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

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

There's a wild look in the princess's eye when she catches the pirate running towards her instead of running towards safety, because if she is going to run––why run backwards? Towards certain Death when she could propel forward for more Time with Life? This doesn't make sense! What good is it to play hero when they will now both end up in the fiery pit below? She can feel the heat burning her backside––somehow far more intense and searing than it had ever been since entering this chamber. No Time to focus on that––no Time to even say anything, because her throat has closed up with worry. Her eyes shut tightly, certain some form of nothing with envelop her and she only hopes her body goes into shock so quickly she won't have to feel the fire eat her through to her bones.

That, however, doesn't happen. Iskra grabs her and Verity instinctively clings the pirate, wrapping her arms and legs fiercely around her like an anaconda. There must be salvation in her arms, because they do not plummet towards a magnanimous end. The wind is knocked out of her lungs as she crashes against Iskra's body––barely breaking her own fall, but enough that she doesn't think any of her own bones have broken. She doesn't miss the sound of the pirate's bones snapping, however, and she looks at her with worry––wishing she could do something now to tend to pirate, but given the circumstances, all she can do is adjust her arms and legs so she is not crushing her core. "D-Don't worry about me––I'm alive, what about you? I don't think bones are supposed to make that noise." She is only framing it that way to be polite. She very well knows what is blooming beneath Iskra's skin.

With the room lit again, she looks across the pool of lava to the other side. "If the cable is long enough, yes, I think we could launch over there..." The sentence trails off as she thinks of what that might entail––you know, flying wildly to the other side and potentially breaking the collision with Iskra's body once more. She doesn't like that idea and there is very little she can actually do to control that outcome, because once they are flying it is up to Fate to decide who breaks the fall (she's pretty sure––the princess doesn't have a lot of grappling hook scenarios under her belt).

Before she can even think to reach for the second hook, she also notices the sizzling lava down below that seems to be getting suspiciously close to them. If she doesn't look then it's not real––a fine strategy except that the captain has asked for a report. "Ah, okay," she says, turning her head to look down at the pool––well, it's not a pool anymore. The lava has decided to somehow collect itself together in the appearance of a tall, glowing, mound of magma. While that development would have been concerning on its own, she also notices that as the mound starts to stretch upwards, two appendages, like arms, appear to form out from the sides. The arms rub the 'head' of the monster and once removed, it reveals an angry face––with flames for eyes and brows and when it opens its mouth, it belts out a hiss like scream. The princess clings tighter to the pirate.

"You don't want to see this––but that was, um, the sound of... the lava?" She's never seen or heard of anything like this before––certainly dangerous beasts live in the Wilds of her homelands, but they at least aren't made of molten earth. "It's sentient, apparently––" the Lava interrupts, slamming a molten fist into the wall they are attached to, shaking them both. A crack erupts across the wall; one of its many points hits the spot where the grappling hook is secured. 'Ancestors, help us––' she pleas, reaching for the second hook and aiming it towards the opposing wall. "Iskra, I'm going to try and use the second hook to get us across," she says by way of giving a warning since she has already acted on the thought and launched the hook to what she can only hope is safety. "Release––" Well, she doesn't really need to tell the pirate to release the first hook because the magma monster does that for them with another fist into the wall. With hardly enough time to adjust, she tries to make her own body like armor for the pirate, hoping she doesn't get anymore injured, hoping the impact won't send a rib into her lung. (With some dark hopefulness attached to that worry as well. 'Sh-shut up!')

It would be a victory that they're at least not attached to the first wall, which has pretty much crumbled, except that the Lava is still a large concern. she only needs to twist around to be threatening again. This time, she grabs chunks from herself and hurls them towards the two women––without much time to assess for new injuries, they have to move––and quickly, because there is no way their swords can take down whatever this is. (Well, that and the fact that it would be impressive to fight with no available hands––Verity, at least, refuses to detach herself from the pirate.)

 

[Syntra]

...alive. Alive was good, yes, though not exactly the sort of standard Iskra wanted to be aiming for! No, she needed Verity to be alive and well, and ideally happy, too, but... well, that might have been an unrealistic expectation, given their current predicament and everything. Oh fine, then! Alive, the pirate decided, was good enough. Good enough for now, that was. "I believe I... haven't died, either," Iskra countered, wincing in pain. (Uh oh. Had some of the ribs pierced her lungs? Blood wasn't coming out of her mouth, sure, but that didn't really mean anything. For all she knew, one of the shards may have been this close to rupturing the organ-- a ticking time bomb, really, in her very chest. What a comforting thought!) "Bones... heal," she replied despite the grim thoughts, not wanting to worry Verity further. How would that help, anyway? Would the princess be able to conjure up an instant cure out of stardust, as easily as she conjured up pretty words? Now, Iskra would hate to underestimate her, but she had her doubts. (...because, despite everything, Verity was still bound by her mortal shell. Unlike her, which wasn't something Iskra should forget about. So what if she tore her body apart? Rebirth would follow, in the same way tides always followed the moon, and then-- then they could go on, if the Shade was merciful enough. Right! Not dying above the fiery pit was her only real concern, which she shoved into the deepest corner of her unconsciousness immediately. Focus, Iskra reminded herself. Do not taint your mind with that which you do not wish to attract. ...litanies, huh. Was she still so blind as to seek solace in them, after they'd betrayed her over and over? Truly, like a moth drawn to a fire.)

It turned out that this was not a time for self-inspection, though-- mostly because the lava had somehow gained... what, sentience? An instinct to kill? (And weren't the two one and the same, when examined closely? For life was selfishness in its purest form, oh it was, it was. It meant claiming resources that could have served another, and relishing in it. It meant claiming other being's flesh for survival, or sentencing someone else to starvation because you wouldn't give up yours. Struggle, that was what stood in the center of it all! Struggle with death, which you could only cheat by killing. ...perhaps death was a spirit, and could be appeased via blood sacrifice. Who knew? Certainly not the pirate.)

Once again, they were propelled into the air, and Iskra-- by the Shade, how Iskra missed the solid ground beneath her feet! ...which was a privilege she had to earn, it seemed. Alright. Alright, then! (After all she'd been through, a mere pit wouldn't take her life. The pirate had envisioned many endings for herself, each of them stained in blood, but never one like this. A warrior had to die with her blade in her hand, you see, otherwise she was no warrior at all! ...and her Promise meant something, even if nothing else did.)

As they flew, every single instinct of hers screamed at her to close her eyes, to shield herself from the view-- which was, of course, why Iskra watched and watched and watched instead, almost greedily. (Those instincts? Useless. Mere remnants of something that no longer existed, much like ashes. Why should, after all, a weapon be burdened with self-preservation? A sword was meant to be bathed in blood.) But, ah, there it was! A crevice in the wall, deep enough for the hook. "I'll... get us further... then it's your turn."

And, indeed, it was. Soon, they slipped into an easy rhythm, and soared-- soared like a bird would, except that they were a sparrow and an eagle followed in their steps. (Iskra didn't see it, of course. Not once did she turn around, though she didn't even have to. The way the monster screamed, uncomfortably close? Or the stones that rained upon their heads with every wall broken, similar to a meteor shower? Oh, it was there, alright. It was there, and it yearned for their blood.)

Finally, finally they landed on the solid ground! A wave of relief washed over Iskra, until... damn. Damn, damn, damn! The lava monster crawled out of the pit, with the stubborn endurance of a hunting dog. (Its eyes were coals, she could see now. Two dark, bottomless pits-- black holes, perhaps, for staring into them seemed to twist the time itself. It flowed slowly, oh, so slowly... A harbinger of death, most likely.)

It was then that Iskra noticed something with her peripheral vision-- a tower made out of ivory, shining like a lighthouse in the darkness. It was tall and smooth, but... yes. Yes, it would do! Without thinking, the pirate threw her own grappling hook at Verity and drew her sword with a steely 'whoosh'. "Climb it," she ordered, in a tone as sharp as the blade in her hand. "It... looks important, and I am hurt. I cannot do this quickly enough. I can... I can distract this thing, though."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity doesn’t need another invitation to run towards the tower––she had spotted it too and similarly assumed that there is something important waiting for the victor of the trial. It’s why she doesn’t insist on staying with Iskra, injured Iskra, to distract the beast that is threatening them; she knows this is a convenient way for her to claim the trial and prove her worth to the wayfinder (as she is convinced these trials are meant to prove). And she needs to win this; images flash through her mind of the people she had to leave behind, the people who did not survive, of the queen who threatens to tear apart the people she swore to protect––those inspire her legs to run even faster, ignore the ache in her muscles and the burn in her chest that constricts her throat. (Yes, somewhere she is worried for the pirate’s safety, too, but this… This is bigger than her feelings. The princess must hold onto that for the survival of her people! Iskra’s failure, Iskra’s demise and the peril of her people… this is what it means to be married to your home. She cannot turn on the people who share a lineage of ancestors with her.)

(Then, in tandem with these understandings, she also holds how the pirate’s ignorance has helped her succeed––if Iskra hadn’t gone back to save her, hadn’t come in with her grappling hooks, she would not be half as far in this trial had she been truly alone. That thought worries her––causes her to think of all the ways the pirate may be more of a competitor than she had initially measured. An even better candidate for the wayfinder... It’s only a matter of Time before Iskra figures out the nature of these trials. Her ignorance may be Verity’s only advantage and she is not sure how she feels about this sudden realization.)

Addled with worries she cannot afford to spend time on, she pushes them to the furthest corner of her mind—where panic has taken root without her awareness and these extra concerns only act as water. And still, the kinder part of herself wishes to the pirate, ‘Be safe.’ While the nastier monster inside of her soul spews curses and she tries to cover it in shame, as if that blanket makes it any less real.

When she finally arrives at the tower, she does not hesitate in using the grappling hooks to propel herself upwards. When she climbs into the high room, she only takes a minute to catch her breath before wiping the sweat from her brow and scanning the room for whatever piece will name her victor. In the center, she spots a group of floating cylinders, all silver and etched with glyphs from the old world. Each a different width and length. She reaches for one and just as her finger grazes the metal, a loud note echoes through the cavern similar to a gong that has been slammed by a child. Her hand recoils and she tries touching a smaller one—this one shrieks. Her brow arches and she decides to swipe her hand through the cylinders, which causes a more thunderous reaction. Other than that, nothing significant happens. She groans, her chest tightening as it becomes suffocated with irritation. ‘Think, Verity, think!’ Her eyes shut tightly and the voice of a child whispers to her, ‘Remember grandmother’s wind chimes?’ She nods, eyes flying open with this realization and she experimentally, gently thrums her finger across all of the cylinders—which only thunder again. ‘Wind chimes, Verity, wind. chimes.’ She smacks her forehead with her palm and this time, knowing the chimes are sensitive, she blows on them; this reveals a melody, soft and sweet—it’s not quite the victory she expected.

And she entirely expected that to be the end, but instead the chimes just seem to activate the next phase. When she peers out the archway, storm clouds are forming across the arena, dark and heavy. A flash flood then rains down below, hitting the lava monster who doesn’t exactly screech in submission… But an effect of some sort is taking place (maybe she could better assess it if she were down below with Iskra). Another interesting thing happens––some of the tiles on the gem floor begin to glow. “Huh,” she hums as she makes to glide down the tower.

So this isn’t over yet. ‘Of course it couldn’t be so simple, you absolute fool.’

 

[Syntra]

A part of Iskra, and a large one at that, expected an argument-- an argument or, Shade forbid, Verity just taking the matter into her own hands, the way she had during the last trial. Would the princess jump between her and the monster, wrapped in her usual stubbornness? Stubbornness and fire, intense enough to match the heat of thousand suns? Don't do it, Iskra thought, with all her might. Do not throw your life away for one such as me. (Because, no matter what happened, she was lost already, you know? A poor wandering fool, seduced from her path by will-o-the-wisps-- beautiful they had been, so, so much, and radiant, too, but... well. Will-o-the-wisps were creatures of night, children of illusions, and where did you go when the daylight broke their spell? When you found yourself utterly alone, miles and miles away from the place you had once called home? ...she was still trying to find out, rather foolishly. How could the pirate get anywhere, after all, with her map torn? With her compass broken? ...fire followed in her footsteps, yes, and in that fire, all had died.)

Thankfully, though, Verity seemed to understand. Which, good! That meant Iskra could focus without, you know, dividing her attention between two different tasks. (Ahh, the gift of pure concentration-- the first step towards pretty much any victory, truly. How kind of the princess to bestow it upon her!) Perhaps absurdly, the pirate then bowed to the monster, her eyes never leaving those endless pits. "Greetings," she mumbled, and put her free hand over her heart. For a second, the creature looked... confused? Shocked, perhaps, as if it had never heard human voice before. (Technically untrue, Iskra supposed, for it had definitely heard their screams. It was likely, though, that this tone was a novelty for the monster-- calm and soothing, like a one of those large rivers that was in no rush to become one with the sea.) "My name is Iskra," she continued in that same tone, "the captain of Inure. I will be your opponent today. Well then, shall we dance?" And, really, she could almost swear that the thing understood her, for it roared. Its mouth opened, comically large-- like a portal to another universe, maybe. When a stream of lava shot in her direction, though? Oh, Iskra wasn't laughing.

Damn, damn, damn! Swiftly, the pirate dove behind the only cover in sight-- which, in this case, translated into the ivory tower. Except that, no, she shouldn't be doing this! The monster had brought down walls with ease, and Verity was climbing the structure, and if she fell because of her... no, the thought was too dreadful to contemplate. (Iskra would never forgive herself, for as long as she did. Always it would hunt her, she knew-- the princess's sweet voice twisted into a dying scream, her limbs broken. The familiar, empty stare of a corpse where her fire had once been, and-- okay, okay. Iskra had just begun to explore this, and she did not like it. So, the Shade couldn't have her! No matter how much it demanded, how much it bargained, how much it pleaded. ...because, yes, she did belong to it, but she belonged to Verity as well. To Verity, who made her body sing songs previously unheard. To Verity, who sparked a fire in her mind. To Verity, with whom Iskra felt some kind of alive, even if that was nothing but a filthy lie. But, hey, didn't everyone build their dreams of lies? They were fragile, yes, but so, so stunning-- kind of like glass, or maybe porcelain. ...perhaps it was the ephemeral quality that made them worth it, then. Wasn't that, after all, the greatest act of resistance? Daring to exist as something this vulnerable, this brittle, in the universe that prouded itself on smashing such things to pieces? A single flower in the desert deserved praise, that was what it was. A butterfly trying to survive in the storm. And Iskra? Iskra was determined to protect her butterfly, no matter what it took.) Alright. Alright, then! Placing herself into the line of fine it was. Cursing under her breath, Iskra ran towards the monster. (Her lungs burned, burned, and burned, though she ignored it. What was the worst thing that could possibly happen, right?)

The monster swung its large arm, but, too bad! Iskra jumped over it, and landed elegantly on the other side. "Too bad, friend! Try again." And try it did. There was a flurry of punches, and with each miss, the growls grew more and more frustrated-- it was then that Iskra understood what being a mosquito must have felt like, even if that was an experience she wouldn't mind not having. (Her breath got shorter and shorter, too. And her arms? Oh, they were covered in blisters-- a tax for playing with fire. ...soon, Iskra knew, she'd make a mistake. She'd make a mistake and then it would be over, at least for a while. Or forever, maybe? Depending on whether the monster devoured her flesh, just like fire devoured all living things. Please, she prayed, let my sacrifice be worthy. Let her succeed, if I cannot.)

Something caused her to trip then, and... huh. Rain? Here? Iskra looked up, and to her surprise, the lava monster was no more. Well, at least the lava part! A cloud of steam surrounded it now, so thick she almost couldn't see the creature, but oh, was its misery palpable. It screamed and writhed, suddenly pathetic more than terrifying-- its body turned black, too, like a polished piece of coal. (Hmm. What was that feeling in her heart? Discomfort? No, no, it ran deeper than that. Relief? Yes, though that wasn't all it was. It was like-- like ants biting their way through her veins, and filling her blood with acid.) "Verity!" Iskra exhaled when the princess appeared. "That was you? You've done so, so well. Thank you! Now... um. Do you think there's a way to ease its suffering?" she gestured towards the monster, now whimpering on the floor. "It was a worthwhile opponent, and a valiant guardian. Such a fate is beneath it." (Ah, so that was what the feeling was! Sympathy, the most dangerous of poisons.)

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

As she bounds back towards what was once their fiery assailant, her heart is torn in several directions––unsure of what outcome she wants to see. Unsure of how she will even react to Iskra––already feeling guilt for so many different things (her thoughts, her hopes, her secrets). With the trial still underway, however, she directs her energy towards the endgame—towards winning. While she is not sure what is suppose to happen next, waiting idly in the ivory tower will do her no good. The action has clearly moved down below. (Something she does not register as she runs, when she steps on a few of the glowing tiles they sing––but the princess's heart is much too loud in her ears to take note.)

Sliding to stop next to Iskra, relief, dread, happiness, worry, all settle on her small shoulders and practically crush her under all the confusing weight. Her cheeks color slightly when the pirate compliments her efforts, if only because she knows she had not completed that particular task with the intention of saving her. Even if that had been the byproduct, she questions her own honor in the act. She squints an eye and scratches behind one ear, mumbling, "Yes––you don't need to thank me." And she really cannot stand the gratitude, because she knows she is underserving of it. (This dual relationships only becomes more and more complicated the longer they both ignore their conflicting interests, conflicting intentions.) When her eyes sweep over the whimpering pile of glass rocks, watching as the rain continues to sting at the last embers of its fire she approaches the creature. In all honesty, she isn't sure what exactly to do. On the one hand, her heart does feel for the creature––those cries, those pathetic mewls call to part of her that wants to scoop the pile of rocks into her arms and soothe it; then, on the other hand, she remembers everything she had learned in preparation for her own trials––specifically the lessons from the twin sages Glory and Gore. "I suppose there is only one thing to do," she says, something twisting inside of her.

There is no point in drawing her sword, but she approaches the creature with the same malignant intent—even if hidden by her brilliant smile. This really is not her favorite thing to do and yet, not much Life has ever been spared during the trials crafted by her people. (This is the way. This must be the way. Her gut says otherwise, but her frame of reference shouts over intuition.) She observes the creature before making any decisive move––again, unsure of how to end the Life of something she isn't even sure is entirely living. As she gets closer, she notices that between the gaps in the glass-like scales, there is still a fiery orange core at its center––a core that is temporarily protected by the being's rock armor. She holds her breath. Rain continues to pour over the arena, but it’s not as heavy as it had been before and when Verity looks up she can tell the clouds are almost finished. Time is running out. While she hesitates to make a move at first, she remembers what Iskra had taught her during their first sword fighting lesson; the swirl around the shell of her ear, as if the pirate were whispering them to her now. More importantly, she remembers the lack of mercy, lack of hesitancy from the princess who did become queen. 'I must be as cold as her steel if I am ever to stand against her again,' she thinks to herself, building her resolve.

Again, with a friendly grin, she looks into the soft glow of her ember eyes—they look back at her with longing and that almost causes the princess to falter, but she refuses to give into empathy (this could be the winning move, after all). Her hand reaches out to pet its sharp scales, she smooths her hand over its back and when she can feel the heat of its core beneath her palm, she grasps one of the scales and begins to pry it away from the creature, exposing it to the rainfall. The heat sears into her hand, burning her, but she ignores the Pain that screams for her to let go. Though the beast doesn’t just let her expose its heart to the rain; it hisses, roars, the core beneath it threatening to relight the entire thing back into magma. It then smacks Verity away with such force, she flies backwards into a pile of hard stone. The wind is knocked from her lungs as she crumples to the ground, a dark bruise blossoming across her shoulders. Before she can even focus her vision or get up, the volcanic monster is charging at her––the fire inside of it building under the waning rain.

 

[Syntra]

Verity, of course, knew what to do. That didn't surprise Iskra-- the princess's will was that of steel, and just like steel, she would cut her way through no matter what. Even the assassination attempt had proved it! (What was it like, huh? Carrying yourself with so much confidence, so much audacity, as if the concept of failure existed in some other dimension entirely. When they had met for the first time, Iskra had assumed Verity was a fool-- a brave one, yes, but still a fool nonetheless. What other word would you use for a woman who opened the jaws of death, and then jumped right into their depths? Stupid, stupid, stupid! ...or a visionary, maybe, if she saw a star shining in the beast's belly and decided to grasp it for herself. Out of the two, which one was she? The pirate couldn't tell, really. The boundaries between the two ideas were so, so blurry! A distance shorter than her eyelashes, in fact, and yet... yet it was the difference between life and death, loss and victory. And, frankly? Sometimes, it seemed to Iskra that it was a coin flip, too. How did you decide, after all, whether the action you took was a stroke of brilliance, or an impulse born of madness? Why, by its fruits! Which was all good and well, of course it was, but sometimes, you just couldn't know what kind of seeds you were planting. You just... had to take the plunge, you see?)

Which was exactly what Verity did. Iskra watched her, curious, as she approached the creature. Now, what tricks did the princess have up her sleeve? (Something wonderful, no doubt-- perhaps a secret technique known only to her people, a gift given to her by her ancestors. Or a poem, maybe? Words could be like summer rain, gentle and soothing, and... hmmm. Replaying the interaction in her head now, the monster had paused when she had introduced herself, hadn't it? Had that been a coincidence, or could it actually understand human speech? An interesting thought, and one the pirate hadn't considered before. Either way, yes, it was better to leave these things up to the other woman-- Verity's words were a golden thread, you see, and out of it, she wove the finest tapestries. Oh, how delicate her embroidery was! ...much more beautiful, much more worthy than Iskra's clumsy attempt at stitches. No, better step away and watch the master of her craft.)

Except that, uh, that wasn't what Verity had in mind. Instead, she... what? Tried to kill this defenseless thing? (...which made perfect sense, actually. It was a monster, one forged in fire, and nothing could change that. Losing couldn't rewrite its DNA, you know? If Iskra peered into its eyes, still she'd see those soulless pits-- the black holes that seemed to grasp, grasp, grasp after her, as if they wanted to swallow her whole. Ending its misery, then, was the right call. It had to be! A pragmatic decision, indeed, and pragmatism was all Iskra had, at the end of the day. What was honor, after all? Honor was silk-- silk you could drape over your shoulders, and enjoy the soft feeling. ...silk wasn't to be worn in mud, though. It couldn't handle mud and dirt and blood, and all the filthy, disgusting places Iskra occupied. So, yes. Yes, she agreed with Verity's call!)

...some part of her did feel for the creature, though-- as one monster to another. (Maybe it wasn't all it could be. Maybe living in this place had twisted it, over and over and over, till its spine had cracked. Just, imagine having to be your own source of light! The monster had dwelled in the pit, possibly for centuries, completely and utterly alone-- drowning in darkness, its flesh on fire. What if it hadn't wanted to kill them at all, actually? What if it had yearned for touch, rather than death?...ah, all those parallels! Both sweet and bitter at the same time, and so, so sharp against her skin-- the blade of a knife, truly. The weight of existence itself on her shoulders, pulling her down, down, down. ...it hurt and it didn't, somehow. In a way, the pirate felt everything was right where it needed to be.)

Perhaps that was the reason Iskra did what she did when the monster lashed out. And what was it? Once it charged against Verity, the pirate ran-- ran into it, and pulled it into her embrace. (The flames blared immediately, hissing like an angry cat. Distantly, Iskra was aware it was her own skin that was burning, but what did it matter? Fire had kissed her so, so many times already it felt like a reunion with an old friend, and... well. Every peace offering required Sacrifice, or it was no true offering at all. Let it be pain, then! That seemed fair, considering the circumstances. Meeting each other on the same playing field could only help, you see? Because Iskra could tell it suffered so, so much.) "Shhh. It's fine. It hurts, but it doesn't have to. It gets better. We're sorry." The creature writhed in her arms, but the more it struggled, the tighter she hugged it-- the fire burned and burned and burned, but her resolve matched it. The captain would persevere, for as long as she had to!

And, in the end? The heat went away, as it always did. No storm could rage forever, for it couldn't feed itself. Fury, too, eventually consumed its fuel! Which was what happened to the monster, who went limp in her arms as well. Except that, hmm... it didn't look like a monster anymore! The messenger of nightmares was gone-- instead of it, there was a smooth, mouse-like animal, and it, uh, wagged its tail. "Oh. That... that was unexpected," Iskra said, wide-eyed. Was that supposed to happen, or had the monster malfunctioned? ...if so, the pirate didn't mind such a glitch. "Are you alright, Verity?" she asked the princess. "I, uh, I have no idea why I did that. I just felt I had to, for some reason. Do you think that... oof!" Something was crushing her shoulder all of a sudden, and when the pirate turned her head? She found the mouse perched there, casually, as if it had been its home the entire time. Well, that was certainly new! "...oh. Um. Can you... can you get off, please? You're heavy." If the mouse could understand her, it chose not to react-- instead, it licked her face, and Iskra frowned. Diplomacy with monsters, or former monsters, wasn't exactly a skill she had expected to have to learn! "Do you have any idea what this is supposed to mean, Verity?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Pain explodes through the princess's body and a groan passes through her lips as she slowly, almost lethargically pulls herself into something of an upright position, propped against the hard stone she had crashed into moments ago. As the rest of her catches up with Time, she does not even recognize the danger she had been in and still doesn't know it, because when her senses realign all she notes is the pirate hugging the glass animal. Her shoulders fall forward, hair cascading around her to cover her face as she curses herself, berates herself with poison one usually only reserves for themselves. Purposefully, she bangs her head back against the rock and groans again, not really masking her frustration. The realization that Iskra has been key in this trial smacks her entire body once more like a tsunami––even if she knows points don't matter if you can still claim the finishing move, her confidence in herself wanes with each passing second. 'Why! Why can I not get this? I am a descendant and yet... I keep owing myself to an outsider. She cannot be worthier than I––just, no!'

Silently arguing with herself, she almost misses the transformation of the monster and Iskra's question. (Sages! she feels suddenly exposed by her own embarrassing failures.) She avoids looking at the pirate directly and concentrates on the glassy mouse sitting on her shoulder. "I'm alive," she coughs, straightening up as she pushes herself off the stone and approaches the two. "I'm fine, yes. Just burned and bruised, but those all heal," she offers a reassuring smile as she mirrors the pirate's earlier reassurances. Part of her wants to ask how the pirate is fairing and part of her cannot stand to know, for so many reasons. She decides to keep herself quiet. Instead she scans the pirate and assesses the possible damage for herself, wincing as she notes the blisters and burns. All for her. 'More proof that she is honorable; more proof that I am horrible.'

"No," she admits and bites off the, 'I apparently know nothing.' She decides against that melodrama for the time being. The volcanic mouse eyes her wearily, definitely using Iskra as a shield. Verity frowns, though she knows it's deserved––she did try and end its Life. She likely wouldn't be too keen on someone who has attempted to murder her––not like the pirate (and she does still think that choice was foolish and yet, she has been grateful for the chance to know the pirate as a result of their first fiasco). "These creatures are nothing like what we have on the new world. I––I don't know enough about the old world to know if she is native to there or perhaps a creature my people captured or created." Too much about the old world is hidden; she is curious about it and had wanted to study it more in-depth while in her princess studies, but the sage sisters told her that knowledge is not pertinent for a princess. Princess's should concern themselves with the immediate present and not the ancient past. It didn't and doesn't make sense to her, but sage sisters rarely change their mind. Even the most lax one she knew had refused to grant her access to those stories and artifacts.

Verity shoves her fists into the pockets of the pirate's coat (that she has claimed for herself at this point). In the corner of one pocket, her finger brushes against the familiar petals of the crystal rose she had plucked from Inure. She smooths her thumb over it and it does give her some sense of calm, but still settles zero of her worries. (What use is it to calm when the panic still exists?) "I really... Don't know." She shakes her head. The defeat and disappointment are so palpable in the air around her, it surrounds like a storm cloud more than a fog. She pulls the crystal out of her pocket and twirls it in her fingers and when she reveals this trinket, the mouse perks up and looks longingly at the rose. Experimentally, Verity breaks off one of the petals and offers it to the creature, who cowers behind Iskra's shoulder, skirting to the other side, still not trusting the princess. She sighs, nodding to herself and then sets the petal on the ground and takes a few steps back from it to give the creature some space. "I'm not sure what to do next," because she's completely forgotten about the glowing tiles.

In the meantime, the mouse climbs off of the captain's shoulder and slowly approaches the petal offering. She sniffs it curiously before swiping it with her paw and running behind Iskra to munch on the treat. "I do think you have at least made a new friend––I seem to have become the poor thing's antagonist." Now she wishes she had listened to her intuition and she feels the ancestors inside of her agreeing with that sentiment. (Which of course annoys her––but she understands that the ancestors don't exist to prevent failure. They exist to help descendants come back from failure or provide insight.) It would have served her better to listen, then she wouldn't have gotten burned for no reason––especially since the creature seems rather harmless in this subdued state. (She wonders what had anguished it so much that it had become a mass of magma.) "I didn't actually think killing her was the solution... Just that's usually how these things go; something always ends up dead," she clarifies, not wanting the pirate to think ill of her poor choice; to deem her callous.

The mouse, having finished its snack, peers out from behind Iskra and looks at the remaining rose in Verity's hand. She looks between it and Verity expectantly. A small smile graces the princess's lips. Perhaps she spoke too soon about making another foe. She offers another petal, this time putting it just a little bit closer to her. "You've been fairing quite well, I have to say. Maybe you should trust yourself in figuring out your next move."

 

[Syntra]

"I see," Iskra nodded, without a hint of judgment reflecting in her blue eyes. "I'm sorry." Not that she had done anything to the princess per se, of course-- it had been an innocent question, motivated purely by desire to succeed. Still, motivations didn't matter that much, did they? Since a needle thrust thrust under one's skin hurt, regardless of whether you meant to cause pain or administer a vaccine. "For making you confront this, I mean. Not knowing your own past... that is an ugly fate." (Because from your past, everything sprang. From these roots, you grew, endlessly. ...they were your point of reference, really, for all those moments when you needed to look back and ask yourself 'why'. The roots didn't lie, you know? Every twist, every knot was a heart once broken, and forged anew-- a cautionary tale meant for your ears only, written in your own pulse. ...and now, what happened to the plants whose roots had been severed? They withered, slowly but surely. Oh, how well Iskra knew! Every day, she could feel it spread-- this terrible sense of distance, much like ice in her veins. Distance from her crew, the world, and the person she had once been. ...or had she? It was so, so hard to remember. Everything was drowning in mist, and she couldn't see, couldn't, couldn't, couldn't, and--)

Iskra shook her head, as if wanting to get rid of those thoughts. (Why were they plaguing her, anyway? There was no point to this-- no point to this festering, open wound in her chest that kept bleeding but wouldn't kill her. Just, why? Why, why, why? Either end me, Iskra thought, or leave me be. Was that too much to ask for, to be released from this loop? From this stagnation? Only a dog chased its own tail, without rhyme, without reason, and Iskra-- Iskra didn't want to be a dog. ...that was exactly what she was, though. A lowly animal with blood dripping from its fangs, but still so hungry, hungry, hungry-- because only its master's kindness could fill that void, that space where her heart should have been.)

"I suppose I should," the pirate shrugged, deciding to ignore all of that. The task. The task was there, and needed to be taken care of. Shade only knew whether there was any meaning to this, or whether they were just walking into another trap, but it was something, at least-- a shiny trinket to be dazzled by, before her eyes got tired of it and turned towards the darkness again. (...always, always they did. Could it be magnetism at play, or something akin to alchemy? Like attracted like, as they said, and Iskra had been woven out of the things that writhed at night, out of filth. Out of the humanity's worst nightmares. What, after all, died and continued to move? Monsters. Monsters and machines, and all things twisted.) "Standing around will solve nothing, of that I am sure."

Alright. So, what were they supposed to do? Surely, Verity's ancestors wouldn't want them to guess-- guessing was about luck, and thus made for a poor trial. Oh no, they wouldn't give the wayfinder to the one who resorted to that! Watch, Iskra. Use your eyes and see. And so the pirate did watch, almost hungrily. Her eyes traveled across the tower, shining like a white pearl, across the ceiling, so high she wasn't even sure whether she saw that or just the darkness that swallowed it, and then-- then they finally turned to the floor, with its glowing tiles. ...huh. Those hadn't been there before, had they? A clue! It must have been clue, Iskra knew. Experimentally, she stepped on one of them-- just lightly, too, in case a trap was activated by the act, but no, nothing happened. Not even after she put her whole weight on it! Hmmm, hmmm. How curious. There must be some connection between all of this! They wouldn't invest so much effort into lighting those tiles, and possibly creating this monster that is friendly, and... ah. But of course! Two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, or at least so she hoped.

"May I?" Iskra asked before breaking off a petal from Verity's rose gently, and placing it on one if the tiles. "Come, little one. Doesn't it look tasty?" The mouse squeaked, perhaps in agreement, and ran. And when she stepped on the tile? Iskra almost forgot to breathe, because the light flickered. It wavered, a candle in the wind, and something akin to fear seized her, but then-- then it came alive, as if it had a mind of its own. It seemed to be liquid more than solid now, too, like a small sea of fresh blood. Ah, what a beautiful shade of scarlet! The mouse thought so as well, apparently, for it leaned forward and drank. Its body lit up as well, and as it did, a song began to play-- a ghostly melody, with no instruments. (...and yet, yet it seemed complete. Perfect, even, with sharpness that felt like a thorn in her soul. Would it stay there forever? Oh, how Iskra hoped the Shade wouldn't demand this piece!) "Ah. I suppose this is it? Are we-- are we supposed to play a song? I don't recognize it, though. Do you, Verity?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

The princess watches, with bitter curiosity, as the pirate takes the rose petal and places it on one of the glowing tiles––the ones she had ignored until this very moment when they are brought back to her attention. Irritation drives a hot knife through her as Iskra seems to successfully trigger the next phase of this trial; the sweet lullaby does nothing to soothe her or put her to sleep, it just agitates her and causes her to storm over to where Iskra and the mouse are located, ready to do something––to take action into her own hands before she loses this senseless trial, loses her chance at the wayfinder, and just... Loses altogether. 'No, you cannot afford to lose. You cannot afford to succumb to defeat just yet. There is more to this than meets the eye, surely.'

When she's finally next to the pirate, the storm rages but she does nothing more than wordlessly place another petal on the next tile. Then another and another; as the creature activates each tile it adds to the melody of the red tile and continues the progression of the song. At the last tile, Verity simply holds the final pieces of the rose in her palm and the mouse happily munches on it from her hand, no longer scared. With all of the tiles activated, the lullaby is sung until it fills the room with its softness; the mouse that had once been a giant monster responds to the sweet notes with a gentle sway before her body clumsily collapses on the floor, in a peaceful slumber.

Verity looks at the pirate and gives her a half-smile before averting her gaze back to the sleeping mouse. "It's a popular lullaby; we use it to calm unruly sprites. Children are generally responsive to music and seem to have a natural affinity for rhythm and beat and so this usually does work, like it has with this... mouse." She bends down to scoop the creature into her arms, and only then realizes just how heavy she is even if she is not that large; once she adjusts to the weight, she cradles her just the same. "I'd feel bad about leaving her here all alone... I wonder if that is what turned her into lava in the first place," she muses. "I, um, think we should keep her. Take her with us so that she isn't lonely anymore. There's nothing here for her and she can eat the crystal growth that seems to annoy Mryne so."

She is about to continue with her justifications on why they should keep this creature rather than abandon it, but she is interrupted by the final notes of the lullaby; as the song finishes, the liquid in tiles coagulates together, as if not mere liquid. They swirl around each other and rise to form that same faceless, ethereal beauty from the first trial. "Congratulation, seekers, on completing the first trial. The path ahead is still long and perilous; each action you make will result in Consequence. Be wise. Listen to your hearts, young seekers," she says before outstretching her palm and offering what appears to be a diamond shard. "Trust in this journey and Inure will take you to your next task."

'Huh,' the princess thinks as she takes the piece from the celestial being and inspects it.'But who won the trial?' she wonders, and before she can even ask, the celestial woman disappears like she had never even been there in the first place. Perhaps the quest for the wayfinder has a more complex system of judging who is best fit to wield such a powerful device. That thought doesn't comfort the princess. She needs something more definitive to hold onto in order to know whether or not she is closer to claiming it or not. This unknowing state is unsettling and sends her into a frenzy she wishes to ignore.

Still deep in her own thoughts, Verity looks through Iskra and hands her the shard. "I believe that is to be fed to Inure's navigation system." She fails to explain how that is supposed to be done––either out of purposeful negligence or she is still in the faraway lands of her mind. It's hard to tell.

.............​

When they arrive back on Inure, they both settle on decompressing in the garden before starting on the process to locate the next trial. Verity isn't that interested in starting and, as she sees it, they can use some Time away from thinking about the heavy tasks at hand. Even if her mind is still eating itself over her poor performance. Even if she can hear vague whisperings in her mind telling her to trust herself instead of her fears. At least in the garden she can pretend she is somewhere else. Somewhere pleasant. She sighs and stretches backwards into the tall grass.

With the mouse running about the garden and carefully licking off the crystal growths on the plants, it's easier to at least focus on something refreshing. Idly, she toys with the end of her hair and says, "You know, we have to give her a name. Something purposeful, of course. Have you thought about this yet, Iskra?"

 

[Syntra]

"Keep her?" Iskra's eyebrow shot up somewhere into the stratosphere, with her mouth forming a small, shocked 'o'. "Verity, you know we cannot do that. We've seen what this creature can do. Who knows what activates her lava form? Her intentions are a mystery to us, too. She may appear cute now, yes, but what if she's just biding her time? What if this is a mere facade? Will you be able to sleep soundly, knowing that this mouse can erupt into flames at any given time? This is like... like wanting to adopt a grenade. A grenade whose pin may have been pulled already!" Dramatically, the pirate pointed at the creature-- only for the mouse to look up, clearly confused, and sniff her hand. (Ah, damn. Trying to beat her with cuteness? An interesting strategy, but one that was doomed to failure from the very start. The pirate just... didn't do these things, you see? Her heart was a block of ice, cold and unrelenting, and trying to melt it-- oh, that would be foolish, foolish, foolish. As foolish as wishing to rob the stars of their light! Reason guided her decisions, not petty emotions such as 'sympathy' or 'pity,' and Iskra-- Iskra wouldn't have it any other way. No, feelings merely clouded one's judgment. They were wool over one's eyes, and a false compass as well, and a map riddled with blank spots. The ones who followed it? They always found themselves in a dead end, inevitably. In order to find the right way, you see, you had to look at path beneath your feet, not inside yourself! ...especially if the only sight that greeted you there was nothingness, vast and all-encompassing. A flower shrivelled, and dead leaves.)

And yet, despite all of that? "...fine," Iskra heard herself say, for some reason. (The word escaped past her lips on its own, as if that decision had been made ages ago and confirming it was a mere formality. As if some spirit possessed her, and used her as its medium. Which, what? Hadn't she just listed all those reasons why such course of action would be inadvisable? They were inviting an enemy into their ranks, a snake that could strangle them in their sleep, and-- damn. Damn, damn, damn! This was Verity's fault, clearly, for the princess looked at her Like That, with her eyes all soft and expectant. How could you say no to this gaze? ...and the mouse, too. The mouse must have conspired with her, because she copied her companion's expression almost perfectly-- now, two pairs of eyes were staring at her in a silent plea, Verity's large ones and the mouse's bottomless depths. Ugh, just, ugh!) "But we'll have to get rid of her if she proves to be dangerous. It'll hurt more, too, if we bind ourselves to her first. Is your heart prepared for that option, Verity?" Iskra challenged. "Can you withstand hurting that which you love? Because, trust me, that isn't an easy choice to make. By its very nature, it will change you-- and it may happen that you won't like your new form anymore. Take heed, for that is a point of no return."

Before Iskra could expand upon her hypothesis, though? The guardian of the place emerged from the liquid, formless and yet somehow clearly defined-- maybe, Iskra considered, she was a thought personified. (What else, after all, could have edges this sharp and yet a centre this soft? What else could be so gorgeous, even with features this blank? Nothing but a concept, a rough idea, with a message striking enough for your brain to paint the details on its own. ...had Verity's ancestors known how to breathe life into those? How to create that spark artificially, so that it didn't die once their bodies succumbed to rot? What a curious, curious mechanism! ...beautiful and cruel at the same time, for a thought that existed in vacuum may as well have been dead. Inert, unchanging, tied to one conclusion forever, for as long as time still ran forward. ...her own soul's sister, it seemed. A poor, poor creature.) "Thank you," Iskra whispered, "for entrusting such treasure to us. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

***

Very often, Iskra could swear that her flowers sang to her. That was a biological impossibility, of course-- flowers had neither mouths nor tongues, and vocal cords weren't part of their anatomy, either. Still, as she walked through the grass? The leaves whispered to her, in these sweet, gentle voices. They did so relentlessly, too, the sound of it always present somewhere in the back of her consciousness. The pirate didn't understand them, mind you, but that they tried was touching on its own, and she valued the gesture deeply. Perhaps that was why she felt so at peace in her garden? Well, that, and also thanks to Verity, who was sitting by her side. (Verity, who looked as if she belonged here. A missing piece of puzzle to the picture, maybe, because finally, the garden looked complete-- complete in a way it hadn't been before, like a symphony without its climax. ...it was also Verity who had been behaving strangely for the past few days, though Iskra didn't really assign any importance to the change. Probably just stress, right? The trial had been exhausting, and the mind could get tired in the same way body did. In time, the pirate was sure, she'd recover. And this oasis of green, with its soothing smells, was the perfect place for that!)

"Hmm?" Iskra looked up to the princess, suddenly serious. "Naming living creatures is an act that carries a lot of weight, Verity. Not thinking about it would have been irresponsible. So, yes... I do have a few thoughts regarding that. What we need to consider, I think," the pirate began, "is that we cannot ask this animal what she'd prefer, or whether she doesn't have a name already. That is most unfortunate. Moreover, what if we pick a name that carries some... unlucky connotations in her language? What a messy, messy situation," Iskra shook her head, genuinely dismayed.

"I believe we need to play it safe. You know, choose a name that reflects her nature-- that way, she will be able to bear the label with pride. So, my suggestion? I believe we should call her Volcanic Mouse. Or perhaps Obsidian. Names associated with lava seem inappropriate to me, considering she shed that part of her identity, but hmmm.... Maybe it could work as a memento. What do you think, Verity?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity's mind, a cluster of sheer chaos, continues to rip itself apart in an unfortunately familiar way––though it's still a new form of familiarity for her; one that started around the time of her exile and one she often pushes away. Each time she avoids the typhoons in her head, they only grow stronger and stronger until she spends days looking out towards endless space. Or, that is what she used to do on her own ship, only for the other princess aboard to come find her and pull her out from the depths of the storm. On Inure, she does not have that other princess to save her from the wind and rain. There is Iskra, of course, and maybe she would have been the perfect hand to grab onto when drowning if it were not for the fact that this typhoon is named Iskra––whether she knows it or not.

Even though Verity has not pulled away from the pirate in the ways she has in the past, her glassy eyes whenever she stares off for too long must be obvious. Even if she can hold a conversation, her spark isn't quite there and her words sound more like a flatline than a song. 'It's not Iskra's fault... It's your own damn failure––stupid girl, you really thought laurels would save you? Even the queen never rested on those.' While this thought and others similar to it rage through her head, she pulls together a smile that stops just before reaching her eyes, as she listens to the pirate explain her logic behind the names she is contemplating. Verity's heart may have fluttered knowing that Iskra is taking this task seriously, but today she doesn't feel any movement in her chest; it's suspiciously quiet. She reasons it's because the names that the pirate has chosen to settle on are lackluster and meaningless. Her smile turns to a frown. "Is that a joke?" There is some hopefulness in her voice that the captain is joking, but that doesn't really align with who she knows the pirate to be.

The princess shakes her head, "Those are downright awful, Iskra. I'm not trying to be mean, but you must know the truth." She adds an airy laugh to the end, to show that she is not offended by the attempt. "Names are not... Well, they are descriptors but I think you are thinking too literally. That would be like naming all of your roses Rose or Flower. It's redundant. The little mouse knows what she is already. What is a wish you might have for her?" While Iskra's point regarding choosing something offensive to the creature is a fair one, it's not the biggest concern on Verity's mind. The way she sees it, if the mouse is offended by the name that they choose, they can always apologize and change it. However, Verity sincerely doubts the mouse will have any issue with any name they choose for her so long as they continue to supply her with treats. "I think I'd choose something that means something closer to friend. Or something to celebrate her new beginning with us." Us. The coupling of them together pleases a part of the princess that used to sing so loudly for the pirate. Now it sounds sour like the name of the queen.

...The queen. If she thinks on that subject for too long, there will be no survivors left. What a bitter ache. And to think things were never even meant to turn out as they have; so many things the princess could have done differently to avoid such a catastrophic outcome. If only she had been braver then. Colder then. More like steel, then. If there had been no love––imagine what she could have done to prevent the queendom from being torn asunder... Can she forgive herself for not destroying something she loves? Iskra warned that something like that could change her forever and yet she feels changed just the same. Does it really matter? While she may not be able to change the past, the future is still yet to be written and she wonders, tears her mind apart wondering, how she can ensure that her people are not endangered. If more harm comes she will only be able to blame herself. Halen might curse her for her recklessness in letting a pirate play the games of her people. ...but maybe it would overjoy Halen to know how brilliantly this is all blowing up in Verity's face. As her thoughts twist down darker paths and she notices she is pulling further and further away from Iskra's radiance, she does her best to be present with the brilliance in the dark.

She scratches the top of her head, then combs her fingers through her hair to bring herself back to the garden and the serious subject of names. "Hmm. There's Cara, Amity... Blythe could match her personality..." The little mouse comes bounding back towards the two women, wagging her tail and seeming to simper at them both. Verity reaches out to smooth her hand over her head. "Maybe Felix... or Phoenix?" Those don't feel quite right either, but her brain is too clogged to conjure better names for their new friend. She turns to Iskra, "I will say, Obsidian wasn't entirely awful I just don't know if it's a name or just calling her what she's made of––imagine if you were named Flesh." Rather suddenly, Verity rises from her seat in the sea of grass and offers her hand to the pirate. "Lets walk––I feel so stiff on the ground. Maybe that will help us think more... I don't know, more thoughtfully?" Yes, it's hard to think while sitting still especially when her stillness only invites her terrible imagination.

 

[Syntra]

Iskra watched Verity with her blue eyes, her gaze inquisitive. (A shadow seemed to cross her face as well, but only briefly-- just like when clouds covered the sun on a bright summer day, and for a second, the whole world was drowning in darkness. ...still, had it even happened? It easily may have been an illusion-- just the result of the lighting playing games with Verity's mind.) "How do you know?" the pirate challenged then, tilting her head aside. "That she knows what she is, I mean. Do you know what you are, Verity? Because I cannot say that about myself." Not in any meaningful sense, anyway. Yes, Iskra knew that she was made of flesh-- knew that, underneath that flesh, there were veins and bones, and deeper still, the very essence that made her... well, her. The genetic information, you see? That mysterious code that had been engraved into her bones, long before they'd even formed fully in her mother's womb-- her destiny, and her doom as well. The prophecy tailored to fit her and her only, written in invisible ink. ...you couldn't be anything but what you were, right? Too bad, then, that she couldn't rip her flesh apart, limb from limb, and look, just look what the Shade intended for her. (That wouldn't be entertaining enough, though. No, in darkness Iskra had to stumble, with her fire as the only guiding light. ...except that fire wasn't just light. It was also heat and pain, and the blisters on her skin, and the cries of anguish in her ears. 'Save me,' they shouted. 'Save me, save me, save me, please, Iskra, isn't that your job?' Which it was, it was and it wasn't, but her hands bled, and how were you supposed to hold a sword like this, dammit? Nobody had taught her! ...nobody, nobody, nobody. As always, only emptiness remained.)

"I do know my name, and my role as well, but... sometimes, I wonder whether it is truly me. Whether my steps will lead where I want them to lead, I suppose. Maybe, if I knew myself better, I would know this as well, but I don't," Iskra shrugged. "Being aware of who you are is a great gift, Verity. Is it so wrong that I wish to give it to this mouse? ...although, now that I think of it, the realization could shatter her as well. Hmm, hmm. Perhaps she isn't ready." Perhaps it wasn't a gift at all, actually-- perhaps it was a burden, much like vision would be a burden in a world where you could only see filth. Did she have any right to force her eyes open, then? What if the mouse thought herself a lion, and didn't like the idea of being a mouse? (...maybe, maybe your name reflecting your soul was a punishment, not a gift. What would her name have been, after all? Steel? Failure? Shadow, maybe, or Shard. ...no, the pirate wouldn't have enjoyed that all.)

"A friend," Iskra repeated, tasting the word on her tongue. "Doesn't that only betray our selfishness, though? Because this only takes into account our perspective. To us, she is a friend indeed, but why should others call her a friend as well? Does she wish to be a friend to everyone? ...although that isn't a bad wish for her to have-- his hope that she might have a friend in everyone that she meets, eventually." The names the princess suggested, though? Somehow, they rang false to her, and the pirate furrowed her brow. "These aren't friend-shaped, Verity. They are just regular names. The wish, if it is even there, is muted. Diluted, like a few drops of wine in the whole wide sea, and I... I don't want that for her. If we're doing this, we have to take it seriously."

Wordlessly, the captain rose from the ground, and offered her arm to the princess. "Shall we go, then?" Yes, apparently, for that was what they ended up doing. (The grass sang beneath their feet as they walked, and in the distance? The waterfall murmured so, so softly, as the drops broke against the rocks endlessly. ...they made Iskra think of petals, pretty and colorful against the grey of the asphalt. Pretty and dead, really, plucked for someone's amusement and left behind.)

"Have I ever told you what my name means?" Iskra asked, deep in thought. "It's... well, not a name, per se. I don't have any other, though, so I don't feel like it really matters. In my language, Iskra is a Spark. They wanted me to set them on fire, they said, and so I did-- I did, because for a soldier, obedience is the only chance at honor. Her reason for being, really. Now ashes are all they have, and I'm here. They did get their wish, but Verity, tell me: isn't that an awful tragedy? To get what we want, exactly in the way we want it. To discover that it wasn't truly worth it-- because, in your mind, you saw diamonds, and then you realize those gems have been glass all along." Carefully, as if she was afraid of what she'd see there, Iskra looked the princess in the eye. "Did your ancestors get that which they desired? With your name, I mean."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity accepts the captain's arm, looping hers through hers and following with whatever pace the captain sets, because if she were to set the pace they'd never get anywhere significant. She's so sluggish when caught up in her own head, in the memories that resurface without her consent. It's hard to keep up with what Iskra is saying but she does make an effort to catch the major points so she can at least act the part of attentive listener. And usually, this would not even be such a chore! But scraping together her attention is like trying to make a feast out of crumbs––and that irritates her as well, because the person on her arm is someone who she wants to give all of herself to and feels so, so limited in her ability to do so. Especially with her own mission at hand––one, she realizes, she has never really explained to Iskra. The captain only knows that Verity came onto this ship to take Inure back to her home; she's given little else on her situation and, well, the pirate never asked. They dance around so many topics, actually, that Verity is surprised she never got dizzy––probably because she had her point to focus on through those minefield conversations.

She sighs and rests her cheek on Iskra's shoulder, holding onto her arm just a little tighter as if that could help her find answers. (What do the ancestors mean when they tell her to trust herself? To trust her heart––for the heart will never betray her... What did it mean when that ethereal Sage had parted that blessing of wisdom onto them too? What? What does any of this mean? To the Cosmos if she knows. She isn't sure if Iskra has any thoughts on it and, frankly, she is too scared to ask. The trials are just too sore for her to touch.) "Iskra... Well, it's a pretty name to be given," she somewhat misses the part where it's not technically even a name, but a command––similar to her own, but not quite. She doesn't, however, miss that Iskra fulfilled her role. "Who are they? The people, I assume, who wanted you to light their spark?" It's obvious she missed some key points to Iskra's story and she does feel bad about that; this really isn't like her. 'Come on, Verity––get it together!'

"That's somewhat personal, Iskra," she says, pulling her cheek away from the captain's shoulder, though no pulling away from her. Instead, she stops their tracks and loops her arms around her neck. "If you ever meet another from my homelands, know that it's impolite to ask about names. It's unlucky," but that doesn't mean Verity won't share, because, really, what else does she have to lose? Giving up the purpose her grandmothers had wished for her seems... all but superstitious now. Keeping it a secret had never done her any good and even when she had, technically, fulfilled part of its purpose––but it's better for her to not walk down that thorny path. "But I'll share it with you––some of these traditions can be so silly I wonder if we only follow them out of habit or if there is some truth to them," she grins at her own joke, and it does appear as bright as any other of her smiles. "On my naming day, a grandmother I never met came down into my dreams and she whispered into my ear, Verity. I knew then that that would be my name and my path to follow. In the days following my naming, she explained to me all the different meanings behind it and the overarching theme for it all, was to follow my truth; to not bow to the convictions of others; to do what is right, because being true can be painful and ugly if one isn't ready for such."

She looks into Iskra's blue eyes, meeting them with her green gaze. Now that she's provided some context, the cogs turn in her head as she constructs an answer for Iskra's question. "But, no, they haven't. It's... lifelong, I think––but I haven't been a very good student when it comes to following down the path," she admits, chewing the corner of her lip. (It also occurs to her that there is perhaps another chance for her to show that she is learning; to show that she is not going to bend her convictions for another person. She has done that once already; to walk down this path again and take the same steps as before and hope for different results? Her grandmother would tell her that's insanity. If she wants change, she must be different. Right?) Her heart begins to to thunder, adding to the storm in her head. (What does she need to do differently? ...An answer comes to her in the form of an unpleasant memory. The soft whisper of her queen in the back of her mind, watering all of her worries, 'You know, Princess Verity, I really thought you might be the one in this pretty crown and wielding this jank scimitar, but I could see in your eyes that you didn't want it enough. Isn't that why you yielded to me in the first place? Ha! Just imagine! You on the throne and me bowing at your feet––what a silly thought, right? I mean, the role is so fitting, I truly must have been born for it from the very, very start. And you're just so good on your knees.' The memory turns half-red as a flash of steel strikes her left eye.)

Her eyes close tightly, not meaning to, but its such a loud whisper it's hard to hide that it is having an effect on her. When she comes back to the surface, eyes open again, it's almost as if it had never happened in the first place. She presses herself a little closer to Iskra––confusion contorting every fiber of her being as she loses sight of everything. "I think that's part of why I was named Verity––to help me sort through the glass and diamonds; if I know myself, I can never be hurt by glass." Her eyes flit down to Iskra's lips, somewhat sad, somewhat longing––even just once she wonders what those lips taste like. Is that so awful?

 

[Syntra]

"My..." Iskra began, but then her voice trailed off-- a melody that ended before it even began, crushed by the heaviness in her chest. Who were they, indeed? That, too, was one of the questions that woke her up at nights. (The curiosity was tugging at her mind, and wouldn't let go. Who, who, who? Or, rather, where did those people guide her? To the abyss, with its teeth sharp and dripping with poison, or towards the green meadows Iskra still remembered so, so faintly? ...kind of like her mother's voice, really. It still echoed in her head sometimes, usually before falling asleep-- in that ephemeral moment when she was and wasn't herself, and her spirit slipped out of its chains. How real was it, though? How much of it was just her yearning, yearning, and yearning, and seeing ghosts of things that had never been? That Iskra couldn't tell, as always. By that point, the uncertainty was a needle lodged in her brain, and you couldn't pull it out easily, you know? Since everything grew around it, just like young trees grew around their support sticks.) "...my friends, I suppose," the captain finally settled on. "Companions. Those who shared my fate. We wished to be free of it, you see? Because it was so, so much." (...so much everything, in truth. By the Shade, how many years had it been by now? Three? Five? Perhaps Iskra would have counted them, had time meant anything-- had minutes, days and weeks not felt like a blink of an eye, instantaneous and yet spread over centuries. ...either way, her memories were collecting dust now. Why, then, did her throat feel as tight as it had the very first day? How come the same grief gripped her chest, and made it so hard to breathe? ...her lungs were full of ashes, it seemed. Ashes, and glass shards, and all things sharp.)

"We were foolish, though. No, I was foolish. I only saw the need to escape, and cared not as to where I was running. Running alone seemed worthwhile then, and... and it wasn't," Iskra admitted. "We did gain ourselves, but we lost everything else. Even that which wasn't ours to lose." What a paltry, paltry compensation, too! (Poets sang songs of freedom, yes, but when you didn't know what to do with it? Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. As the Holy Vessel's sworn shield, Iskra had had a purpose-- something to strive towards, mindlessly, in the same way fish swam along the stream. So what if it also entailed being cut into bloody shreds? Her flesh was but an offering, and oh, offerings were meant to be given. Given, given, given, until there was nothing left! ...maybe she had reached that stage already, and her body only had to catch up. Why wouldn't it, though? Why wouldn't the Shade release her, just like it had released so many others? The sky was full of stars, those bright spots in suspended in darkness, and joining them-- oh, how sweet that must have been! To shine so radiantly, and give more than you took. ...perhaps, one day, she could be part of a constellation, too. Of something much greater than herself, really. Pilgrims would look up to her, reverently, and she would guide them, and all of this would retroactively make sense, maybe. If the Shade was merciful enough.)

"Ah! I'm sorry," Iskra bowed her head, her cheeks heating up, "I didn't know. I meant no offense. If you do not wish to share it, I won't take it personally. We may speak of other things as well, and, umm." Umm, indeed, because the way Verity leaned closer? That dredged up certain images in her mind-- this delicious, sweet-smelling cocktail of memories, featuring herself and Verity. (The princess's dance, and the way her clothes had hit the ground. Her hands on her body, exploring it with the kind of confidence Iskra had never known before. Her lips on her skin, and her tongue as well. 'Do you want me, Iskra?' she had asked, which... yes. Yes, yes, yes, thousand times yes! What the pirate wanted to do with her exactly, that she didn't know yet-- there were too many possibilities, really, each more enticing than the one before it. And, since this was a territory uncharted? Iskra had to map it first, with her own hands. With her hands, and eyes, and, yes, tongue also.)

"That, too, is a good wish to have," Iskra murmured softly, mesmerized by the princess's gaze. Aargh! How was she supposed to look there, and not get lost in those depths? Impossible. Impossible and sacrilegious, too, because her companion deserved to be seen! Beauty, after all, existed to be admired. "Verity. Verity, Verity," she repeated, appreciating the name for the first time. "I imagine it must be a lonely path to walk, though. So many close their eyes before the truth! Do you think that, perhaps, it is too blinding for them to be able to look at it? That this is why they shy away?" Because that was the primary instinct of all living things-- to avoid pain, no matter its source. (To preserve its wholeness, really, even if some shells needed to be cracked. You couldn't spend your whole life as an egg, you know? Always, always you had to move forward, and never look back.)

"And do they shy away from you as well, Verity?" Iskra asked, unthinking. (Her brain had turned into cotton candy, surely. Had her thoughts always been this scattered? No, they couldn't have been, but... well, the pirate didn't mind. No, she didn't mind at all. The chaos was such a pleasant place to dwell in! Full of possibilities, of sweet fruit dangling just within her reach. ...once, that fruit had been forbiddden, though now, oh, now. Claiming it for herself was all the captain had to do, with a single motion of her hand! Right. Right, she knew what to do, at this very moment. So, so brightly the flame of her conviction burned!) Gently, Iskra cupped the princess's face, and brought her closer to her own. "Because you, too, shine so brightly. My guiding star." And then, with her head still so blessedly empty, she pressed her lips against hers.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

"My guiding star."​

​

How sweet those words sound in her ear––so sweet the princess almost cries, because this is the last time she will ever hear it. She has made her decision, only mere minutes ago, on what she has to do and she cannot run or hesitate, because if she thinks for even a second longer her resolve will crumble. Just as it had with Seraphina. That flash moment where she had the chance to bring a queen down and she faltered; her failure to act resulted in her own subjects' demise. She will not make this mistake twice––but she will still try her best to remember the taste of the captain on her lips. If this is her only chance at tasting happiness, then she will at least savor it. Memorizing how soft she is (Verity had been right about that, how her lips are velveteen like rose petals). Holding onto the sparks in her chest that she wishes she didn't have to quell, for the preservation of her people. Her hands move down the captain's front, gently grasping the hem of her shirt and pulling her closer and closer into her saccharine poison trap.

Verity stills her heart. Stills her thoughts. Quiets the screams in her head––both her own and the ones that guide her. 'This is the way,' she says to herself, full of false confidence (desperation) as she opens her eyes and looks at the pirate with ire of a storm––though she doesn't pull away just yet, because this is a perfect distraction after all. She remembers everything the pirate has ever said about her sword and the choices one can make. How she tries to strike with precision. So Verity will do the same––because Iskra is not evil but she is an obstacle in her path towards ending the tyranny of a false queen. 'This is the way,' she repeats, as she steels herself. Though Telos is on her hip, she does not reach for that blade. The bone spikes under her skin begin to move as she wills them into a new shape. She adjusts her hold on Iskra as the weapons start to emerge from her forearm; making it so that her arms are wrapped around her middle. (Maybe Iskra hears the sound of flesh ripping; maybe Iskra can feel the subtle contortion of Verity's lips as she pulls the weapons from herself.)

'This is the only way.' And without hesitation, she sinks one bone dagger into Iskra's back and brings the other around to her front, sinking it between her fourth and fifth rib. She remembers, too, that the captain had once told her that she is not so easily killed––so she takes the knife in her back and drives it down again. She remembers that each time her queen stuck her signature spear into an opponent how she twisted the edge before removing it. So Verity mirrors that, letting go of the knife in her back and using both hands to painfully twist the edge. She remembers, also, how Halen had always said opponents bleed quicker when their wounds aren't plugged up and so she yanks the knife out.

All at once, her systems awaken from their temporary petrification. Her heart beats wildly in her ears, her eyes go wide in shock as she looks down at her sticky red hands––is she confused? No, she knows she has done this. She remembers clearly each step in her decision making process that led her to this action. But still surprise and adrenaline all course through her system––regret also crashes down on the princess in the same moment a thunderous roar splits her head open and she swears she might drown from all the screams. Air seems to choke her as she looks between the bloody weapon in her hand, to the bleeding Iskra in front of her––her Iskra. Yet still, she refuses to accept her remorse, refuses to accept that this is a mistake because if it is––then what she has done is unforgivable. (Oh, and now she really knows what Iskra had meant about destroying something that you love––there had been a reason she never slipped that poison to Sera and choked at the last minute. She can feel the treachery of her action tearing her mind apart already and, and, and! She had been so sure! So certainly sure! And now Iskra is falling and the red that blossoms across her shirt is so damn ugly and she knows its her painting to own––)

"What have I done..." she whispers, the horror that is etched in her tone could drive fear into anyone that hears those words. Somewhere she knows she only has so much Time before the crew aboard this ship realize their captain is missing. That their captain is dead. Dead. Deceased and never returning and who else uses bone daggers? Damn! Did she have to be so obvious? She crashes to her knees––knowing all this––and grabs Iskra's dying body––she can't take this back! Is this even going to help her cause? Is it going to help when the crew will likely slaughter her? She knows she had won over at least an armful of Iskra's subordinates, but she isn't sure that means they are not always loyal to the captain––who she has just killed dead! "Iskra..." 'I'm sorry,' is what she wants to say, but she doesn't. The words die on her lips, because talking to dead/dying things doesn't revive them and apologizing to dead/dying things doesn't absolve her crime.

She clutches her body tighter, as if hopeful some of her essence might leak into Iskra and revive her, but she knows that is wishful thinking and only the stuff of folklore. 'Okay,' she thinks and she needs to think quicker if she must make certain this not all for naught. If there had been a reason behind this, which there had––however faulty as she now realizes, she still needs to get off this ship, find Halen, and retrieve the wayfinder. Because now that is her only mission; that is how she must ensure this is not in vain. Except she is heavier than lead and nothing in her body moves. Perhaps she believes that if she stays still then Time will too and maybe if she is still enough she can move Time backwards. Her entire body shakes as she fights off her sobs, because this is no time for crying. The only thing she can do is lift her finger and press the small button on the broach she's worn since arriving on the ship; finally letting Halen know where she is.

Verity stays with Iskra until the bitter, bitter end.

 

[Syntra]

So, so soft. That was all that Iskra managed to think, really, as she pulled the princess into a kiss-- as she tasted her lips, finally, the way they'd always meant to be tasted. (Warm and wet, that was what it felt like. Intoxicating, too, like three glasses of wine drunk at once. Ah, by the Shade, how wildly her head spun! Deeper and deeper Iskra was dragged, deeper into the sensation-- into this zone of unfamiliarity, into the princess's arms. ...it was wrong, the pirate knew. Wrong, wrong, wrong! She had no right to take this, whatever it was, and the gods would punish her for her insolence, surely, because those who dared to grasp a star always suffered consequences. They had to, otherwise the world would devolve into chaos. 'This is what you are,' humans needed to be told, 'this is what you must do, and what you mustn't do. Disobey at your peril.' And, yes, Iskra agreed with the principle-- even planets, as large as they were, needed the support system of their gravitational fields. How, then, could a tiny human navigate life without those ropes? Without that anchor, holding them in place as the universe ran towards its own doom? No, rules were a good thing. They were a good thing, and a necessary one, but... damn, maybe this was better.)

Drunk on Verity's closeness, Iskra parted her lips some more, and-- splash. And, in that moment? The two worlds collided-- strangeness with familiarity, warmth with cold, pleasure with horror. Pleasure with pain, actually! Pain so, so close to heart, intense enough to make her gasp. Uncomprehending, Iskra looked down, looked down at her chest, and... uh. Hadn't flowers been blooming there before, vibrant and sweet-smelling? The pirate could swear it, she really, really could, on her honor, even, but now, they were gone. Gone, as if they'd never existed. In their place, there was only a stain-- a red stain that grew wider and wider, claiming new territories like a soldier would, like she once had, in fact, before the palace had become her coffin. (Funny, wasn't it? How these images always returned to her as her blood went cold, as her heartbeat slowed down. Didn't it get old, having to provide these flashbacks? Lke a faulty machine, really. Over and over, it re-played those bits, forever fixated on that which couldn't be changed. ...well, at least Iskra knew she was dying? It was nice, the pirate supposed, to get some heads-up. Wait, what? Why was she dying? Hadn't she-- hadn't she been kissing Verity, mere seconds ago?)

Her eyes were closing, and her consciousness was hanging on a thin, thin thread, but Iskra forced them open, and-- oh. Oh, alright. It was Verity who had stabbed her, again and again and again. Verity, with the softest lips and kindest eyes. Verity, who wanted her to know her. Verity, who wasn't like the other princesses. (Why, then, could she see the parallels so clearly now? Two pictures, transposed against one another? Right down to the crying, too-- because The Holy Vessel had wept, desperately, when her toys had broken. 'Why won't she speak?' she had asked Iskra as one of her sisters lay on the ground, her eyes vacant. Her chest was heaving, up and down, up and down, up and down, but... well, that meant very little, didn't it? Snowflakes fell on the ground, too, yet they didn't mean to do so. They meant nothing at all, actually, just like the thing that had once been Marnys. ...finally, she'd found some peace. Lucky, lucky her. 'Make her. I demand it.' 'But,' Iskra had swallowed then, 'she's gone, Eyyenaair. I can't reach her. Nobody can.' '...well. It is a good thing I can reach you, then, isn't it?')

More cold flooded her system, as if someone doused her in cold water, really, and Iskra couldn't tell whether it was the memory or all that blood leaving her body-- she couldn't tell, and it mattered not. What did, actually? (Nothing. That was her answer, always had been, and refusing to look at it directly had led to this... this nonsense. To her thinking that, perhaps, she was more than filth on Verity's shoes. The Shade had acted swiftly this time, hadn't it? Reminded her, oh so effectively, where her place was-- bleeding out at her feet, that was, just a worthless pile of flesh and bones. Like weeds, you see? Weeds or mold, maybe, because only those grew again and again and again, from their own remains, even if... even if you wanted them gone. As if anyone could see her as more than that! Why would they? It was true, and Verity-- Verity was beholden to the truth. ...was that what the conversation was about? Just a fancy preface to this?Thank you, for letting me see as well. This truth of yours.)

In contrast the the princess, the pirate collapsed silently-- a puppet more than human, really. (The Holy Vessel had hated those who screamed, so Iskra never did. Biting her lip had become a habit so automatic it might as well have replaced breathing, and besides that? With so much blood gone, it didn't even hurt that much. Not anymore, anyway. What will it be this time? the pirate wondered, feeling strangely uninvolved. Who was this person this was happening to, even? Her? For some reason, that seemed fake. ...maybe 'fake' was all she was, though. A bunch of vague concepts, only held together by duct tape and feverish dreams-- nothing more, and nothing less. Why would anyone mourn that? Preposterous. Preposterous and stupid, too. Or is this my last time, maybe? Ah, now that was a soothing thought! Perhaps, if the Shade was kind enough, it would release her from its service. ...she'd get to meet her sisters again, and say hi, and, um, she also wouldn't have to exist in a reality where Verity had done this to her.)

"Verity," Iskra moved her lips. It didn't feel like she had done that, but they must have obeyed her, hadn't they? Because she could hear her voice, faint and hoarse as it was. (Hearing was all that remained, so she didn't see the stream of blood running down her nose, down her mouth. ...a pretty little fountain, The Holy Vessel would have said. Pretty, like rubies.) "I'm... ahh... you could have... sorry..."

And, just like that, Iskra was gone.

What wasn't gone, though, was the rest of the crew. An unknown girl was staring at the scene, her eyes wide-- it must have been quite a sight, with the captain dead on the ground and the princess mad with grief. Still, that sight didn't prevent her from pushing the alarm button.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

'Verity, Verity, Verity.' Some distant part of her thinks, over and over again though she isn't sure who's voice is saying it––is it a cry? Is it a chant? She doesn't know, doesn't remember. While part of her clings to the pirate's last words, another part is anchored firmly in what is happening. Clarity still remains out of her grasp, but her body has enough automated responses by this point that she knows now is that moment to get up. Though, still gently, she lays the captain down, careful to not do anymore damage––though isn't that laughable? For what she has done is so unforgivable; she could have kicked Iskra's corpse and it would make her no less vile.

In this frenzied state she forgets where she is, who she is, and it almost doesn't even matter that she doesn't know these details; the only thing that her body knows is survival. When the alarm sounds, she knows danger is afoot and where part of her wants to give in easily, the warrior in her takes over. As she rises from the ground, she draws Telos in a swift motion––everything about her actions are automatic and thoughtless, which also evidently makes her better than she would have been otherwise. (Finally reaching that point where she can shut her mind off during battle––would her instructor be proud? Or would her instructor curse her for taking her life only moments before reaching this apparent mastery? What does it even matter to ask such silly, silly questions...) Verity becomes steel, becomes the very substance that her blade is made of as she rushes towards the unknown girl. A voice that does belong to her, but sounds more like an echo in her head, screams, "I don't want to hurt you! Get out of my way!" But the girl doesn't listen (of course) and draws her own weapon.

Verity, trained as she is, trained by the best and Iskra, makes short work of the girl who triggered the alarm. No, she doesn't kill her, but she does knock her weapon from her hand and smack the girl in the ear to throw her off balance, before she continues through Inure. While she can use what is left of her poison reservoir, the exiled is still under the assumption that perhaps the entire crew is as immune as Iskra is (which is why she had to be so decisive with her strikes this time). More than that, she doesn't want more blood on her hands. (But what does that even matter? She doesn't care about these people––not like she had Iskra. And she only killed her out of necessity. Out of duty to her country––those fighting her fight in the homeland. While she may have now put herself in jeopardy, may have made it so she will never return to finish what she has started, she will not strike unnecessarily! Or maybe she should just lean into the awful thing that she is; that she has always been. She wants to believe in her justifications, but why does it feel so damn WRONG?!)

Of course, pirates are swarming about the ship and running towards the garden; it's like they're coming from all sides, but Verity sees a narrow path ahead and takes it––pure adrenaline running her entire body as she searches and searches for a way out. Though Halen is on her way, surely, surely, surely, Verity doesn't trust these pirates to keep her alive now that she has slain their captain and her blood is inked all over her hands like a permanent stain. 'No, don't think of that––think of nothing. Nothing.' She grits her teeth together, jaw grinding down harshly as she recalls the layout of the ship and heads below deck towards the escape pods.

A good plan, had it not been a so unfortunately obvious direction for her to head in. The pods have already been locked behind that yellow electric barrier. At least the exiled knows better than to try and jam her way through it as she may have desperately tried were she just an ounce more muddled. Another thought occurs to her, hiding in one of the parallel rooms, but as she turns on her heel to find the nearest one, three pirates corner her. Not a fair fight by any means, but as echoes of battles she's fought before clang like gongs in her ears, she does not waver––a foolish hopefulness or a brave warrior? Probably a little bit of both. One of the pirates calls through her comm-link to let the rest of the crew know that they've located the princess; still that does not even cause worry in the exiled. She has fought unfair matches before and lived. 'Survival,' she reminds herself.

Her sword clashes with the three pirates' and she only barely keeps up––their own unrefined training is her only edge. (Though she does not realize this now, later she will recognize these women as some she used to peel potatoes with during meal prep and had gained considerable favor among them; too bad it had been facile.) A fist lands in her eye and knocks her backwards, but somehow, once she shakes off the initial shock, she still holds her sword steady and high.

"Give up, Verity," some pirate says, spitting her name in her face as her blade grazes across Verity's arm. While her arms are growing tired and the rush can only keep her going for so long––she only has so much fight left in her––something in the pirate's words inspires a second wind (it sounds too much like a familiar taunt). Sweat stings at her eyes, but she blinks through that minuscule Pain and maneuvers her way out of being cornered by kicking one pirate off her feet (Iskra would have scolded her for her poor foot work); the other gets her weapon knocked from her hand and Verity catches it (Iskra would have chastised her for not holding onto her weapon tighter). There's one armed pirate left to deal with, but even if she had been able to defeat her, it would not have mattered with damn near the rest of the crew arriving. For a brief second, Verity considers surrendering but that choice doesn't get to be hers. There's a prick at the side of her neck and slowly, and somehow all at once, the world disappears from her.

"Good thinking on tranq'ing the bitch, Myrne. What should we do with..."

 

[Syntra]

"You know what? Strike her down where she is, the traitorous bitch. I mean, does she really deserve anything else?"

"...come on, now. Do you think Iskra would appreciate that?"

"Iskra is fucking dead, Myrne. Dead! Like, you can try to ask her for her opinion, but..."

"This isn't your choice to make."

"But!!! But, but, but, she struggled. She almost killed more of us. Putting her down like the rabid dog she is--"

"--is not your choice to make."

There were more conversations, of course-- more snippets running concurrently, switching as easily between different narratives as one might flip through TV channels. For most of this, of course, Verity was unconscious. Did anything reach her ears as her mind was drifting, and sinking deeper into itself? Perhaps. If so, she would have been able to identify anger most of all-- everyone spoke in loud voices, and their cadence... oh, the cadence resembled war drums.

"You can't mean this seriously!" someone snapped. (Those words were charged with electricity, akin to the air before a storm-- and, just like nascent lightning, it was seeking a target.) "You were the one who said not to trust her. Well, congratulations, you won! Can I slit her fucking throat now?"

"There is no point to any of this," the other person replied, much calmer. (If the previous woman was lightning, this one was an ocean-- quiet and controlled, seemingly, but also powerful enough destroy nations.) "That which needs to happen will happen. If it turns out we do have to put her down, you can always do it later. Once you commit to the motion, though? You cannot take it back."

"Wow, what a profound piece of wisdom. Thanks for the Philosophy 101 course, Myrne! Now, if only the bitch had extended the same kind of consideration towards..."

Days passed, seemingly in a haze. Or had those been hours? It was hard to tell, really, because when Verity woke up, she found herself in a windowless cell-- the same cell they had confined her to in the very beginning, right after that first disastrous confrontation with Iskra. The yellow barrier was her only companion there, sizzling quietly, and... oh. Well, not the only companion, it seemed! For whatever reason, the pirates hadn't taken away the captain's coat. (As a grim reminder, perhaps? 'Look what you've done, bitch. Look what you've done and suffer.' ...it still smelled like Iskra, too-- this peculiar combination of gunpowder, mint and something flowery, although hardly definable. Lilac? Mayflower? A different substance entirely? Either way, the scent clung to the fabric stubbornly, even after its source had... had...)

Needless to say, nobody bothered to visit her. An audience with a murderer wasn't something the pirates were especially interested in, apparently-- just like they weren't interested in bringing her food. (Was this their plan? To make her starve slowly, like a stray dog out in the streets? The dignity of a quick death, it seemed, was reserved for warriors, and there was a clear difference between a warrior and a backstabber. ...between a duel and a murder, really.)

One day, however, the door leading to her cell flew open-- resolutely, like a single gun shot. There were heavy sounds of someone's footsteps, too, and... Ylna. Ylna, who was looking at the princess as if she was something gross she had stepped into on a pleasant morning stroll.

"Why hello, Verity," the woman greeted her, and proceeded to spit on the floor. (To clean herself from having to say her name, maybe? It certainly looked like that.) "I was just, you know, thinking that I could visit a friend-- or someone I fucking thought to be a friend, at least. To check in with you, 'cause that's what friends do. So, how have you been? Enjoying the nostalgia, huh? Or did you perhaps enjoy stabbing Iskra more? Judging from those wounds, you must have been standing real fucking close. So, was it exciting?" Ylna tilted her head aside, her eyes strangely cold. "Tell me, princess. I'm dying of curiosity here."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

If Verity registers any bit of the conversation that occurrs as the world is ripped from her, she doesn't think much of it. When she finally stirs from the grip of the drug, her heart starts in panic as the unfamiliar surroundings fill her vision. Though, she realizes after a long few seconds that she does recognize this place and she does know where she is––and her heart sinks. Coupled with this realization is the memory of her last moment with Iskra and how she drove two daggers into her three times. (The sound of the knives plunging into the captain fill her ears louder than her own heartbeat and she knows the sound, as much as the memory, will haunt her forever. A fair sentence and yet not enough.) Her clothes are still stained with the memory too and the coat wrapped around herself only layers her guilt. (How could she have done this to Iskra? Iskra who, without hesitation, gave her coat to a shivering prisoner who had tried to kill her upon meeting. Iskra who has the kindest eyes. Iskra...) 'Proof that she is honorable and I am horrible,' she thinks to herself, again and again; repeating it forwards and backwards, but it does nothing to ease her guilt. And why should it? This is her albatross and it may as well be made of the gravity of the world itself.

Time passes strangely for the exiled––especially in the confines of a windowless and Timeless cell where she has no way of knowing anything. It's quiet too, so only her thoughts keep her entertained but they are more like plagues. ("Verity...I'm... ahh... you could have... sorry...") She touches her lips constantly and drags her teeth along them until they are chapped and raw. But she really doesn't move much beyond that. Doesn't recognize the hunger in her stomach and if she had, she would not have even cared because her appetite is as dead as the woman she killed. 'It was worth it, it was worth it, it was worth it––it will make sense when you have the wayfinder, when you return home and cut the chain of tyranny.' These prayers are common for the exiled, but they feel hollow and empty. Worse is when they are filled with regret.

Though she has tried to connect with her ancestors, for solace more than anything else, the young child returns to her and is kind enough to inform Verity that because of her transgressions, the ancestors have severed her connection to the Ether. The sprite only offers comfort by telling her it will not be permanent if Verity does not make it so. Once the sprite leaves her, the memories that Verity used to return to are all colored in black and white. Heat breaks over her forehead and she becomes unbearably hot––a symptom of becoming forsaken. Though despite the heat, she is still simultaneously cold and tries to compromise this discomfort by shedding the pirate's coat and using it as a blanket instead of an article of clothing. ('The ancestors don't care about us, Verity. You're so silly for speaking with them all the Time, but sure, I'll join you,' the queen says in her head, though at the the time she had been only a princess too. 'Maybe they'll finally tell me about my destiny or whatever foolishness they have to offer.')

The injuries she sustained during her frenzied escape attempt are at least calmer by the time the door clangs open and startles the prisoner. For example, she can actually see Ylna with both eyes, now that the swelling of her black one has gone down. If she wasn't so numb, she would have tried to make herself small and cower in the corner of the cell, but other than her start she doesn't move beyond turning her head to face the pirate. 'Why is she torturing me?' she knows that's a foolish question to ask when the answer is so obvious it doesn't need to be spoken. But she doesn't really know what to say to Ylna. In fact, this only reminds her that her betrayal goes so much deeper than Iskra, because she tricked the crew too, in some ways. Well, tricked implies she always had this plan and while she knew she always would have to betray them, she had not known she would do so in such a spectacular manner. While she is surprised they have kept her alive, she assumes a nefarious fate awaits her whenever they're tired of keeping her locked away. Or perhaps they want her to die forgotten? That seems fair and somehow merciful.

"Ylna," she starts, vocals hoarse from not speaking to anyone; she clears her throat and then realizes she is parched. Well, this won't be much of a conversation, but that's fine to the exiled. She doesn't really want to talk anyway. But she will if that's what the pirate wants. "You're a great friend, for checking in." Verity lacks her usual spark, but somehow still keeps her sarcasm. 'Nothing I have to say will please you,' she wants to say and doesn't. There would be no point. "Are you honestly surprised? I thought you might understand how this game works," she all but whispers. Evidently, she decides to lean into the narratives that are already swimming among the crew (or she assumes they are; she assumes they also see her as a snake; no point in pretending, because that is what she is. That is the path she has carved for herself––isn't that what Iskra would say?). "I've always been a prisoner. Should a prisoner consider her captor a hero just because she appears free? Surely, this must have occurred to you."

 

[Syntra]

For a heartbeat or two, it seemed as if Ylna straight up planned to strangle her. Because, the glare that she gave Verity? It was the kind of stare you only ever used with people who habitually kicked kittens-- or, as it may have been, who had killed their beloved captain. (And, yeah, she did consider it, actually. It wouldn't have been that hard to pull off, you know? The princess was a sitting duck in her cell, alone and defenseless. Maybe, with some luck, Ylna could even arrange it to look like suicide! Slitting her own throat was the best thing she could do under these circumstances, anyway, and-- no. No, paying with her blood would win her back some of her honor, and she deserved none of that. Clearly, patience was the key here. Wouldn't it be so much more fun later, when Iskra woke up from her beauty sleep? ...plus, Myrne wouldn't fucking shut up about it. Blah blah blah, Iskra's choice, blah blah blah, not your prisoner. Technically, all of that was true, though did they really want to follow Iskra's judgment of all people? The opinions of the woman who had gotten herself killed, thousand times over? Sheesh, maybe she could withstand it, but Ylna didn't feel like following this haaioneeyareh to the depths of hell she was inevitably heading towards, like a compass always pointing north. ...maybe the captain knew no other way, it occurred to her. Maybe this was just fucking muscle memory, and the joke was on them. So, who was the bigger idiot here? The blind woman who led them, or those that fucking let her?)

...anyway, it seemed her options were severely limited here. Spilling the princess's blood was out of question, no matter how much her blade thirsted for it, and what was worse, it looked like all fight had left the bitch-- which, boo hoo. How was she to enjoy kicking a fucking corpse? Oh, gods, this was going to be such a drag! (Why had she come, even? To see whether Verity regretted her deed? No, surely not. Sentimental nonsense of that nature was Iskra, not her, and... and it didn't fucking matter, anyway. Thousand apologies couldn't change this. Even someone as hopelessly naive as their captain must have seen that, dammit!)

"Yeah," Ylna finally said, "it has. To me, to Myrne, to everyone. I can tell you one thing with certainty, though-- it definitely never occurred to Iskra. She really was stupid, you see. Lived in her pretty little bubble where promises actually meant something. Myrne tried to warn her, but she wouldn't listen. It was all: 'Verity this, Verity that.' She really was enamored with her little pet! So, good job, I suppose. I wouldn't have guessed it was this easy to get under her skin between the sheets, but every fucking day, I learn something new," Ylna smiled, though her eyes didn't. "Though, in the end, it seems you were well-suited for one another. Like, what the fuck did you expect? You shank Iskra, and then what? Singlehandedly kill the rest of the crew? Hypnotize us with your beauty? Take over with some mind-control bullshit and ride off into the fucking sunset?" Slowly, deliberately, the pirate shook her head.

"Oh no, no, no-- I think the fuck not. Nobody is that delusional. So, tell me, Verity. What did you hope to gain from this? And did you get it?" With a mysterious smile on her lips, Ylna leaned closer-- the motion seemed almost seductive, like a part of some dance unknown to the princess. "If I like your answer enough, you may get a reward. Not telling you what it is, though! Don't you think that a dash of mystery always makes things that much more compelling?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

The exiled cannot figure out why Ylna is here. She is vaguely hopeful for an assassination, but doesn't believe that will happen because she guesses it would have already happened. They're keeping her alive for some reason. And the more Time she is given, the closer Halen must be to finding her, saving her. Verity doesn't cling to that thought with hope; in fact it may fill her with dread despite its obvious safety. She closes her eyes for a brief moment and rests her head on the wall. Images of Iskra are burned into the back of her eyelids; Iskra's shy smile; the rose Iskra had given her; Iskra's touch; Iskra's poem about socks; Iskra's blue eyes; Iskra's bold ask that Verity be hers; the gaping hole in Iskra's chest. The blood coming out of Iskra's mouth, nose... Iskra's last words.

"Verity...I'm... ahh... you could have... sorry..." What? What could she have done? "Verity...I'm... ahh... you could have... sorry..." Her eyes shut tighter, but the repetition continues its onslaught against the exiled without reprieve. She doesn't want to imagine how the captain would have finished that sentence, because from that sentence there are too many endless possibilities––like the possibility of another option. An option without Iskra's blood staining her essence. No! It couldn't have been that. Knowing Iskra, maybe, she was hoping to give her a lesson on homicide and would have suggested Verity snap her neck instead––because it would have been quicker? More efficient. (Oh, she knows that is not true, but she will not admit it to herself.) 'That was you, Verity. You did that. You killed her,' and then, 'It was the only way. The only way.' But even that feels more like a bargain than a justification.

A snake coils tightly around her heart, squeezing the muscle until Verity cannot breathe or, she can, but the breaths are shallow and not enough to sustain. "Verity...I'm... ahh... you could have... sorry..." Her nails dig into the palms of her hand as she tries to escape the memories that haunt her; the nightmares that only release her with jolted starts. There is no peace for the exiled. Why should there be?

But at least Ylna's voice breaking through the silence is something to cling to as she tries to claw herself out of the panic she's in. 'Oh, sweet Sages, bring me my mothers...' How pathetic to think she wants her mothers now. It makes sense, that she seeks familiar comfort and protection from the women meant to protect her from the world, but she feels so damn weak for begging for them. Still, she curls her knees into her chest, and hugs them tightly as if that might bring her closer to the comfort of the womb. A time she felt certainly safe. Because Ylna's words only drive knives into her and she wishes they were real. (Ah, maybe when Ylna is gone she will fashion a noose. Or perhaps she'll make herself one last dagger. The thought of that escape is soothing in the most terrifying way; but before the exhilaration can really make a home in the exiled, images of Halen flash through her mind. She could never do that to the other princess as much as she wants to. Halen still... Halen still needs her. The people, she supposes, need her too.)

When her eyes finally open again and she brings them back over to the pirate, she doesn't look like Verity at all. Not a version anyone on this ship has seen, because it's a flash of rare unadulterated honesty from the exiled. She looks small, scared, and pathetic. It's embarrassing to her to show this to Ylna, because her guilt is... She isn't worthy of it. She shouldn't feel this way. She did this. She did this with intention. And so she has no right to feel guilty and yet she does and she doesn't want Ylna's pity (not that she thinks she'd ever get that)––it just doesn't feel right! Yet she cannot hold her walls up any longer. Tears sting her eyes and she blinks, sniffles them away. 'Leave me alone!' she wants to scream, like a teenager. It's too much knowing how genuine Iskra had been with her feelings; Verity had been too... Well, she wavered at times, but any and all professions of her affection and desire had been true. But they had been messy and complicated and smacked against a backdrop of civil war. The choice she had... Iskra or her people... How would anyone ever forgive her for choosing Iskra, a pirate, an outsider, over her subjects? Exiled or not, she has been made into a movement and continues to be that movement––some frail promises to return and free those... She sighs, rubs her chest to get rid of its tightness (vaguely it just reminds her of Iskra's gaping wound). Tries to gather what little of herself remains.

"Ju-just what do you want to hear me say, Ylna?" her voice cracks and echoes against the empty prison cell. "You already have a narrative so run with it because the truth, I'm sure, would never satisfy and quite honestly, it does not belong to you." It never would have made sense to her. What would a pirate understand of politics? What would this pirate even understand of being a ruler? She's not even the captain of a ship. Verity cannot dignify her with an answer she'll never comprehend and what does it even matter if she did tell Ylna the truth? It makes no difference to live honestly or not at this point, because what is truth and what is lie is blurred for the princess; she doesn't even know who Verity is anymore. (And she had been trying to find that answer in a stranger's ocean blue eyes... No wonder she ended up so lost.) More tears threaten to escape and she blinks them away fast, to make it like they never existed in the first place. "I figured... I figured I'd just figure it out," she shrugs, offering a weak answer but that much is true. She hadn't thought her plan through. It hadn't been a premeditated assassination; not like the first time. Once she had committed the crime all she knew was signaling Halen and making an attempt off the ship. She might have succeeded had that girl not sounded the alarm so soon. Her body starts to shake, so she holds her breath to quite the rumblings inside of herself. "A princess always gets what she wants, Ylna. Figure it out for yourself."

 

[Syntra]

Had Verity's display of weakness touched the pirate? It was hard to tell, really, because Ylna watched her with something that could only be described as... well, curiosity, but a detached kind of it-- the level of consideration you might pay to a strangely colored bug that had landed on your nose. (To squish it, or to let it live? That seemed to be the question here.) "Princesses always get what they want, huh?" Ylna repeated, and at that point, there was no mistaking it. The peculiar undercurrent that ran beneath her tone, in the same way tectonic plates moved underground, close to a planet's core? It was amusement, plain and simple. (A cruel kind of it, yes, but amusement nonetheless-- she was a cat playing with a mouse, or perhaps a brat burning ants with a looking glass.) "Well, well, well. We'll see about that, Verity. Let me give you a piece of advice, as a token to the friendship that once was-- don't presume things so easily. Here, nothing is as it seems. You might just end up a little bit surprised." And, with that, Ylna left the prisoner to her loneliness.

***

As always, it began with pain. Molten silver was coursing through her veins, or perhaps mercury, and with each thud of her heart, it spread further-- further and further and further, right to her fingertips and perhaps even beyond that. Leave me alone, Iskra groaned. Haven't I done enough? (Seen enough? Buried enough, both of herself and others?) But, of course, it was futile-- as futile as trying to stop the sunrise, or convince her lungs they didn't need oxygen. The very fact she was even able to form such a thought proved it! Her soul, or whatever remained it, was there to stay, you know? (...the Shade had anchored it, once again. It had taken the pathetic fragments, those ragged pieces, and stitched them back together-- with a needle made of her bones, a thread made of her veins. How much of it did she have left? Still enough, apparently, to do this. Over and over and over, it stabbed her! ...kind of like Verity, actually. Verity had stabbed her, too. Her princess, her guiding star. Her murderer, as it turned out.)

Why? Why, why, why?

Maybe Iskra would have screamed. She didn't remember the last time she had done so, mostly because a soldier was meant to be seen, not heard, but by the Shade, did the memory seem to be stuck in her throat-- choking her, burning her, wanting out, out, out, consequences be damned. The scream yearned to exist! To rip out of her mouth and bring destruction to all that surrounded her, like a tidal wave. ...except that her vocal cords were usually the last to regenerate, so the pirate lay there in silence. Just, how much of this could a person take? (Verity, and the softness of her lips. Verity, and the way she had pulled her closer. The sweet vibrato of Verity's voice when she had screamed her name, back when Iskra had been drowning in her own blood.)

Of course, she had deserved it. The pirate had known all along, you see? Not the details, but the broad strokes-- such as, for example, that her epilogue would be written in blood. (Ones like her never got any other ending, anyway. In blood they'd been born, and blood was to be their undoing, too. Death for her country, death for her queen or death for her foolishness-- just different flavors of doom, really, so what difference did it make? ...still, Iskra had hoped the third option wouldn't be such a prevalent theme. Hoped and hoped and hoped, with all her heart, too, because at least, there was honor in dying on the battlefield! In catching the blade that was supposed to cut down your comrade, or even in being bested by a superior fighter. The clashing of steel was symphony, if you knew how to listen, and Iskra-- Iskra wouldn't mind it being her funeral song, really. Her funeral song, her lullaby and everything between that. Such was the star the captain had been born under, which meant that running away was pointless. Instead, though? She'd gotten a pathetic whimper, and that sloppy, wet sound, and her name screamed in that tone, and, damn. ...why did it hurt so much? It wasn't like she hadn't been asking for it! Birds who dared to fly too close to the sun? Those burned in the atmosphere, and the pirate could have felt her wings catch fire back then, too. She had known and known and known, and still, stubbornly, she had reached for that which wasn't hers.

What had she expected, even?

Not this.

Exactly this.

A punishment.

A reward.

Absolution.

Damnation.

None of that, maybe? Maybe Iskra had just wanted that kiss-- Verity's lips, caresses, everything else she might have been inclined to give. ...too bad these things never came with no strings attached, though. No, there were all those implications, and boundaries crossed, and-- and--

Oh, by the Shade! Her thoughts were a contradiction within contradiction, a shock wrapped in familiarity, and the pirate didn't even know where to begin to untangle this mess.

"Iskra," a female voice said. "You are awake, I see. Welcome back. Do you remember who I am?"

Ah, right. Her name was... "Myrne," the pirate managed to say, her voice hoarse. (Why did it always feel as if she hadn't spoken for centuries? Never had Iskra dwelled in Nonexistence for such a long time, and never she would. The Shade was a diligent worker. ...just like so many feelings, this one, too, was rooted in a lie.)

"Oh, good. I was afraid for you, you know. Always so careless, Iskra. Didn't I warn you?" Her hand, cold and soothing, found its way in her hair, but the she swatted it away-- as if it was a mosquito and not, say, a dear friend. (Respect, Iskra told herself. This was about respect, and not about-- about not wanting to be touched. How many times had she died by now? Too many times to count, in truth, and there wasn't anything special about this case. ...except that, you know, before, the swords they had driven into her heart hadn't remained there. Oh well!)

"Captain. Not Iskra. And I... I want to be alone."

Not even trying to hide her disapproval, Myrne frowned. "Very well. Once you are ready to talk, I am here. Oh, and captain? We didn't kill her. She's waiting for you, in her cell. The princess you liked so much."

Liked. Past tense. Did it reflect the reality, though? (Yes. No. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe! So many maybes, really, that she was drunk on the possibilities-- on all those parallel dimensions in which she wasn't what she was, and could have what she couldn't. Had there been a sequence of events where this wouldn't have ended in death? Again, maybe, but you couldn't build your life out of maybes. ...not that Iskra knew what material you should use for that, mind you.)

"We'll... talk... later."

***

Later, as it turned out, came sooner than expected. Iskra couldn't just... lie in her bed, you see? Not with the knowledge that Verity, who held all the answers, was there-- so, so close to her, just an arm's reach away. I need to know. Now. And so, still as pale as a ghost, the pirate willed herself to rise. (Her thoughts? Those she willed away, too. In a box she locked them and put them away, along with her feelings and all the other unnecessary things, for Iskra was a soldier and thus didn't need those. Would you, after all, pour sand into a machine? ...well, she was a machine, too. An advanced one, yes, but still just a collection of parts. Focus. Focus on what you need to do.)

Finally, her legs carried her to the cell, upon which Iskra... Iskra discovered she thought nothing at all, actually. Her brain shut down, perhaps as an act of mercy, and so she observed the princess with all the emotional involvement of a rock. (The princess. The prisoner. The murderer. Had it even been a murder, though, when there had been no corpse? Or rather, when the one she had supposedly killed had been a corpse for a long, long time already.) "Verity," pirate said, still feeling as if her voice didn't belong to her-- it sounded like that, too, more whispering from beyond the grave than actual speech. "How... have... you... been?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

When Ylna leaves, Verity is thankful for the reprieve even if it means she is alone again. Alone with her thoughts and her loneliness and the weight of each and every mistake, no––crime she has ever committed. She feels more like a pair of eyes than a body; something that can see her surroundings but she isn't sure she has the power to move at all. Not that she has even thought to try; not that she is concerned at all. Her mind is preoccupied with memories she cannot even push away or ignore. In fact, she seems to lean into them and lets them play their little reels of horror and treachery. 'Treacherous snake,' a voice says to her, with all the familiarity of an old friend. The old friend who had said those words to her, undoubtably. Her eyes are so heavy there is no point in keeping them open, so she closes them and allows the vivid memories to play against the back of her eyelids. And as they fill her, her entire body shakes, and she no longer fights off the tears that have been piling up and up and up over the course of these... Oh, she doesn't even know how long, but the violent storm finally shows on her face as she sobs. She doesn't bother to muffle herself, because there is no one else there to listen; there is nothing for her to be shameful of in her lonesome. The tears pour down her cheeks like rapids, snot drips from her nose like a disgusting slimy faucet––but what does she even care of her vanity now? It doesn't matter. She cries for so long that a headache wraps around her head, her mouth becomes dry and maybe if she had more strength in her she could at least reach the sink in the prison cell and drink from it, but she cannot even will herself to do that. Perhaps after hours, she finally tires and Sleep wraps around her and brings her no sense of peace.

Her dreams, which she has not welcomed since her exile, return to her in full color and grip her so fiercely she wouldn't be able to pry herself away even if she had tried. This dream, in particular, is a familiar one––one she had before she started escaping to the ancestral planes to avoid the Pain––and it starts with her name. "Verity! Verity, Verity! Wake up!" Some voice calls to her from some far away land, too far away for her to place or reach as the world spins around her. When her eyes focus, she recognizes that she is in the arena, rocks float overhead like an asteroid belt and the gleam of silver catches her eye. As she focuses on the silver, slowly getting up, the silver shape becomes more clear and she recognizes her opponent's razor-feather wings. (This part of her dream seems to made up of pure memory.) Her opponent outstretches the wings and then sweeps them across her body, sending a flurry of razor-sharp feathers down towards the princess. At the last second, Verity catches this movement, a signature of her opponent, and barely is able to scramble away from the onslaught of dangerous feathers. From above her opponent laughs, "Surrender or die, princess! It's your choice." And here is where the dream breaks from what is true, because when her opponent comes down from her flight, Verity feels the tip of steel pressed against her chin. Suddenly she is on a pirate's ship, staring up at its captain who shines under the three full moons. The dream glitches again and brings her back to the arena; now the other princess is the one holding the blade under her chin. Her smile is sharp and cruel. She pushes the tip, effortlessly, into Verity's throat. Blood begins to fill her mouth as she chokes on it; tears sting her eyes as she looks up at the other princess––who's face isn't like an axe at all because as Verity sputters and chokes, she recognizes the soft features of the captain instead. "I should have done this when I had the chance, Verity. Ah, sorry––"

Unfortunately the rumors about dying in dreams and killing the corporeal form in the process? Simply rumor. Verity wakes with a start, shooting upright in her bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Her hand slides up to her throat, she looks around for the other princess, the captain, and only makes out her familiar yellow, humming friend. She sinks back down when she puts together the dream and her circumstances, hoping that like with most dreams, this one will be erased and she won't have to dwell on its meaning for too long. She curls the dead captain's coat around herself and tips her nose into the fabric. Tears sting her eyes once more and the headache from before returns twice as strong, pounding against her skull with unrelenting pressure.

When the door to the prison cell opens again, Verity does not look towards whichever pirate has come to torture her with taunts––with questions that have no right answer, so she may as well give extremely wrong ones. She only brings her knees to her chest to prepare for whatever––wait. Her eyes shut tight as the strained voice breaks through the electric hum (a broken whisper or not, she knows that voice anywhere). 'No. Don't look. Don't look.' It's just another pirate who has a similar cadence as the captain. Or it's a pirate playing a trick on her––using a recording of their beloved captain to torture the prisoner. She shifts away from the door and silently begs to be left alone––if she doesn't give a response surely they will get bored and leave. Surely.

Well, whoever it is, Verity can tell that they are still standing outside her cell and there is only so much strength she has to fight off her own curiosity. (With any luck, she supposes, maybe a whip of anger will save her from the tears that are once more stinging her eyes, staining her cheeks.) When she finally looks? She screams, becoming pale, and backs herself into the corner of her cell––suddenly finding herself standing on her cot, spikes poking out of her skin as this ghostly assailant threatens her. Her chest heaves rapidly and she is wondering if she is hallucinating from lack of sustenance, if she has gone truly mad, if this is a ghost, or if this is some elaborate hologram devised to break her. In any case, it is working. "Wh-who are you? A-and what game are you playing?" Her body shakes like a leaf and now her eyes really are waterfalls. "This isn't funny," she says, her voice small like a child who is being bullied.

 

[Syntra]

Verity was crying, Iskra realized. Tears were running down her face, like a river that would never find its ocean, and a mere day ago? Oh yes, this sight would have shattered her. The silly knight would have donned her shining armor again, and she would have leapt to the princess-- perhaps, if the foolishness from before had possessed her again, even kissed the tears off her eyelashes. It had been nice, you know? Touching her like that, as if she truly belonged to her. As if all that buildup had meant something, instead of Iskra just connecting dots that had never been there. (It had been more than nice, actually. Kind of like returning home, even if it was some version of it the pirate had never known-- a feeling more than a memory, really, whispering to her that, yes, this was what she had been born for.) A lot of things could change in a day, though, so now she just observed her, with this dull resentment spreading through her chest. Why are you crying? Didn't you want this? (Among her soldier sisters, many a joke had been about this very topic. 'Oh, hahaha, don't mind me! Just fell on her sword fifty times.' Iskra herself had chuckled at it, but... well, it was safe to say she wasn't laughing anymore. Three wounds. Three times had she stabbed her, again and again and again, and truly, how was that funny? The intent had been there for everyone to see, and Iskra-- Iskra--)

Don't be childish, she reminded herself as her lower lip trembled. You cannot die, no more than bones can die. It isn't possible to murder a thing. Which, of course, Iskra knew. She had known from the very beginning, in truth, perhaps even before they'd ripped her from her mother's womb to make her what she was, but that didn't make it hurt any less, you see? Because Verity hadn't known. To her, those strikes had been enveloped by finality. Every blow, every drop of blood lost, had brought her closer to her grave, which... Why? Why, why, why? Had Iskra displeased her so? (She must have, surely. There was no smoke without fire, and no lightning without a storm, either. Somehow, the pirate had offended the princess-- and now she got to reap the fruit of the trees she had planted, bitter with rot. Oh well! A harvest you got was the harvest you deserved, wasn't it? That was how the old proverb went, anyway.)

"I did tell you," Iskra finally said, her voice a quiet monotony, "that I am not easy to kill. You... know who I am, Verity." The real issue is that I don't know who you are. Not anymore. Suddenly feeling entirely drained, the captain turned around-- the movement was strangely choppy, like that of a marionette who only reacted to the strings attached to her limbs. (And, truly, wasn't that convenient? A badge of honor, and also that of shame all at once. ...perhaps she should stay like this, to let people know what exactly she was. Things got messy when they mistook her for an actual human, you see? Like the Verity incident. No. No, I should be thankful for what happened between us. Had she known it was futile, she wouldn't have committed the deed, but she still would have felt the same, so now... now I get to know, at least. Knowledge, after all, was a gift! A precious, precious gift that won battles, and helped you avoid them, and... and broke her heart, apparently.)

Iskra grabbed one of the boxes sitting in a corner, and slowly, mechanically, she dragged it forward-- it wasn't heavy per se, so normally, she would have lifted it, but oh, rising from the dead had tired her so! (The Shade had done it for her, yes, but using her as fuel. Her, or whatever remained of her, anyway. Wasn't the pirate at least entitled to some form of rest? ...this one thing she could have, Iskra decided, as she plopped down on the box. This one thing, if nothing else. Instruments needed care, too, if they were to remain in working order.)

"I've done this quite regularly," she continued, as quietly as before. And given the topic? Her tone seemed flat, too-- as if she was sharing her favorite recipe for bread and not, you know, speaking of her soul leaving her body. "I did warn you that I was a soldier. In my country, a soldier's duty isn't over when she dies. So, I rise, rise and rise, for as long as it still makes sense. For as long as I have to. I've died more than I've lived." Her gaze found Verity, unusually sharp, like a tip of the knife, and-- oh. A memory resurfaced, because of course it did, and offered an explanation on a silver plate. (A pretty little parallel to wrap her mind around, when night terrors didn't allow her to fall asleep. Well, well, well!)

"You know," she continued, still so matter-of-factly, "this feels familiar. We used to do this together, the Holy Vessel and me. She was... forbidden from touching me. From touching anyone, actually, for it would have stained her. Still, she craved that closeness, and killing was the next best thing. I died in her bed-- so, so many times. Strangled with silks at times, though mostly stabbed. Spilling blood is special, she used to say. It looked nice on the white sheets, I think. So, Verity?" The tiniest hint of smile appeared on her lips, though there wasn't a drop of cheerfulness in that expression. No, in that moment? Iskra's face looked like a mask. "If you wanted to do this, you could have just asked. For you, I would have done it. I was yours, after all."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Tears still stream down the exiled's cheeks as she continues to push herself into the corner, maybe trying to become one with the wall itself or maybe hoping Inure will open up and she'll slip through the wall into the endless vacuum of space. That seems like a more pleasant horror to live out than whatever cruel Sage has devised this torture. (Is this the work of Pain? Guilt? Both of them in cooperation? She doesn't know.)

Though when she does recognize the captain as Iskra, as her Iskra or... used to be hers––as she can't imagine that the pirate would want her now, knowing what a truly horrible creature she is. Iskra may be foolish, but the exiled doubts she's that foolish. She slides down the wall, slowly, until she is sitting again with her knees pulled up to her chest like a shield against the world. Her sobs still echo in the cell and when she realizes that she is still crying, she does her best to put her tears away, because she cannot imagine a bigger insult than crying to the person she has (or had?) killed. It's not her privilege and she will not stoop so low as to take it. It's no easy task either, putting those tears away, when there is so much for her to cry about but she manages; blinking her eyes hard, stilling her shaking body, and reminding herself that she cannot do this. She rubs her eyes, wincing when she presses into her bruise, forgetting it is even there in the first place. It doesn't matter; she rubs it just a little harder.

When her eyes focus again, gaze meeting Iskra and watching her twisted, awkward movements, she winces again. She did that. Though she is still confused as to how Iskra is still alive, because immortality and rising beyond the grave is only the stuff of sage research (failed research at that). So wrapped up in her own world, she completely forgets that the captain is from another. Only when the captain sets herself down on the box and begins to explain does it start to make some sense. Though not by much––instead she just accepts it instead of asking questions. That knowledge... She doesn't think that it's for her. Verity chews on her lip as she listens, as she comes to terms that she hadn't really murdered Iskra; not that she thinks the action is any less dastardly. All the intention had been there; just because she failed (again) does not mean anything significant. She doesn't really know what to say and maybe there isn't anything for her to say––her words may only add to the weight around her ankles that will drag her down faster when they bury her in the ocean.

As much as she wants to look away, she doesn't. Transfixed, probably, but more than that the guilt in her soul that may as well make up the blood in her veins keeps her eyes on the pirate. As if to say, I see you. I see you. I see you. As if seeing makes it any better. And when Iskra speaks of the wretched Holy Vessel? She wishes she had the power to look away and hide all of her shame. Each word is like a knife cutting into her soul and she imagines that this is what it's like to die by a thousand cuts. To think that she is being compared to the tyrant of Iskra's homelands––and, well, isn't she? To Iskra, at least, that is what she is and even she cannot see a lie in the staggering reality. Her heart doesn't sink, it shatters and blows away entirely. Whatever had been left of it anyway (she can't argue that had her heart been whole from the start––though she pretended with such conviction she forgot to miss the gaps). The last line, of course, is really the final blow. A chill starts from the top of her head and spreads slowly down through the rest of her body. Her last words. The implication of was; she expected it, of course. It's hard to come back from something this depraved and she supposes she never expects the pirate to forgive her. Even if she were brave enough to ask. Still, it hurts, because she knows that she ruined something good. That she tried to steal this universe of its spark. 'Is this my punishment? Living with this stain?'

There's so much for her to process, with everything being thrown at her at once and she's... She's just one person! She cannot take all of this and yet all of this is entirely her doing, so she must face it. There isn't really another choice given her circumstances too. Though her words are hard to find, she knows she owes Iskra something because she has already given her all of nothing. "Iskra, I..." she starts, and stops. Her brows knit together; words are usually so easy for her, because she learned long ago that they don't really have to mean anything and now that she wants them to mean something she doesn't know how to use them quite as effectively. (And even then, she wishes she could show the pirate her remorse. Beyond selfish tears and hollow words.) "I didn't..." What? How can she tell Iskra that she didn't want that, when it very much seems that she did. And in that fleeting moment she had.. Well, no she hadn't but she felt she had to do it for reasons that she isn't sure Iskra will understand. But maybe she doesn't deserve the pirate's understanding... The pirate who went to such great lengths to try and understand the princess.

She runs her fingers through her hair as confusion makes short work of her eloquence. "I wouldn't have asked that of you," she says, weakly, fighting off yet another storm of tears. (Once, in a fit, she had complained to her mothers about all the crying she had been doing and one had told her that some people are just born with more seas inside of them and that's probably why Verity's eyes are green. If only that was a comforting thing to remember.) "N-never. I just, I just thought that," she stops again, blinking hard and still trying to not rip her gaze away from the captain. "I don't know––I just, there's just so much... Iskra, I don't know how..." to explain herself and she isn't sure that the pirate even wants that. So perhaps a little selfishly, she asks instead, "Do you hate me?" Because maybe once she confirms that it will be easier for her to explain. Or maybe she is buying herself more Time to string together something pleasant––though even she knows it would be a miracle to make herself look a hero in all of this. 'Be wary of the villains in yourself, they used to say.'