. set on the surface of anathema's territory. hover for translations[html]
Misery had told Larkspur to meet her and to bring Eris with him. He'd asked of the fertility ritual and she'd just grinned - more heirs to the D'Angelo, more children raised with the faith that would save them - she was more than happy to help. She'd asked for a day or two to gather things, and she'd caught him the previous night to tell him things would be ready. The ritual needed to be done in the light of the sun - the pair belonged to Tak, but they would seek Ankh's blessings for the sake of the children. No one wanted to be born to Tak. You miss your devil-god. Damian's voice, quiet and clear, and she waved a hand idly at the air. "Hush. Today's not the day for you." I'm not going anywhere. But that was part of the luxury afforded by the fact that he was dead and she was not. While she often saw him in the periphery of her vision, he couldn't actually do anything if she wanted to ignore him. Not like in life when he had at times been less than a gentle beast, he was just as much a monster as she was.
Three sacrifices were laid out on a rock in the light of the midday sun. Two of the rabbit's were clearly dead, the fine fur stained with their own blood. The other was still breathing, albeit in a very slow way, and the creature's black eyes were wide and dazed. Misery had tied the rabbit's legs together and shoved it rather full of hallucinogens, sending the rabbit into a half comatose daze. Tak was a hungry, terrible god, and while she would meet his demand of living sacrifice she wasn't going to have the thing be fully aware. Misery knew the fear of that pyre, she had tasted the ash in the air before her twin had loosened the ropes holding her back. The little rabbit would die in the flames but Misery would show mercy. You did none of this for ours. That's why they died. Misery froze for a second, not wanting to remember the interregnum of her faith. But she shook it off, leaning over and pulling a jar of golden dye from a brown leather knapsack and setting it on the rock next to the rabbits.
The fire was catching. She crouched, her right leg quietly screaming in protest but she was too focused on what she was doing and blew on the embers, poking a little more kindling in. The flames began to dance merrily and she stood carefully, a quiet stream of curses escaping her. "Stupid girl, verdammt bein. Stupid alter.". One hand idly touched the inverted cross that hung around her neck, and once more she regretted not snapping Meth's neck shortly after birth. Meth had been a demon visited upon her for her sins. But now wasn't the time to glare and growl over her hatred of her dead daughter, and she just stood, quietly watching the flames and waiting for her son and his chosen to arrive.
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