Take a bite of my heart tonight

Salvia Eternity · 10-19-2012, 10:53 PM

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There was something fundamentally wrong with her, she sometimes thought. The way she functioned was on a level so beyond what she saw in other people that had thus convinced her of her superiority. Sirius had known something of it—but what blackness lived in him was corrupted by frivolity as desire and avarice. Salvia did not yearn for things, and whet her hunger when it rose. She was well fed and untouched by all things. She would carry on when others fell to the winds and rains.

So while he looked to her as he always had, she felt a peculiar distance there that had not been. Once he had been her world—she had kept him in her eyes. Misery had taught her how to do such a thing. Salvia had never tried to capture him as she captured the wills of other, lesser beasts, and now wondered if she ought to have done so. In mercurial pools there was nothing for her to consume. Something had taken him to a place that she could not go; she was herself climbing high through an ancient, terrible, lonely mountain.

Yet her face turned to reflect his, a small and secret smile, one saved for him and him alone. It brought heat to her eyes, though it was yet itself changed. “You need not wait on me, brother,” she scoffed, and flipped her hair from her shoulder. “I have servants for that.” Though neither were present, of course. Seizing the coyote from her mother had proved Salvia’s superiority. Owning the nanny that had raised her (and Pandemic) was a strange thing entirely.

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