REXANNA
i was born with a knife in one hand
Under the cover of night, as has become her norm, Rexanna sets out with a goal in mind. She hasn’t told many what had happened, the nearly forced marriage, her escape, and her ascension, but she knows of one person who should know sooner rather than later. With Zariah still missing, Rexanna finds a small amount of comfort with her short trip toward the Domiciles, aiming directly for Deimos’ home. It’s a brisk night out, and where she’d usually wear furs and bundles of clothing to stay warm, she no longer needs to. Instead, she leaves in a fit blouse, lowered neckline that reveals the brand along her collarbone (something she used to cover out of habit, but doesn’t care enough any longer to do so — her self conscious mind having been severed during her Ascension) and a nice fitting pair of pants with boots.
Her hair is tied up to not get in the way, and she wears it like a dark halo as she guides herself through the moonlit streets. She wonders what Deimos will think on her walk, to see the brand and her glamour magic gone. She feels almost boring in comparison, but it doesn’t bother her much. At least now she knows when her hands get dirty instead of having to guess.
She finally makes it to his door, and she raises a pale hand to the wood to knock; and she waits. There’s a part of her that wants him to be surprised, where gowns and dresses had been before, she now looks the part of a rogue. She wonders if he’ll be proud of the turn, of her shift in tentative allegiances. Plus, it was after the wedding and she couldn’t help but to have noticed the hard laughter that racked through the crowd at her surprising fireworks display. She’s sure she’ll have to answer a few questions, but this time she can at least answer them.
Her hair is tied up to not get in the way, and she wears it like a dark halo as she guides herself through the moonlit streets. She wonders what Deimos will think on her walk, to see the brand and her glamour magic gone. She feels almost boring in comparison, but it doesn’t bother her much. At least now she knows when her hands get dirty instead of having to guess.
She finally makes it to his door, and she raises a pale hand to the wood to knock; and she waits. There’s a part of her that wants him to be surprised, where gowns and dresses had been before, she now looks the part of a rogue. She wonders if he’ll be proud of the turn, of her shift in tentative allegiances. Plus, it was after the wedding and she couldn’t help but to have noticed the hard laughter that racked through the crowd at her surprising fireworks display. She’s sure she’ll have to answer a few questions, but this time she can at least answer them.
and a wound in the other
