.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
09-20-2013, 12:58 AM
|
CIRCE Circe knew something was dreadfully wrong the moment her hooves touched the ground, having finished assaulting Phaedra. It felt as though the sky had finally fallen, settling on Circe’s back, her withers, her neck and tail—the shadowmere was bound, an invisible giant holding her hostage under his thumb. With a jolt, Circe realized what it was; her own arcane abilities had rounded on her. Her very bones and joints seemed to drag to the ground, almost melting towards it, aching in the unnatural way the earth beckoned its daughter. She could barely breathe with lungs pulled too far downward, eerie as it was—but her heart hammered very fast indeed as Phaedra’s cry tore the air, a tortured banshee bearing down on Circe. There was no escape; Circe was caught fast by her magic. She could hardly turn her head, trying to angle it to the right and avoid the blows of the enraged Shadow. She didn’t succeed. Phaedra’s hooves struck with the intensity of a lightning bolt, exactly where Circe’s heart would sit; Phaedra’s teeth razed Circe’s cheek and neck, and were it not for the magic holding her in place, Circe would’ve rained fire and brimstone down upon the Spy just for that. The Spy’s mouth had no business anywhere on Circe’s person; it was an abomination, and Circe’s mind and body were already throbbing with the steam of injustice without the added pain and humiliation of Phaedra’s blows. The Spy then stumbled out of Circe’s plane of vision, for the shadowmere’s gaze could not follow the Pegasus as she went to the feathered creature. A panic was beginning to bloom in Circe’s chest. The mire of her magic refused to dissipate—she couldn’t even move the tip of her tail, and it was all she could do to keep her limbs from buckling and collapsing on the ground. She was forced to listen to the pitiful mewlings that flowed from Phaedra’s lips, whines that further lit the brazier of indignation in the shadowmere’s chest. “It was only a question?” Circe growled, her words difficult to form with her stiffened mouth, “It was not a question for me. Go to Archibald; go to the Dark Lady. I followed the orders they gave me, nothing more.” A blaze settled over Circe’s eyes; the ivory plume of her tail managed a twitch in her fury. “The next time you seek explanation, do not dare to mock a warrior. Stay silent, listen. This is your responsibility, vulgar snake.” Circe doubted that Phaedra heard her words; the Spy seemed to be mumbling something about “light”. With a snort, Circe heard the brash, impudent command to run and fetch Apollo—for what? nerve the Spy possessed, to demand things from the shadowmere after such a performance of insolence. The sorceress struggled, fighting with her magic so she could move, and muscles bulged in her neck as she strove to face Phaedra. Head turning slowly, the bite on her cheek throbbing and her chest ringing with the pain of Phaedra’s hoof, Circe swiveled her head to look behind her with straining eyes toward the kneeling Spy. What she saw was a horse lying on the ground defeated, cradling a small, broken body. Circe’s eyes widened. The air in her chest fluttered and died, fallen into the soil. Her mind was frozen; confusion reigned. In her mind’s eyes, she knew it was Phaedra holding the bird creature to her chest. Circe knew that speckled hide and starlit wings, but her body, her heart and marrow, saw something else completely—a memory that caused every nerve to cry out in dormant agony. The memory of a horse kneeling in the newly fallen snow, clutching a tiny, shattered form in their protective embrace. The dark mare began to tremble despite her magic’s force. Circe was lost; what had happened to the creature? She remembered her hoof flailing in the air and—and a muffled crunch as it connected with the bird’s falling body. Had she truly put so much power into it? Circe couldn’t remember; everything before had been a haze of rage and the impulse to hurt— The desire to punish. A veil of revulsion crept upon Circe’s form. Her heart pounded a furious tempo in her chest, but try as she might, the magic refused to release the grip on her body. Her legs could not lift from the soil; her eyes couldn’t leave the horribly familiar scene that unraveled. No, she was forced to watch this sniveling, childish mare cradle a piece of her very soul—a piece Circe may have ripped out herself. ~.~.~.~.~ [W/C: 798 3/3 PC, 1/1 PC 1/1 MC Circe's magic backlashes powerfully; she is unable to move easily and takes all of Phaedra's blows. Is unable to heed Phaedra's request to fetch Apollo. *At least in this thread*.] |
