lullaby sounds from the engine

[Corona Lykoi]

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It was unsurprising that one of the first things that Corona did was go back to the mansion. It was perhaps said that she had what she considered refined tastes, at least in the sense that she preferred a bed to the ground, when she had spent the most earliest of times in such a place. In some ways, it was a spoiled sort of thing; France had been good to her, as had South America. Portions of North America were privy to the same tastes, although most of the creatures that inhabited what had been Canada and the United States were more pioneer than revolutionary — they didn’t mind roughing it.



But after months of roughing it, she had definitely had enough. It was easy to come back and go back to the same room that she had occupied before, easy to seal herself away there when nothing else was to disturb her and easy enough to listen to what went on in the house around her. It was how Corona had operated for the majority of her life. For the most part, she was not unlike the rest of Inferni for that reason. But even the interior grew a little too dreary for her; the colours a little too drab even though outside wasn’t much better.



Outside however, she could hear what was going on much, much better. Her senses fine attuned, body slightly tense with the ever anticipation that warning bells would go off — she was certainly aware that Inferni was in arms. Yet it was the strike of a match and the sharp hint of cinder and flame that drew her round the worn corner of the tudor-style structure. The coyote who was hanging around was the spitting image of someone she had met well over a year ago, but they were not the same.



The concept that this one was of any relation to him crossed her mind, but she didn’t think anything of it. Appearances were deceiving. It was easy to see what wasn’t there as well and she had come to often distrust what she had seen after spending enough time in her own head. But he had it rough already, had already gone out looking for trouble with the way that the wounds were scattered against his torso. That didn’t trouble her nearly as much as the fact that he was young did; she thought him much too little in age to have been out there fighting what would always be an endless war.



“I guess I don’t have to ask what happened to you.”

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