[RQ] In the beginning there was darkness

"If I could fly I would never come back", you said

She had slipped up. Had forgotten herself, and slaked her hunger too much. Hunting with Edmund, with Remi, and letting herself go in the thrill of the chase - only to gorge when she wasn't supposed to. For a moment, a few short weeks, her bloodlust had been entirely sated and in the lull of comfortable satisfaction, Maea had forgotten what it was like.

Until it came back.

She should have realized what it was. Should have known that it wasn't just pickiness that made her turn aside the fruits she usually loved in favor of meat. When her nights grew restless and people caused her temper to flare up, she should have seen it for what it was.
But she had never gotten used to the ebb and flow of her instincts, and it wasn't until a dream of gnawing on the bloody bones of a friend chased her from her home that she realized. And by then it was already getting bad.

The white crow winged its way aimlessly over the Brambles, away from the city and away from people. Snow sparkled under the brightness of a full moon and made details stand out in sharp contrast. She could see tracks in the day-old snow, from hares and foxes and other birds, but despite the clear presence of wildlife, nothing moved. That was bad too. This was bad. In this biting, numbing cold, she couldn't afford to be picky - yet she couldn't go back either. Not without finding something. It was fear as much as hunger that drove her onward, fear of herself, what she was capable of - what she was created for.

She didn't want to think of where the alternative could lead her.

Maea

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

Charlie couldn't have been more Maea's opposite. Never once had the ancient done anything but given in immediately to her bloodlust, and anytime she had denied herself, it had merely been to sweeten the experience when she finally could indulge.

Being new to the Grounds didn't change the way her bloodlust began to nip at the balls of her feet and stir a hostility within her soul, and so despite the strange new practices she saw all around her, Charlie resorted back to the ways of old. Or, to her anyway, the only ways she knew.

From Maea's vantage point, she'd see a woman in a white gown prostrated amidst the brambles. Having created a ring of dried wood around herself which she'd lit on fire, Charlie had created an altar of black stone, over which hung a large sow. The pig was alive and seemingly comfortably bound with bits of apple core sticking to her maw indicating she'd been fed recently. At Charlie's side was a golden urn and several daggers of varying sizes. Whether or not the Gore Crow would be able to hear the melodic incantations the doll-sized blonde was uttering likely wouldn't matter, for the tableau utterly spoke for itself.

.

Maea

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on the limb

The chanting was snatched away by the winter wind, but the glow of firelight shone like a beacon in the night. Cold to her bones, it pulled the crow in like a moth, unable to resist the allure. And like a moth she flitted above the circle of flame, surprised by the presence of the woman as much as by the ritual she was performing.
Hunger stripped away her usual reticense; swooping in to land, the albinistic bird shimmered and changed into a woman, not that much taller than the priestess. Robed in black and crimson, hair silver to her gold, she stared at what seemed like her mirror image. Her hands flexed restlessly, fighting the impulse to cut the proceeding short and claim the pig for herself.

"What are you doing?" she asked, too clipped to be entirely polite.

And I remember thinking — I want to be like them

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

If Charlie minded at all the sudden interruption, she certainly didn't show it. Perhaps it was because she recognized Maea as a fellow ancient, or perhaps because she knew that she could handle whatever intrusion her pale counterpart tried to bring was anyone's guess. Raising her gaze, her lips painted with a colour so close to blood one might wonder what it was, the priestess flashed the other woman a fire-bright smile before beckoning her closer. "This?" Thinking it rather obvious, Charlie pauses for a moment to make sure she'd understood Maea's question, before shrugging and explaining.

"This is a blood ritual. I like to do it when the moon is full so that I can really appreciate the colour of the blood." Charlie explains enthusiastically. "First you cut the pig's throat, and the first blood you spill you use to paint Dygra's symbols on your body. The rest you try and collect in the urn for later. Then you feast, and then you bathe in the blood! Normally it's done with a larger group, but..." Charlie frowns, sadness momentarily darkening her vibrant features. "Well...hey! You're here! Do you wanna join? I can't eat this lady all by myself."

.

You come across a fallen tree. It should be good for firewood, you think, but upon closer inspection, it appears completely hollowed out. Obsidian glitters within the trunk. How strange.

Maea

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on the limb

The woman was a chipper one. Where it could have ruffled her feathers, in this instance the open expression was taken for a welcome, the kind of no-questions-asked acceptance that she had come to appreciate in other ancients. It eased a bristling tension in her spine, enough to let Maea take a closer look at the elaborate setup as it was explained. That the pig seemed comfortable and unafraid raised her respect immediately; she hunched down to stroke it with cold hands, respectful of the life that would have to be ended to sate their needs.

Momentarily distracted by a glimmer from the hollow trunk of a nearby log, she gazed speculatively at the woman. None of the things seemed outrageous, except perhaps for the bathing in blood part.
"I guess... it can't hurt," she replied slowly. "Is that yours too?" Pointing at the log, and the shard of dark stone that seemed a bit too unnatural to be entirely coincidence.

And I remember thinking — I want to be like them

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

Beaming brightly at Maea as she tentatively agreed, Charlie glanced over her shoulder at the log before nodding. "Yep! I was going to wash the inside in blood and then leave it here as a tribute to Dygra. I like to leave a marking after I've done a ritual, you know, out of respect." Respect for who or what Charlie didn't say, but no matter how wildly decadent her methods seemed, there was reason to all of it.

Probably.

Raising the temperature by increasing the width of the flame circle, Charlie nods toward Maea's robes. "You can take those off. I promise I won't let us get cold." Based on how the blonde was dressed, she clearly was going to use every inch of her skin as a canvas to write a love letter to Dygra upon. "Only if you want to. We can always just use your hands and face if that's better for it." That it wasn't Charlie's first blood-sacrifice was the reason she was so comfortable, but as a priestess from the days of old, she'd also walked new-ancients through the process enough times to know that stripped down to almost nothing and being finger-painted with blood often took a moment to get used to.

.

Maea

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on the limb

"I see." Sort of. The kind of worship Maea had grown up with was very different, but only in the details. Her father had been devout, and as a result she had been too. Still was, in many ways, though her allegiances were very uncertain lately. At least she understood the desire to be respectful.

She did choke up on being asked to strip, however. Color flushed her pale cheeks, betraying her reluctance. In front of a complete stranger? No, actually, knowing the woman wouldn't have made an ounce of difference. Her shoulders were coming up, the desire to back out entirely searing her tongue. Until an alternative was offered.
Dizzy with relief Maea leaped on the chicken safe option, and nodded fervently. "Yes, that. I would prefer... I've never done anything like this before." But she was trying to learn, right? Trying to fit in, and adapt - change is everything. So here's to learning the new - old - ways.

"What should I do?"

And I remember thinking — I want to be like them

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

"No problem!" Charlie chirped soothingly, smiling at Maea. "And if you change your mind, especially when the blood starts flowing, don't be afraid to shed down to whatever feels best." For Charlie, that was almost always next to nothing.

"Okay, so first, we're going to cut her throat just a little. Pigs have pretty thick skin so she won't even really feel it. But that's the most special blood. I'll put the sigils on you first, just on your face and hands, and then you can do me. It's more about the intention of it, so don't worry about getting it wrong or being too precise. It's going to get messy later, anyway." Breezing through the explanation, it was clear the ancient had not only done this before, but walked a beginning through too, such that no part of Charlie's expression or mannerisms seemed to indicate she was anything but pleased to have Maea taking part.

'Then we'll cut her throat. Nice and fast. Fear spoils the meat anyway. We'll collect it in that, and then..." Smiling, Charlie waggles her eyebrows. "Then we eat. You can shift if you want, or not. Up to you."

Rising up onto her knees, she gives the sow a soft pat as she picks up the dagger behind her back. "Ready?"

.

Maea

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on the limb

Was this what a horse felt like in its first handling? This wary and sceptical, not entirely trusting the gentle coaxing as the full purpose of the experience had yet to be understood? It wasn't that she was afraid, exactly, but rather that she couldn't quite shed the feeling of stepping out onto a very slippery slope as she knelt by the priestess and the sow.

Scratching the pig behind an ear to distract from the pricking of the knife, Maea nodded. Ready or not, waiting wouldn't make her any more certain about this. And she was hungry. Ravenous. That part of her wouldn't be denied a chance to eat, no matter what the steps towards satiety looked like.

"Go ahead," she murmured, prepared to hold her hands out and observe the symbols so that she could replicate them later.

And I remember thinking — I want to be like them

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

Giving the sow one last affectionate scratch, Charlie presses a long and thin blade just behind its jaw where its jugular pulsed strong and regular. The wound was no larger than a dime, and the blood that pulsed out was nearly black in the moonlight. The sow gave a little squeal of discomfort, shaking her head slightly as if she might itch away the flare of pain. "Give her an apple." Charlie murmurs, her blue eyes mesmerized by the blood now coating her fingers, as she nods to a small basket nearby.

Waiting until the sow had been placated, the priestess scooches on her knees to face Maea, before offering out her hand to take one of her silvery-counterpart's. "One for devotion." She whispers, tracing out what looked almost like a crude anatomical heart onto the back of Maea's hand. "And one for change." This one started with Charlie's fingers together on the back of Maea's skin, before pushing outwards as if in a starburst: entropy.

"Now for your face," So saying, she turns her own up toward the other girl, her blue eyes warm with firelight, pleasure, and hunger.

.

Maea

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on the limb

Doing as instructed, she fed a bright red and green streamed apple to the sow. It seemed to help take away the pain, or at least offer sufficient distraction. Plucking a piece of fruit from her sleeve she let it fall into the snow and turned to the priestess with her hands outstretched.

The blood felt slick and warm against her skin. Even the brief touch caused her to flinch, entirely unaccustomed to that level of intimacy no matter the purpose. Be it a handshake, a hug, a pat on the head or a simple mischievous poke of a cheek - if it wasn't violent Maea did not really know it anymore, and wasn't sure what to make of it. She kept her eyes open while the ritual painting moved from her hands to the face; expression wary and closed off, ready to bolt if this proved to be going anywhere but where the priestess had already explained.

And I remember thinking — I want to be like them

when I walk in a room, I can still make the whole place shimmer

While Maea flinched, Charlie waited patiently, not unlike a horse trainer who knows when to push, when to pull, and when simply to let the animal navigate a new experience in its own time. With a soft smile and nothing but affection and a bubbly-enthusiasm Maea would likely come to associate with the blonde, Charlie painted a crescent on each of the silver-toned girl's cheeks. "Waxing and waning." She explains softly. "Another symbol of change."

Hovering her fingers over the other girl's lips, Charlie pauses, her blue eyes a strange violet in the fiery warmth of the circle around them. The tension was clear in nearly every fibre of Maea that Charlie could see, and it didn't take a great deal of imagination to picture her muscles tightly coiled beneath the robes she wore. "The dots on your lips represent past, present, and future, that you might think on them as you satisfy yourself in what comes next." Should she allow it, Charlie would softly, with all the respect and reverence of a first kiss, press her finger three times across Maea's lips before retreating. If not, Maea would see nothing but patient understanding on the other girl's face.

"Now, will you do me?"

.

Maea

My heroes had the heart to lose their lives out on the limb

She felt silly and out of sorts. The whole thing was strange, and new, and far more intimate than she had expected. Much as she wanted to relax and display that same confidence that the blonde seemed to embody however, Maea didn't have it in her. Not here, tonight, when faced with a slew of challenges all at once. Though she permitted the fingers on her lips, a faint tremor could not be entirely suppressed. The blood left behind was sticky and felt weird; she nearly licked it off, in the way of someone who had never grown accustomed to lipstick and was too restless to simply endure.

It felt better when it became her turn. "Okay," she nodded, visibly bracing herself. Glances at her hands reminded her of the steps she'd nearly forgotten already. Heart and starburst, crescent moons, then time. Soaking her fingers in the heartblood of the sow, her thoughts found solace in the simplistic task of creating the shapes. Let her ignore, for the most part, how soft the woman's skin was, and what it felt like to touch her cheeks. Her hands felt cold in comparison, fingertips rough and chapped from holding pens and weapons. Clumsy, and far from tender or patient.

When it came to the rest of the painting, she hesitated. Sat back on her heels, bloody fingers unsure what to do next. "What of the rest?" Because that white dress was like a canvas waiting for paint. Maea was no artist though, and that much blank space to fill was beyond daunting.

And I remember thinking — I want to be like them