dust on your fingers.

Eris Eternity · 05-30-2011, 06:27 AM

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Word Count » 518

the world shudders as the worm gets its wings

She had not removed the gris-gris since he had given it to her, finding she needed its protection in the peril of Salsola's creation. Eris paid heed to no gods and bowed her head in prayer to no one, but she earnestly believed in more earthly magic, and this was, if nothing else, a symbol of Ouija, and something she would cherish. In another life, she might have been with him instead; Larkspur had been an accident at first, and though that accident had given her three beautiful children, the sable hybrid did not quite respect those stories of Larkspur's, of the weakness in that line of D'Angelo. It had been present in Harlowe, he'd said, more than once. The boy had attacked them and their children both, but Eris had smelled the fever in him and she had seen the madness in his jade-hued eyes. It was no god and no damnation that had driven him to act as he had.

As the painted man arrived, the hybrid watched him. She had paused near mid-step, breathless to watch his approach. He was large, dwarfing her by pounds upon pounds, though he carried it well. His form was meant to carry such bulk, and even Eris herself found an odd desire to dip her head toward him, though she resisted it. A creature of pride, especially one a newly-made queen, did not concede so easily to these desires. Still, there was divinity in his stride, the way he moved. Whatever Larkspur said about dirty blood, she might have given credence to, but even in taint there could be shining examples of beauty. She might have been such, the wolf daughter of a coyote, a good thing arising from the blight of Lykoi. Dirty things they were, she was not unclean; she had come from them and she was still holy and still pretty.

Yet, even as she turned to face him, there was hurt in him, the jade eyes that seemed flat and darkened now. It dawned on her, and all happiness drained from her in an instant. She hung her head immediately, ears sweeping back to fold neatly away into the wild tangle of her hair. Coal shoulders slumped, and the rest of her seemed to sag imperceptibly, deflated just a shade from her general swagger and conduct. Chartreuse eyes that slowly lifted to his as he spoke seemed apologetic, a rare thing in the sable hybrid, to say the least. “Ouija,” she said, able to keep her voice a shade above pleading. Prying ears or not, she still would not beg. “I am sorry I didn't tell you.” The realization had dawned on her like a fatal blow, sudden and merciless. She had thought of him, considered him, even, and knowing she might tear him from home and family with so much as a few words, she had denied herself this. He was hers, no doubt, but she... it wasn't his children she carried in her belly, though she herself perhaps loathed that they had not been Ouija's in the first place for a terrible moment.

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