was set not in regular stone, but in diamond, and any attempt to deviate from it was surely met with laughter. Wasn’t that what she deserved? What all fools deserved? Such was the natural way of things, and perhaps, perhaps daring to hope for anything else was what had doomed her to this. To… to dragging others down with her, instead of dying with a semblance of honor. Wake up, Iskra told her Shade. What are you waiting for? Hasn’t the time come for you to claim your due? I have given you much and more, but you have yet to accept the true prize. End this farce. …as always, though, the Shade remained silent, and the pirate was left alone with her thoughts.)

With her thoughts, and also with a newcomer, apparently. “Do what you must,” Iskra spat out. “I would ask that you refrain from false sympathy, though. You need not pretend that you feel for my plight-- lies offend me more than indifference does.” Why would the officer even think that she’d find solace in those words? Compliance, eager or not, was still a powerful statement-- one that told her that, no, they weren’t about to become friends. They couldn’t. Gritting her teeth, the pirate braced herself for the treatment she was about to receive, but in the end? In the end, what the woman said shook her more.

With suspicious eyes, Iskra looked up. “Are you trying to imply that…” No. No, you must not resurrect your hope. Don’t you recall how much it hurt you the first time around? You, and everyone else as well?

“I shall not question you,” the pirate awoke from her stupor. “But I shall not thank you, either. I will only do that if your tip proves to be helpful.” Seraphina’s left side, huh? Attacking that spot was as good as attacking anything else, she supposed, so it wasn’t like she was falling for some kind of trap. “Then, and only then, will I truly believe you.” The new fingers felt strange on her hands, as if they didn’t quite fit, but this situation didn’t, either. Was that not deeply symbolic? “No experience,” Iskra said without hesitation. “My fights have not been spectacles. I was expected to bring death, never glory.” Even so, she put on whatever gear they’d prepared for her with confidence, and soon enough, the pirate was walking upon the white sands of the arena.

Unsurprisingly, the crowd booed her. (How many of them would have lost their heads had they not been loud enough? Iskra let the insults wash off her, for they meant nothing at all. Nothing.) “Seraphina!” she shouted, her voice much firmer than how she was truly feeling. “Finally, you have decided to ends things? Surprising. I genuinely thought you would never dare to face me in true battle. Why the change of heart? Have you found a way to transplant another’s courage into yourself?” Yes, because riling her up a bit couldn’t hurt-- anger, after all, was poison to precision.

 

[starboob]

The officer raises a brow at the prisoner's outburst, but the gesture does little to reveal what she might be thinking. If anything there could be understanding but it's hard to discern. She decides to keep quiet for the rest of their interaction, only offering apologies here and there. It is also this same officer who helps ready Iskra for the arena. She might have explained it as part of the custom––something about only warriors knowing how to properly prepare each other––or she might have stayed silent and the custom implied. When all is said and done, the prisoner is outfitted in simple armor––nothing flashy. It's lightweight, flexible, and true to everything else from Verity's planet, it is dusted in crushed gemstones. Iskra is allowed a shield and her choice of weapon. There is no need to explain rules, for there are none. Only Death rules the arena. When it is Time, another officer's voice echoes over the intercom, "Osmunda, hurry it up! The queen is getting impatient"

***
​

It is rare that sparks ever dance in the queen's soulless eyes, but under the influence of awe she seems to be lit anew. The cheers from the crowd bathe her in confidence and set her veins on fire. Her heart hammers in her chest, eager to plunge her spear into her hapless victim and perhaps show her heart to the crowd. (Ah, would they not like the spectacle?) She has long since divorced herself from Fear. No longer does she think she will die in the arena, as she had when she was just a girl. She knows that nothing and no one can touch her––if the opposite were true, she knows she would be dead by now. A lifeless body for the worms to feed on, but she remains alive and so that must mean she is graced by Glory and Gore, the twin sages and patrons of this arena that raised her.

As always when she graces these halls, her wings are attached to her back––silvery razor feathers, gently clinking against each other with each step, creating an almost whimsical twinkling melody. 'Surprise me, my love,' she thinks as she waves to the crowd, flashing them a brilliant smile, blowing kisses at them––it's hard to deny the queen's magnetism. Even if the audience would think twice before booing their gracious queen, this crowd does seem to have an undeniable excitement for the show. 'Deliver me to Death and prove you are better than me. Otherwise, I will teach you how to fly.'

Her wings stretch out as she dives head first from the top of the arena into the sandy pit below, landing with a practiced grace in front of her opponent. 'How handsome you look––dressed up and all dressed up for me.' However, before she can even get in the first word, Iskra beats her to it and it's difficult to say how the queen is affected. The cameras and microphones seem to have caught the defiance with how the crowd gasps. 'A true show-woman like myself.' She smirks and the comment seems to roll off her back, "Spoken like a hero, my love, but courage is for those who have Fear. Now that we know each other, our fight will be all the more entertaining!"

"But, my love, let's skip the chatter so that you can save me. Be my absolution and end me if you can," she laughs, shooting up into the air and then dive bombing back down with her spear aimed straight for Iskra's head. (Yes, she wants this match to last and she trusts her prisoner to play her role accordingly. Has she not given the woman more than enough reason to desire her blood? ‘Come on, pirate, impress me as you did her.’)

Sparks fly off of the steel weapons, clanging together like thunderclaps from angry divinities. She dodges, blocks against Iskra's sword using her wings and sends those deadly feathers rushing towards her in the next breath. Whenever her spear leaves her hand, she doesn't have to worry about retrieving it for it always flies right back to her. (This is no dance. This is two predators gnashing their teeth.)

With each of Seraphina's movements, there is a story. The story of the girl who conquered the arena and when that was not enough, decided to go after the world. The girl who is more fire than spirit. The girl who only knows happiness and fulfillment with blood on her hands. (Then there is also the girl whose childhood injury never quite healed, resulting in her dominating with her right side and never staying on the ground too long.)

Of course, being a gladiator fight, when things start to get stale new elements are added. Traps, of course, as well as new challengers––beasts from the Wilds, those odd experiments from Seraphina's lab, and... Verity? (No, the stumbling girl is much too young, much too short, and very much not her princess sister.)

 

[Syntra]

I am not afraid. Fear dulls blades more than time does, and so I won’t succumb to it. And, really, what did Iskra have to lose here? Her life? Pfft, don’t make her laugh! In order to be able to lose something, you had to own it first, and… well, for her, that had never been the case. Not even for a second. What did it matter that she used her lungs to breathe, her stomach to digest her meals, or her heart to pump her blood? More than anything else, Iskra was a tenant in her own body-- living on a borrowed time, for as long as she could afford to pay her rent. I am the only one who can win in this scenario, she realized, gripping her sword tighter. Mine can be her head, and mine her crown. What is she competing for? A few moments of cheap thrill? (…that, or perhaps something infinitely worse. Something so twisted that she could never even imagine it, let alone see it coming. From filth, only more filth could arise, you see? And Seraphina’s mind was a dark, dark chasm, where horrors dwelled and hope came to die. What could be lurking in those endless depths? What, exactly, was she thinking?) “A hero I am not,” the pirate said curtly. “That is your narrative, crafted so that you might enjoy this spectacle to the fullest. Does it please you, Seraphina? Bringing down those favored by gods, I mean? Then I would implore you to open your eyes, because that’s not who I am. Not even remotely. In me, you don’t have some precious trophy-- you merely picked up trash from the streets, too stubborn to die when she should. A hollow puppet.” (Did she believe it, or was she just saying whatever might spite the queen the most? At this point, Iskra honestly had no idea. Those had been her beliefs once, yes, but were they still? Had they returned, like seasons in certain climates might? Her thoughts were rivers, all of them, and together, they formed one large, bottomless sea, and-- ah. What was time, even? Could changes occur in any meaningful way, before everything sliding back into their comfort zone? By the Shade, she didn’t know, know, know!)

There was no time to try and unearth the truth, either, because Seraphina wasted no more time. (Similarly to the queen, the pirate’s technique also told a story-- a story of someone who had learned how to hold a sword long before she had learned to hold herself, and relied on it more than she should have. A story of one who, for the longest time, had had no other way to speak. The way her blows connected, and left her opponent no time to breathe? It was a symphony, albeit one composed to strike fear into the hearts of the listeners. A painting, drawn in blood on a sandy-white canvas. ‘Die,’ Iskra said, without words. ‘Die, die, die, you twisted thing, and plague this queendom no more!’)

The blades clashed together, again and again and again, and to her horror, the pirate realized that she was gasping for air. (How many times had she died in that miserable cell? Died, and been brought back to life? She’d stopped counting long ago, but her muscles never failed to remember-- they let her know in the way they ached, desperate for respite. No, she still wasn’t a machine! The Shade could only do so much, and that was the bare minimum for keeping her operational. As long as it didn’t prevent feeding, the godhead did not care.) “If you weren’t so eager,” Iskra spat out in between blows, “I might have given you a better performance. That’s the point, though, isn’t it? You just wish to play pretend. A fair fight scares you, and so you resort to… to this. A mockery. You know what, however? In the end, it is your loss-- you shall never meet the real me. You will never be able to say that you beat me for real.”

Just when she was thinking that the queen couldn’t possibly sink any lower, additions began pouring into the arena. What a coward, Iskra thought, more angry than truly despairing. Is that what this is going to be like? Very well, but I won’t go down without a fight! The pirate danced her usual dance, and she did so well-- with every blow, her foes were falling like autumn leaves, accompanied by cries of pain. Her left side, the pirate thought, attack her left side. Now. Now is the time! Because the queen wouldn’t see it coming, would she? Not in this very moment, when she should have been overwhelmed enough not to be able to tell her right hand from her left one! …but then she came. She, who couldn’t have been anyone else but Verity’s sister. (In her features Iskra saw her wife, and when she realized what kind of game Seraphina was playing? Disgust took over, visceral enough to drown out everything else. Using children for her dirty purposes? Really? …it was pitiful, in a way. A woman this controlled by her own insecurities surely couldn’t even rule over herself, much less an entire nation. Was this the reason behind her cruelty? This desperate, unceasing need to micromanage every single outcome of every single situation? Because Iskra couldn’t imagine any other reason why a person might stain her hands with such cheap, dishonorable methods. Literally not one!)

Without waiting for any more of this spectacle to unfold, the pirate threw her sword away. Clang! it went, but the pirate? The pirate didn’t even spare it a glance. “Kill me,” she instructed Seraphina. “Well, what are you waiting for? Is this not the glorious victory that you so desired? But you aren’t going to get anything else from me, you pathetic demon-- not when you break the rules like this. Know that I’m giving you my life, for you are too weak to actually take it.”

 

[starboob]

Once, as a princess, another princess had told Seraphina that when a star is born a nebulae collapses. Something about the gravitational force of all the gas and dust and the sheer attraction all of that energy has to itself creates a reaction strong enough for a bright giant to be birthed as a dot in the heavens. Grossly romantic? Seraphina thought so at the Time and voiced her disgust with the idea a collapse could be Beautiful. No, no, no––that princess failed to see the Pain that comes with collapse. The utter chaos and incomplete pieces. With all the broken shards and sharp edges that cut you when you go to gather the pieces, sweeping them up with your own broken hands, desperately trying to get them to fit together as they once did. She knew nothing of collapse and Seraphina knows everything––it is pure destruction of the soul. There will be no birth for Iskra when Seraphina forces her collapse. There won't be an Iskra when she is finished breaking her down, that much she promises––especially when she opens her vile mouth and spews her nonsense.

The crowd boos, but that does not drown out the sound of the dam breaking inside of the queen's head and the rush of water that tears up the streets of her mind. Her fist curls around her spear, soaked in the meat and blood of degenerates too weak to stand on their own. The whites of her knuckles threaten to break skin––in fact, spikes do punch out of her knuckles and the rest of her body, easily ending the lives of those extra opponents. (It is frowned upon to rely on one's adaptation in the arena, but not technically disallowed. Not that anyone would say anything to the queen about this. Especially not with that look in her soulless gaze.) There is a reflection of enemies burning in her eyes and when she walks over to her prisoner, a storm seems to follow her. (Though she does limp. It's slight and hard to notice for any untrained spectator, but it is there.) 'In front of my own audience––when I give her a chance to be reborn in this holy arena and she makes a mockery of such a gift?'

As if Seraphina Fears the prisoner or has any reason to Fear her––but that doesn't mean she does not raise a point. One that points to all the advantages she has given herself (and still the queen must acknowledge Iskra's ability to keep up, despite not being in her prime). How dare she make it seem as though she is a coward! Angrily she tosses her spear to the side, detaches her wings (they fall with a graceless thud), and unsheathes the scimitar. "I gave you a chance, my love, to slay me and you have failed. You have disappointed me and made a mockery of what I had planned," she tuts. Behind her eyes the cogs are turning and it is not difficult to discern what horrors she is conjuring––what punishment she is crafting to suit the utter defiance of her love. "You were to be reborn anew, but clearly I have miscalculated your ripeness. Apologies," she spits, drawing closer to the defiant woman. 'I will grind you to dust and make you in my image. As a divinity, I must. You will thank me for all that I am doing.'

Then, just as she is mere feet away and ready to strike down that wicked tongue, a whimper catches her attention. A familiar one and the smile that lights up the queen's face is sinister. 'Perhaps there is still a true Victory to claim.' "Mercy," she calls, not taking her eyes away from Iskra, "Mercy! Get over here."

Mercy, Verity's sister, clutches her chest tightly and gets up from where she had been hiding, stumbling over to the queen. (She cannot be older than thirteen, but what does that matter? Seraphina had grown up long before reaching her teen years.) She avoids looking at either woman and flinches when the queen wraps an arm around her shoulder. Seraphina gives her a cold squeeze and then shoves the girl at Iskra's feet.

"She would have lived, you know," and she means it. Shocking as it is, she had intended for Mercy to go in a different way, but she also had planned to kill Iskra in a different manner today. Sigh. Plans must change, she supposes. 'Let's see how much of your soul you are willing to part with.' "Kill her, Iskra. Or I will and you will be forced to watch," her smile is razor sharp and there's no denying the suffering that the girl will experience if left to Seraphina. "Tell me," she turns to Mercy now, whose eyes are shut tight, "would you like to earn your wings today?"

The child shakes her head vigorously, still refusing to open her eyes.

"Between myself and this woman here, who do you think will give you more peace?"

She points towards the prisoner, tears streaking down her cheeks.

"Well, Iskra, will you grant your sister her wish?"