Like drops of rain on your rooftop

POSTED: Wed Feb 14, 2018 2:29 am

There was coldness inside, it ate away at her like a fungus, spreading its blackness.

Autonomy was how she functioned in her day to day tasks, and not once did she dare to leave her two surviving children alone in the tower. Afraid that they too would disappear into the cold and snow. A fit of maternal madness, was how she described it to Till. She was surprised when Calla affirmed this and the Watcher's suspicions grew lesser.

A sickness. A death in the night. These were the tales she wove, and in time she might come to believe her own lies. They were better than the bitterness of the truth that made her stomach clench and her heart become sore.

A golden boy was returned to their home from the wild Blackwoods, and Helena grieved for the death of his innocence. Ashes were buried and ashes were on her tongue, choking everything.

Along with her, Helena carried a brace of rabbits, to be smoked and salted and stored away for leaner times. Brocade had left them them to her without preamble, to help her in the pursuit of a new Job. It had gone unsaid but Helena caught it's message. They were gracefully accepted from their small lonesome basket upon her doorstep.

Closing in on the storage shed, she set to burning small fires and deftly dressed them of their unneeded parts. Those she set aside for other intentions. She sliced their meat into strips, and set them up for the fire to smoke.

Anyone want to smoke/salt meat with Helena! Maybe meet a babby :D | 16th Feb [wc — ] template by hilli
Helena Troy Lykoi

The Ambassador
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Luperci Conserje, Cocinero
♚· Reine de la Saleté ·♚
⤜Hell is your Red Teeth⤛

POSTED: Sun Feb 18, 2018 1:19 pm

Of late, misfortune had had its way with Salsolan young far too often. Neith supposed this natural, for the Thistle Kingdom was a tumultuous and thorny place, and the rankings of its indomitable army could not be carved from those with soft hearts and closed eyes.

One might have considered the birth of Dirge to be the first in a long sequence of misfortunes, as if by his birth he’d placed a curse upon their pack. Neith did not completely believe this—for Neith believed wholly in nothing that could not be visibly proven—but he resented the death of his birth mother enough to wonder it so. The kidnapping and loss of Ask had followed in the fall, tragic at least to those who not known better of his fate. Sight was not kind to his sister, Embla, whom he left behind. More recently, some manner of tragedy had struck the union of Helena, Calla and Till, though respectful rumors had deterred the full truth from reaching the young Warden’s ears.

He found Helena near storage when he checked (just to say he did, though he doubted there would be any) for paper or something to write on to replace his current journal. The margins of the water-beaten book he’d found had been fully filled with notes irrelevant to the subject matters, his studies on herbs and muscles over the last year. He knew little of Helena, and had never caught up with her after their shared imprisonment in the fall by Inferni—and there was a certain warding air about her this instance, though Neith breezed through it.

“Hello, Helena,” he said, gentle and with a smile. “Basking in the smell of ashes, are we?”

whose eyes you gonna use?

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lost in the static

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