Word Count → 3+ :: <3
Something seemed to have changed within Talitha. It was as though Caillen's death had stolen some of the ice queen's spite, some of the cruelness that Alaine had seen in her the last time the two women had met. She seemed paler, a worn image of herself, and in spite of the round health of pregnancy, the woman appeared to the healer as little more than a shallow indent of the bitch she had been.
The hand gripping fast to the other woman's wrist let go instantly, as though burned. Emerald eyes darted about the Infernian's face and away again, unable to linger, unable to perceive the words she spoke. The gaping hole of loss threatened to swallow her entirely, and for a moment she teetered on the brink of total despair, mouth dry and eyes wet.
"No," A harsh hiss to silence the other's excuses. Ezekiel's face swam into view again, and as her gaze met that of the ruby woman's, she saw the truth for what it was. Delicate features twisted into a grotesque expression of horror, sorrow, and then a blinded fury was summoned from every pore of her existence.
Her hands were shaking, and cool light glinted wickedly off the tooth of the dagger held in one cream paw. "... Dúnmharú." Her teeth glittered, beautiful face collapsing around it, transformed by the purity of a rage that would burn her from the inside out. It scorched in emerald eyes, a wrath so intense that it could be seen lining the needle slit of the woman's pupils.
She took a step back, away from the woman pregnant with her dead son's spawn, almost in fear of what she could do to her. What she would have done, if the other did not bear her lineage, and the last of her son's existence. Lips peeled back, writhing in a snarl. Betrayal. A keen hatred filled her blood with flames, and the small weeping part within her was crushed by the weight of anger. She turned, fluidly remounting the mammoth mare who had retreated back into the shadows. The creature sensed the change in its mistress, and rolled its doe-brown eyes in distress.
The hand holding the dagger was pointed accusingly at the dark princess. "Ní raibh mise na lámha a mharaigh mo mhac, but he died for you, and that blame shall always be yours to bear." The pagan witch's voice wavered in the darkness, melodically sinister, terrible to behold. Thunder rumbled again, nearer now, and she set her heels to the bay. With a shrill whinny, the horse plunged forward into the growing darkness, heading at a rapid pace back the way that Talitha had come.
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