I can give you freedom from your guilt with a flick of my wrist
The desperate story is practically shouted, and Nephele hovers with her wings beating faster than a hummingbird’s, elevated above the woman as the words flow around her. Expression growing darker with each pathetic excuse and explanation. “For love? For a man?” Her voice is dangerously quiet and calm, but her hands shake around her chakrams.
“My twin is dead because of The Voice and her creations. And you think you’re suffering?” Her voice slowly twists and climbs like poisonous vines, louder and more pointed. “You think you know heartache? You truly believe you know what it’s really like to love someone more than the Gods themselves?” Vibrating with her rage, the Meadowhawk doesn’t even realize tears are spilling over her cheeks, teeth bared like a feral dog. “You know nothing of love! You are barely more than a child, throwing every gift away for a flight of fancy that didn’t want you back! My people and my sister are dead and you have padded the ranks of their murderer because of a CRUSH!” Her illusory magic comes to the fore at her command, mimicking the faint screams of her kin all around like a judgmental choir. She doesn’t attack - hovering there instead like an avenging angel, wanting to see exactly what the Ascended would say or do - how she would attempt to defend herself - before she sought the killing blow.
“My twin is dead because of The Voice and her creations. And you think you’re suffering?” Her voice slowly twists and climbs like poisonous vines, louder and more pointed. “You think you know heartache? You truly believe you know what it’s really like to love someone more than the Gods themselves?” Vibrating with her rage, the Meadowhawk doesn’t even realize tears are spilling over her cheeks, teeth bared like a feral dog. “You know nothing of love! You are barely more than a child, throwing every gift away for a flight of fancy that didn’t want you back! My people and my sister are dead and you have padded the ranks of their murderer because of a CRUSH!” Her illusory magic comes to the fore at her command, mimicking the faint screams of her kin all around like a judgmental choir. She doesn’t attack - hovering there instead like an avenging angel, wanting to see exactly what the Ascended would say or do - how she would attempt to defend herself - before she sought the killing blow.
I can give you death with the look upon my face
