I was born in a big gray cloud
screaming out a love song
Nephele still does not compel herself to move as Amalia comes closer, looming more than anything now with the difference between their positions. Instead she tilts her head back, long copper hair tickling against the insides of her arms where they prop her up, gold-cast eyes sharp and crinkled at the edges with an amusement that she does not deign to explain to the annoyingly moral woman.
"A mistake. Hmmm. So now you seek to blame me for your own lapse in morality? You are ashamed that your heart spoke whispers of darkness that your beloved Gods found sinful, I assume. And so the child runs to clean up their mess, hands red from the patronizing slap. But are the whispers truly gone?" Her voice is svelte and mocking in turn, coming across almost empathetic and pitying if it weren't for the serpentine sweetness of antagonism. She stands slowly, stretching like a willow limb in the breeze, letting Amalia's threat wash over her before laughing brightly to the skies. Only then does she lower her sharp gaze, smirking.
"Do you now? And what is your proof that I committed these actions, Amalia? My word alone, a threat more than a promise? You, who assumed to know Ludo's mind and what they instructed me to do, in all your arrogance. You, who boldly claimed yourself that those who killed my people were not innocent and yet condemn me, chase me down for justice when you refused to give my dead brothers and sisters that honor?" Something that Amalia still has not done. That she will never do, for her racism is clear. "Do you think I would not drag you down with me, Shield? That I would not spread that you believed yourself entitled to demanding that your own kin be spared, but nobody else? Your power has gone to your head, and you are a short-sighted foolish child, whose years could never compare to mine." She's on a roll now, smirk growing sharper, practically alive with an electricity that leaves her veins buzzing as she moves closer to the waif of a woman. Undaunted by their difference in height. "And where is your proof? Did you see me attack this Nate character with your own eyes? This, which happened before I even came to ask your permission? Would you condemn me without evidence? Tsk tsk Amalia, you certainly seem to have outgrown that head of yours." Admittedly despite their different sizes, Nephele can only see the woman as a mere babe, so few are her years and so arrogant her actions. Deplorable, really.
"Violence you call it, and yet you were the one to give me the approval. Your hands are as bloodied as mine - and you can't even be sure it was me." Nephele knows that. Gods word or not, she had hidden herself perfectly. "So how will you stop me without revealing your biased, racist hand my dear? For surely if you value life that is a bare mimicry at best, you do not have the guts to kill me." It's a venomous, gleeful whisper as she leans towards Amalia to impart it.
"A mistake. Hmmm. So now you seek to blame me for your own lapse in morality? You are ashamed that your heart spoke whispers of darkness that your beloved Gods found sinful, I assume. And so the child runs to clean up their mess, hands red from the patronizing slap. But are the whispers truly gone?" Her voice is svelte and mocking in turn, coming across almost empathetic and pitying if it weren't for the serpentine sweetness of antagonism. She stands slowly, stretching like a willow limb in the breeze, letting Amalia's threat wash over her before laughing brightly to the skies. Only then does she lower her sharp gaze, smirking.
"Do you now? And what is your proof that I committed these actions, Amalia? My word alone, a threat more than a promise? You, who assumed to know Ludo's mind and what they instructed me to do, in all your arrogance. You, who boldly claimed yourself that those who killed my people were not innocent and yet condemn me, chase me down for justice when you refused to give my dead brothers and sisters that honor?" Something that Amalia still has not done. That she will never do, for her racism is clear. "Do you think I would not drag you down with me, Shield? That I would not spread that you believed yourself entitled to demanding that your own kin be spared, but nobody else? Your power has gone to your head, and you are a short-sighted foolish child, whose years could never compare to mine." She's on a roll now, smirk growing sharper, practically alive with an electricity that leaves her veins buzzing as she moves closer to the waif of a woman. Undaunted by their difference in height. "And where is your proof? Did you see me attack this Nate character with your own eyes? This, which happened before I even came to ask your permission? Would you condemn me without evidence? Tsk tsk Amalia, you certainly seem to have outgrown that head of yours." Admittedly despite their different sizes, Nephele can only see the woman as a mere babe, so few are her years and so arrogant her actions. Deplorable, really.
"Violence you call it, and yet you were the one to give me the approval. Your hands are as bloodied as mine - and you can't even be sure it was me." Nephele knows that. Gods word or not, she had hidden herself perfectly. "So how will you stop me without revealing your biased, racist hand my dear? For surely if you value life that is a bare mimicry at best, you do not have the guts to kill me." It's a venomous, gleeful whisper as she leans towards Amalia to impart it.
among broken chords and unnamed cries
what a place to come from
