[/html]She regarded the old woman with a surprising passivity. With her one yellow eye and myriad of scars, it was impossible not to recognize her, even in the dark. Her mother's mother and the seed of all the foolish madness and prejudice and fear that made up Inferni, the goddess that bred all darkness into the world. She was a creature from the beginning of time, worn now with age, but no less supernatural, a figment of fireside tales and sad bedtime stories. For always, even as Kharma warned them away, there was a sadness in his voice when he spoke of Kaena Lykoi.
Cassandra did not want to, but she observed now what she had not before. She observed her sister's stance, her movements, her gestures. She went into the room as directed, but even there, she could hear the tone of voice, and make guesses at the orders. Myrika held command. Myrika commanded the mother of Lykoi, and Cassandra imagined she listened. It made her feel hollow inside.
But there was betrayal on both sides, to be certain. They had made the same promises as children, to be broken in different ways. They had had the same ideals, loved the same father -- still loved, for around both their necks hung a silver flower yet. Cassandra's pink ribbon was stained with dirt and blood, though not all of it from the recent night. Myrika's was clean still, carefully kept through their years apart. The room smelled strongly of the tawny daughter's treachery -- she had been here a long time -- and when her sister turned again to her, by the light of the outside fire, she saw that betrayal was branded on her body as well.
The albino daughter's treachery was less obvious, held on the inside and hidden in a thousand secret compartments, but there was, quite literally, blood on her hands, and less literally, it would never wash away.
Cassandra stiffened automatically when Myrika spoke and looked up at her with pale red eyes that gave away little. It was not a purposeful mask though; not really. She felt as empty as she looked and did not notice anymore that she was still swallowing the lump in her throat, over and over again. She looked away, down. "Me too," she said. The blood-stained woman wanted to be angry. She was angry, somewhere. But she was just as guilty. And she was tired. But, "You've been here a long time," Cassandra said, her voice was uncertain, but her words were not.
| Messages In This Thread |