[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.