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Confutatis cringes, flinching away from Eris’ blindness, her poisonous idiocy, her acidic rejection; Eris so arrogant, so condescending, so despicable. The frustration grows in her chest, seething, boiling, burning, scalding her heart, squeezing her lungs, thudding in the beat of her heart. Every muscle is taut, locked too tight, and she exhales, forcing away the brittle fury which will not help her in a fight. She admires the golden girl’s stupidity, lets her lips contort into a fiendish grin, wonders at how she got to be such a fucking idiot. Here she is, turning down someone real, someone better than her ragtag assemble…
In the vague indistinction at the back of her mind, where Mongrel and her mind melts together into a seething ocean of dark shadow and iron froth capping waves, there is a prickle of recognition. It is not hers.
The skull-faced girl turns, tail streaming silver behind her, nostrils flared so wide there is red and crimson, ears pricked and head drawn up, golden eye glistening and glittering in disbelief. There, standing beside the two spectators, is Seele. Interest sparks in the hellion’s eyes, the smile fades from charcoal lips, and she is a rigid shadow. Slithering from her hooves, swarming up her neck, perching on her skull, is Mongrel, teeth bared in ghostly smile. He slips from her head, landing in the sand, a snarl rumbling in his slender chest.
Confutatis barks her laughter, jagged and splintered, hoarse and rasping across her tarnished lungs, eyes gravitating back to Eris. “Sullen little bitch.” She remarks, a grin playing across her mouth. “Look through the fractured glass, see those broken images? They do not exist. Never has the Skullface pledged her allegiance before, not to you, not even to Seele, though hope I gave. You run on machinations conjured of your twisted mind, hallucinations and visions, the utter belief in your strength. You do not dare. Silk words are not steel hooves.”
And still she drives on, whispering of power, of challenges, as if she has tasted it.
Her shoulder ripple in lazy shrug as she straightens up from the incline of her head, a dip of her skull, and her ears flick back impatiently, the bones materializing on her charcoal frame; Eris’ voice is coarse velvet, and hers is broken diamonds, decay and rot and malice festering in her careless tones.
The kitsune snarls, and she feels his keen question at the back of her skull, throbbing in silent rage. There is no vocalization, no words exchanged, only the rawness of their union, the ache in their battered souls, the hunger in their eyes. His tails writhe and lash, knotting together and undoing themselves, and he twists around her sooty legs, amber eyes focused vindictively on the artfully unattractive work of abstract before them.
“Eris, glass breaks, minds fracture.” The daughter of Oblivion scowls, brows lined in thought, as if she hardly hears her. “Monsters crawl, beasts pillage. A lion swallows his cub in the bright of daylight.” Her head whips around to face Eris once more, face mocking, eyes taunting. “I am never safe. I am never happy. I am hungry, and I am never satisfied. I stalk the weak, devour the strong, always with an eye watching behind me. Your dreams of my death shall not come; the death threats I have been promised never arrive; and you are more likely to die by a mouse’s bite than I am to die of you.”
And she doesn’t walk away.
She moves to Seele.
“Lady Clownface,” Confutatis calls, voice grating and churning over the waves breaking on the shore. “I have done what you have asked. I have gathered information on the Foothills… and I know how to win an invasion.”
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CONFUTATIS
and when you meet me, you at long last acquaintance yourself with death in all its magnificent glory.
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[P] no one — can take away what's ours! [challenge thread]
