[PQ] hope as fragile as a rose

Amalia

And just like that, it is over.

Well, perhaps not over, but there is relief, at least. Amalia turns in time to see Jigano shrink back down to vulpine form, Kiada in the ground behind him, all three roses in the earth. Choking back a sob of agony and relief the otter scrambles across the empty ground to where her found family is scattered and wounded, body shifting as she does.

The shape that reaches Jigano is a leopardess, broad face lowering to press against him, searching for wounds, for scratches, for injury. It's okay, she promises, repeats, a mantra she would not be able to repeat aloud, strangled out by tears. It's okay. It's going to be okay. This is part of Vi's plan.

And then there is Kiada. If Jigano allows it she will scoop him into her mouth and carry him to the girl; if not it does not matter, for Amalia is determined to see to her kit. With a rough tongue and cold nose she investigates the human, affection and relief pouring off of her in waves, her luxurious fur pressing against her as though to offer warmth. Carefully the baker wraps herself around the pair, purring aggressively, savoring this moment of clarity, of peace.

A moment which cannot last.

She glances at Remi and Deimos, a clear invitation for them to join in her radiating thoughts, but she does not leave the sides of the blighted. Every moment of this is precious, and Amalia will hoard them with a jealous heart until the illness forces her to give them up. I won't stop doing everything I can, the girl avows. You'll be safe soon. But until then... stay away from where the roses are planted. Give Vi's magic a chance to work.

And remember I love you both.

---

Congratulations! We planted all the roses and pricked both blighted! Nice rolling, team ;D

This PQ is over but feel free to continue replying to this thread if you like. There is no posting order.

Miraculously, the only injury the fox currently sported was the thorn stuck in his back - at least, outwardly. He raised his head, seeking to brush his cheek against Amalia's as the despair of what he had become washed over him, but he pulled back as he saw the blackness of his own muzzle, the tar that filled him overrunning the small container of his vulpine body.

He protested faintly as he was scooped up: Amalia, don't! You can't... we don't know what our blood will do to you! But he was too weak and trembling with shock to fight back as he was carried across the snow. He reached out to Kiada as he was set beside her, his heart breaking for her as much as for himself and the loved ones around them, but at least they had nothing to fear from each other.

They were both too far gone already.

He nuzzled against her and curled guiltily into the snow leopard's warmth, hating to see her fur streaked with his black fluids but seeking to reassure her as best he could while the thorn prickled and cut into his back. I love you too, Ama, he promised back, his voice holding a trembling edge of panic and shame as he shivered against the sister he had only recently found. I don't... I don't remember things well... The one small blessing in the midst of the nightmare. But... but you can't hesitate. If... when I lose myself again, you can't trust anything that I say or do. Don't let me close, dear one, even if it means caging me. He begged openly, speaking to Amalia but looking to Remi with beseeching black eyes in his fox's sharp face. The alchemist, he hoped, would be able to do so, even if Amalia shied away from imprisoning those who were once her friends and family.

DEIMOS

It was over – in a strange, bewildering way – but not at the same instant. They faced the inevitable again, the rose’s thorns not a singular cure, the threat of succumbing wits and stumbling forms alive and insistent at the back of his mind. He paid close attention to the way in which they were suddenly immersed into old selves, eyes guarded, reticent, uncertain of when and where to break apart once more. The pain in his chest was particularly grating, a hoof-mark he’d have to ask Zuriel to mend and assuage, the scraping of his talons in the snow just a slow, steady march, wings tucked against his sides as he deliberately, carefully, painstakingly maneuvered forward. It wasn’t fair was a conflagration bending and blending into his mind, but given no voice, no sanctity, no confession in between bonds and connections; it was the way of the earth and the terrain, no matter which kingdom.

He swallowed down whatever cluster of pride, dominion, and anguish spread along his essence, the thorns still clutched in his talons, Kiada’s stare riveted on him for a cluster of seconds. He had no explanation to give her, no summoning of words that would do the world any justice, tipping his avian head, listening to Amalia’s proclamations as she clutched and grasped at those that would leave them eventually. What could he extend that would matter? What he could he offer that would effect anything? His heart hurt and his chest bled and he wondered if the world would just swallow and consume them right then and there – the piercing depths of his gaze lingering on things not meant to last; a grating melancholy splitting apart from the rest of their chilling burdens. His actions would have to be enough – silent admonitions, apologies, and strife in the raw, frayed moments, extending a wing onto the Harpy’s shoulder – sorry they hadn’t been enough, not yet, not yet, not yet.

gatekeeper of an endless war

where lines between right and wrong

don't exist anymore

shed every skin that doesn't fit even if they call you cold-blooded

unhinge your jaw —

Never before has the Harpy lost every sense of control. And despite everything she’s lived through and done, pacts with gods, with worlds and monsters and demons, this is what scares her the most. She doesn’t want to harm the ones she loves the most. She doesn’t want to do any of it. And yet here she is, blighted and sick and terrified, tears of black streaming down her face at the realization. She doesn’t know what she could do to make up for it, to change it.

All she knows is she must suffer.

It’s what she does best, after all.

So when Amalia brings Jigano over to her, the Harpy and her trembling hands reach for them, curling up as feathers sprout from her spine and shoulders in black, red, and white. She hears Jigano’s decree, hears Amalia’s own confession, feels the wing of Deimos as he touched her arm, and all she can do is continue to cry — unable to catch her breath, hiccuping pitifully.

Would they ever forgive her for such a thing?

— go for the throat

KIADA