Word Count → 5+
Alaine was no longer a pure woman. Perhaps once, she had been a creature of only kindness and innocence of morality, but hard years had transformed the woman into a survivor. There was a wealth of knowledge within her mind, visible only in the gilded emeralds of her eyes. Such old, old eyes for a creature with such a comparably short lifespan to the trees they rode through, to the earth they walked on.
False gods were crafted to give her purpose, to wind their souls like tiny clockwork toys in the hands of cruel children. In this aspect, she and Ezekiel's blood were alike. It was all in the blood - That which ran now through the girl with the golden eyes and the black soul, and the boy with the hollow, empty smile. Such blood colliding with each fragile heartbeat within them, a cauldron of evolution and wickedness that promised something wonderful or terrible with each breath.
They were not gods, but mortals with purpose - A purpose that could give them divinity. This, she feared of the Lykoi family, they who could turn her children into soldiers of a battle that would never be won.
She did not know how to respond to the news of Gabriel's potential ignorance. Would it bring her more relief to think of her once-lover, once-saviour, as enlightened to the new life they had created? Perhaps a part of her worried that he would detest her for this. But it was a small, cruel part, and in the company of Ezekiel it was easy to ignore. "I see," she replied in an even tone, showing no obvious emotion to such a fact.
As he continued to speak, her expression darkened slightly, emerald eyes deviating from the man to fix on the invisible path ahead. They had no purpose for her children - Nobody did. The Winters brood was doomed to a life of exclusion. She could not protect them forever from the secret of their heritage, but the longer that Cour des Miracles knew nothing of the spawn of Gabriel, the better. At least, when they were Alaine's children, they were welcomed there.
The trees were beginning to thin, and they were within pack territory now. "If anyone questions us, don't say a word. They do not know of-" Her ears flattened slightly, but the woman's spine remained rigid, "-Of this. But they will respect me enough not to question it; More so, considering I have stitched their wounds, birthed their young and fought their fevers for many moons now." The woman said this with a note of weariness. She loved her skills and her profession, but it had tired her to the bone many times, having outsiders and all sorts seek her profession to ease their ills. She had sought an apprentice, but there were none in the pack skilled enough or willing enough to take up her trade.
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