empires fall when we move the unmovable, so tell me all of my secrets, tell me all of my lies,
“That’s alright,’ she seems to say automatically, soothing but not quite motherly. Not yet. “I’ve asked a lot. Thanks for for telling me what you can.” A small, but genuine smile floats across the lightening sky towards him, this stranger that Loki took, this relic and herald of an age that they can only fathom.
A time when they were powerful, when they were winning.
Even if it had been a massacre, it was only a stopgap. A hopeful stopgap, but one nonetheless. And still, they’d risen. Against odds that should have killed them - against disease and starvation and the Spire Demon and LongNight monsters and death being more welcome than living in a cage - still, they rose into something resembling enough of a threat.
There’s a savage twinkle in her eye, something feral and suppressed. It sparks when he shows her his arm-blades and a sly, knowing look inches his way as she flexes her own muscles in a similar fashion. But where he has a singular blade, she has three talons zipping out from between her knuckles. They sing their battle-song to Aamu, telling him of the blood she’s spilled and how it drips down their long, slender curves and onto her white, white knuckles.
“She has her habits, or so it seems,” Wessex replies, slyness bending towards amusement. Their creator is capable of many, many things, but there’s no reason to fix what isn’t broken. Was Aamu the first, she wonders, to carry this kind of upgrade? Is she the evolution?
“I’m a weapon.” A bold statement, but one everyone she knows would agree on. “A deterrent." Of sorts. "And a violent protector." Most definitely. There are others who protect, but not the way she does. "There aren’t many like us in the family.”
A time when they were powerful, when they were winning.
Even if it had been a massacre, it was only a stopgap. A hopeful stopgap, but one nonetheless. And still, they’d risen. Against odds that should have killed them - against disease and starvation and the Spire Demon and LongNight monsters and death being more welcome than living in a cage - still, they rose into something resembling enough of a threat.
There’s a savage twinkle in her eye, something feral and suppressed. It sparks when he shows her his arm-blades and a sly, knowing look inches his way as she flexes her own muscles in a similar fashion. But where he has a singular blade, she has three talons zipping out from between her knuckles. They sing their battle-song to Aamu, telling him of the blood she’s spilled and how it drips down their long, slender curves and onto her white, white knuckles.
“She has her habits, or so it seems,” Wessex replies, slyness bending towards amusement. Their creator is capable of many, many things, but there’s no reason to fix what isn’t broken. Was Aamu the first, she wonders, to carry this kind of upgrade? Is she the evolution?
“I’m a weapon.” A bold statement, but one everyone she knows would agree on. “A deterrent." Of sorts. "And a violent protector." Most definitely. There are others who protect, but not the way she does. "There aren’t many like us in the family.”
WESSEX
