Maeve
Over. Over. Over. That was all that Maeve could think. Even as Noah presses a tender kiss to her forehead, wishing her the best with the silent gesture before departing, and she's left standing there in shock for what feels like ages. The Nightshade doesn't even know where to start. What to even do.
As they reentered Torchline it didn't seem like home. Things were different. Islands floating in the air and the corpse of the Kingslayer on the beach, looming and large even from the entrance of the Court, but her home stood relatively unscathed. Yet she wasn't. Her back still hurt, searing pain lancing through her with each breath, delicate skin knitting itself back together slowly with the aid of Ronin's and Noah's healing. Blood cakes her skin, slicking her hair to her scalp, hiding the silvery ends of her tresses beneath rusty copper. Yet the crown atop her head glows, casting delicate starlight across her features, making her look more like a harbinger of death than the queen of the stars.
She doesn't know how long she stands there, bow having clattered from numb fingers onto the floor, unstirring even as Aidon crooned and circled her. Not even the dragonling able to pull her from her stupor. With a mournful cry, ember eyes pleading and unsure, he takes flight from one of the open windows in search of Harper.
Maeve was home.
As they reentered Torchline it didn't seem like home. Things were different. Islands floating in the air and the corpse of the Kingslayer on the beach, looming and large even from the entrance of the Court, but her home stood relatively unscathed. Yet she wasn't. Her back still hurt, searing pain lancing through her with each breath, delicate skin knitting itself back together slowly with the aid of Ronin's and Noah's healing. Blood cakes her skin, slicking her hair to her scalp, hiding the silvery ends of her tresses beneath rusty copper. Yet the crown atop her head glows, casting delicate starlight across her features, making her look more like a harbinger of death than the queen of the stars.
She doesn't know how long she stands there, bow having clattered from numb fingers onto the floor, unstirring even as Aidon crooned and circled her. Not even the dragonling able to pull her from her stupor. With a mournful cry, ember eyes pleading and unsure, he takes flight from one of the open windows in search of Harper.
Maeve was home.
These violent delights
Have violent ends
Have violent ends
