oh honey, don't you smile
#1
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Word Count → 3+ :: Shattered Coast, Optime, Dusk


Restlessness had overtaken her soul. Since the woman's meeting with Ezekiel, his betrayal had eaten away at her, and it was a relief to escape the claustrophobic confines of the old Hotel and allow her mind more room to roam.


The cool late-afternoon air was sweet to her lungs, and she rode without purpose, allowing the gentle quiet and the serendipity of the land to sooth her aching scars. Although the Infernian man had not raised a finger to her, he had torn her insides asunder, re-opening old wounds that had been left since the time of his father. She thought of Gabriel often, but it was without the certainty of slow-simmering love with which she had once thought of him. The man had given her many things - Pleasure, life, children - But so too had he and his blood stolen from her. The Pagan witch was not one to easily forget, nor forgive, such misdoings.


It was near dusk when the call reached her ears. A cold shiver rippled down the woman's back, for she knew that voice - The siren's voice, that treacherous bitch who had lured her kind-hearted son into a depraved madness. Cold hatred and hot excitement coursed through her veins. Was Caillen with her? Her rounded steed went stiff-legged at its mistress' conflicting instructions, and the Apothecary forced herself into a calmer position. She rode confidently now, without tack - The lack of a saddle meant that she had no extra pouches, only the healing satchel that remained almost constantly slung over one shoulder. Her healer's dagger was within it, and the colliewoman retrieved the blunt item, glancing at its cold weight in her palm.


The light shined on the blade, a flicker of dancing silver. Emerald eyes, so prone to beautiful depth, hardened and became shallow as ivory fingers clenched about the wooden handle. Then, with a sharp cluck and a squeeze of her heels, the bay was turned towards the sound of the call.


She came to the sight warily. Nana sensed the woman's anxiety, and snorted, slowing from a rumbling canter back to a steady walk. With the dagger concealed in a fist of the mare's ebony mane, Alaine sat straighter, her posture alert. "Talitha," Narrowed pupils darted about the growing shadows, seeking the form of the other woman. She considered dismounting, but felt safer by far on the horse's broad back, and so remained there.


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#2
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The decision to leave Ezekiel's kingdom had been a quick, desperate choice — since speaking with her father, cold reality had flooded her veins. It hadn't happened yet. While she and her brother fought or shared differing views, he always returned to her side in the end, but she knew Gabriel was right — someday, she would lose him, but to who? Who threatened her comfortable life at her brother's side? Only one face came to mind: Alaine. The Aquila had told her he'd stopped seeing the woman, and she knew it to be true, but that did not mean he wouldn't return someday. There was only one thing she was capable of doing in her condition, revealing a secret the twins had buried. Alienating him further from a woman she had no reason to fear.

She'd set out early days before, warning no one of her disappearance — really, who would even notice? Enkiel was the likely culprit, but he was busy with some deluded creature her brother had allowed in the borders. She was certain she would return in time, before she was missed by her cousin. The path to the dog pack was unfamiliar and she found herself lost in the forest more than once, emotions tearing apart her sanity little by little until, with relief, she found the coast. Her call was for the woman — she wanted to see no other damned creature — and the response from the healer was a quick one. Anxiety settled at the sight of the horse, so similar to her brother's steed. Her name was spoken with narrowed eyes. The princess almost snarled.

"Get off of your horse." It was a simple command — she refused to be faced with a beast alongside a monster, but she didn't bother to wait and see if the woman complied. Frail fingers combed back auburn curls, eyes closing as her head turned away. She had come for a reason, but the reason was so wrong that she couldn't find the words. How could she betray the trust of her brother? How could she set the bridges he'd closed on fire, ruining him in the eyes of another? It was selfish, but she felt it necessary. Ezekiel was her only tie to the mortal world — without him, she had no place.

Fire eyes opened once more, focusing shamelessly upon the emerald of her lover's mother. "I came to tell you news about your son." News about her son, that he was gone and buried in the earth outside her den. Talitha would keep him forever, that way, and it gave her a sense of sick satisfaction though she knew his spawn would be sent away by her own hands. Caillen was a prize to keep, while his children were not.

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#3
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Word Count → 3+ :: <3


Agitated as she was by her mistress' anxiety, Nana did not detect the other woman as she might otherwise have. When Talitha's sharp voice came from the darkness of the trees, both mare and healer jumped. The horse quickly swung around to face this new peril, her heavy frame intimidating and large. From the shadows, Alaine's keen eyes saw a shadow detach from the rest, and knew by the glint of ruby eyes that it was her son's favorite whore.


Soundlessly, she obeyed, slipping from the back of the rotund mare. Nana snorted, pacing backwards with heavy steps but remaining near, reluctant to leave her companion undefended in the glade but unable to deny her prey instincts of retreat.


When finally Talitha was in total view, the Apothecary allowed a look of surprise, and sudden pain, to filter across her face. She was pregnant - Caillen's children? - and heavily so, at that. It must have taken some effort to have made the trek to Cour des Miracles land, and thus, her reason must have been severe enough to warrant it.


The healer's dagger glittered in her hand, but Alaine knew it to be a useless weapon now. She could not harm a woman with child, especially if the children were her own blood. It pained her heavily to think that Caillen had not shared such news with her, for although they were in the womb of a foul wench, children were a blessing all the same. Pupils, rounded now to suck in the light, glanced about the small glade, searching for the massive form of her son. They flicked back to Talitha reluctantly as the woman spoke again.


Her words fell with strange notes of expectant doom on the ears of the colliewoman, and perhaps, in that instant, a small part of her knew. Ezekiel came to mind, a flash of hard yellow eyes and the fear within them, as she had seen him last. But sheer denial won out, and stiffening her posture once more, Alaine lowered the dagger to her side and took a step closer to the sinner. "Where is he?" Her voice sounded flat, hollow, even to her own ears. The beginning of a peculiar numbness began to spread through her, as her body prepared for the news that it almost already knew. All her waiting, praying, pleading, was about to come to an end. "Where is my son?"


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#4
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The woman complied and slid from the back of the horse, allowing Talitha the chance to look at her more closely. Alaine was the same as she had been months before when she and the handsome wolfdog had visited her in the Court. Of course, things were also different — her eyes were drawn to the object in the woman's hand, laughter erupting on the inside even though it did not leave her. What did the collie expect she could do? Harm the Infernian princess? Self-important as she was, Talitha knew someone would be angry were she to come back harmed. It wouldn't have mattered at any rate — she knew once she spoke of Caillen that the woman would listen just as Talitha would have paused her world to hear news of her brother were he to turn up gone.

Alaine's words came flatly, causing a sense of discomfort in the chest of the de le Poer, almost as if she felt guilty for bringing the news. Could the collie have gone on blissfully ignorant to the loss of her child were Talitha to simply not tell her? Was it wrong to explain what had happened? It had been her fault that her lover had met his end, a fact that haunted her in so many ways other than the memory of holding the corpse. All of her composure trembled as she prepared to loose the lie she'd told herself. Caillen was dead. She would never see him again.

"Caillen is dead." The words had come out softer than she had planned, sadder. Did she miss him? Very much. With the words came the swell of sorrow she was so used to feeling, and her fingers clutched at the stag's head that hung limply about her neck, amongst the forest of tarnished branches and bits of polished garnet. "Caillen is dead, and it's my fault and I'm...I'm...sorry, I'm so sorry." When did her whispers turn into cries? When did she decide she needed to apologize? What possessed her to find Alaine, the selfishness of wanting her brother to herself or the desire to clear her conscience of a sin she regretted so much? It seemed both fueled the mind of the pretty, pretty princess as she stood before the woman who would judge her that night.

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#5
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Word Count → 3+ :: <3


And she knew, oh, she knew, before Talitha even opened her mouth to voice the dreaded words - She knew, when she saw the ice queen's frosty hatred turn, so horribly, to the deep sadness they both knew to be grief.


Caillen is dead.


The numbness could not protect her from this, this sudden feeling of a loss so powerful it could not be explained. It went against all nature for her to outlive her son. Her lungs burned, and she realized that she had stopped breathing, and wondered if she would ever be able to breath the same way again.


Caillen is dead, and it's my fault and I'm...I'm...sorry, I'm so sorry.


She felt the world pour out through her chest, and one empty palm moved to clutch the gaping hole there. Dead. A dry sob heaved in her chest, but she couldn't let it pass her lips, wouldn't let it be heard by the quiet, dark forest. Another, and this time she gasped inward, and the cool air sizzled down her throat and was lost to the terrible numbness within.


A grief so potent it felt like physical agony overcame her, and the woman twitched once, allowing another terrible dry sob to die, unvoiced, within her. "Mo mhac," Her voice was a cracked whisper, dry like the barren earth, the barren womb that had created him. The waiting was over, and maybe there was relief within her, because the waiting had been its own form of torture. The waiting was over. Caillen was dead.


She couldn't look at Talitha. Perhaps she could survive if she never moved from this spot, this quiet glade. The growing clouds overhead rumbled against one another - a storm was on its way.


For a long moment, it seemed that she would not speak again. But finally, when emerald eyes lifted once more to those of the mourning Infernian, there was a glitter of grief-driven madness within them. "How?" A blunt demand, because maybe she already knew, deep inside. There would be no lies, not anymore. Her heart was dead, and she deserved to know why.


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#6
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She watched the mother break apart at the news her child was gone — was this how it was supposed to be? She had lost children, but it wasn't truly the same; Caillen had been a grown man, taken from the world by...what? Jealousy? Anger? She had been wrong to carry on with him and Ezekiel had made her suffer for her sins against her blood. Myron had helped her bury the giant corpse. The world had kept turning as it always had, but now it stopped again and shifted as a mother grieved for her adult child and the loss of his presence on the earth. Talitha felt little pity for Alaine, but she felt grief for the loss of the man all the same — still, even after taking Cotl as her significant other, her heart burned with the same haunting desire to have the wolfdog once more. Love was not an emotion she allowed herself to think of, it was a dangerous thing that she reserved for only her father and brother, but it seemed Caillen had broken down the wall that separated it from the general masses and taken it for himself. She hadn't allowed herself to admit it before, but it came to her sure enough as she tried to keep her sadness in. The only man she'd loved was dead.

How? she asked, and Talitha closed her eyes again, her face turning away. For the briefest moment, she considered lying, but she knew that it was obvious. "Ezekiel," she croaked, her brother's name feeling foreign on her lips as it entered the air. Ezekiel had done nothing wrong, not in the eyes of his sister, but still she hated him for his judgement — she had been happy in the arms of the Winters man. It didn't seem enough to simply tell her who, she'd wanted to know how and the de le Poer tried to remember what she knew. She hadn't been there for whatever altercation had happened between the men, but she had heard the call and she hadn't moved fast enough. "He came to find me." He'd been dead when she'd reached him and she hadn't had the time to properly mourn, for Ezekiel's fury had called her away. She should have tended to her brother first, but instead her arms had found the dog — oh, the way Ezekiel had spoken to her, it still cut her like a knife.

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#7
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Word Count → 3+ :: <3


There was blame within her, and there had been for a long time. She had blamed Talitha for her son's disappearance, for his dramatic change, his aggression. She had been unable to blame Caillen for these things, and now, she never would. There had been bad blood between them the last time she had seen her son, and now, the opportunity to make it right would never come.


But could she blame the red-eyed heathen for her son's death? She wanted to, desperately wanted to. Did you love him, as I loved him? She had made Caillen happy. Her son had loved this bitch - She had seen it in his eyes, in the way he had looked at her. No, she could not blame Talitha.


Who then? Who?


Ezekiel.


The Eagle's yellow eyes swam before her, in memory, in reality. Ezekiel had killed her son. The sorrow within her broke the woman, shattered her reality. This was why the man had left her, deserted her as his father had. It had not been for Inferni, as she had thought - It was because her son's blood had stained his hands. "An accident?" The words, desperately hopeful words, were hissed between clenched teeth. She would not give over to the rage, not yet, not until the word was spoken.


The cream palm that had clutched desperately at her breast moved now, lightning fast, to latch around the narrow wrist of the pregnant woman. Her hold was firm as steel, unintentionally likely to bruise. Emerald eyes pinned to ruby, and narrowed pupils were pleasing, desperate. "... Murder?" A single word voiced on the faintest breeze, and the forest rustled around them. The faint sound of far-off thunder rumbled, vibrating the earth and the frantic beating of her heart.


She knew, already, within. She knew. But Talitha had to say it to make it real.


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#8
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Ezekiel had done nothing wrong. This was something she tried so hard to firmly believe, for the death was something she knew she couldn't forgive if he suddenly became the one to blame. Caillen should have stayed away — he had known he couldn't be part of her world, that she belonged to Inferni much like he belonged to his mother, and she had accepted that much. Why hadn't he stayed away? Why hadn't he simply waited for her? She should have never allowed it to go as far as it had — once it had turned to revenge, revenge for her father's ignorance to his family in breeding with the golden whore, she should have simply let it disappear. But no, her anger had transformed into care and from that sprung feelings she was unfamiliar with. Love was a foolish, ephemeral thing, and yet she could admit to herself now that she had loved the merle man, enough to betray the confidence of her beloved sibling.

She couldn't rationalize why she'd told the witch who had killed her son — wouldn't it have been simpler to not come at all? — and she didn't know what she would tell Ezekiel himself if it came to that time. Would he be angry? Would he hate her? Or would he understand that it had to be done, for closure for both herself and him? She didn't care about the Winters woman, only for those who resided within the skulled borders of Inferni. She had no soul to save, but she could try to help that of her twin.

What had it been, murder or accident? She couldn't be sure, she didn't know, she hadn't been there. Red eyes averted their gaze from the hideous green of the woman who grasped so tightly at her wrist — she wondered if Enkiel would notice the tender flesh when she returned, and if he would tell Ezekiel of her journey to meet Alaine. She didn't believe so. He had kept her confidence so far, yet she couldn't be sure. Perhaps Ezekiel deserved to know. Maybe she deserved what he would do upon learning that she couldn't even hold her tongue to save him. Maybe she should have cast herself into the ocean when news of her bastard half-siblings came to light.

"I don't know; I didn't find him fast enough." Still a whisper, her voice hid what she believed to be truth: Caillen's death had not been accidental, Ezekiel had killed the man for...what? Why had her brother really done it? For her or for himself, out of love or anger? She was a hypocrite, a whore, and now he knew the truth that everyone would soon see. Though she expected him to cast her away at the birth of her children, she could not help but muster the words to defend him before the woman. "Ezekiel is a good man — Caillen's death is my fault, not his. I take the blame. It was my fault. I shouldn't have let him love me."

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#9
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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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