Every step closer to the Marsh is agony.

With every step she takes, the former Lady feels a piece of her heart breaking, and left to the land she has so dearly loved.
With every step she forces forward, a part of herself is lost.

She knows where they are going, even before the fetid waters and slimy riverbanks come into view—they are all being herded like cattle (like lambs to the slaughter). At first, she is strangely quiet, shocked into silence after losing the home that has always been a part of her—who is she, without the Basin? Who is she, without Helovia? Nimue presses close to her side, warbling a low whistle of comfort, but even her beloved whale cannot calm the wild storm that rages within the sea maiden’s shattered heart.

She shouldn’t be surprised.

Kaos has proved himself to be nothing other than a liar and a monster—he, this wretched creature of writhing shadows and horrid treachery, has been the only one to ever provoke the poisonous taste of hatred to the gentle mare’s tongue. He has been the only one to ever make her scream with a cry to fight and to hurt.

She shouldn’t be surprised.

Even so, when the first violent beams of fluorescent light begin to burst from the bodies of their victims, Tiamat feels herself falter with disbelief. Just like that—a life is gone, stolen, and obliterated. Just like that. “No!” She breathes, the word barely a sound as it chokes from her lips. And it continues— Her legs give out and she falls onto Wessex, cradling the warrior woman for strength as Kaos slaughters with a strength no single person should ever have. (This can’t be happening!!!) “Murderer!” She wheezes, white eyes frozen wide, “Murderer!”

Perhaps the cruelest thing of all is the spark of hope. Their gods arrive, united against this terrible thing, and for a moment, it might all be okay—

But then, faster than the blink of an eye, their gods—her god—are gone. The God of Spark and Time is gone.

“NO!” The scream tears through her throat as the ashes of her patron deity shrivel into nothing, as the realization that Helovia is lost to this dreadful beast comes crashing down over her shoulders like a mountain. Her knees hit the ground, and she sobs. “YOU MURDERER! HOW COULD YOU?” Tiamat shrieks at the heathen, her slender body trembling while her skin goes numb, dazed by the insanity and bloodshed that is now her reality. “YOU MURDERER!” She cries again when Wessex lifts her to her feet, and she doesn’t even fight it—all her strength goes to her screams, her accusations that rip from the very bones of her soul.

The last image she sees of Helovia is its death—the massacre and the chaos, the hurt and the pain.
And it is something she will never forget.


notes; @Wessex <3
“Speech.”