Nymeria

- the raven casts the longest shadow -

In their values of family Isopia and Nym would undoubtedly differ. There are some individuals who value friends over family, but Nymeria had never been that way (unless—unless she was now?) and her blood was forever thicker than water. It was just the way she raised: kin first, friends later. It had taken her a long time to become discontent with that value, to realize she could shed her bonds to her mother and father and start her own legacy.

And perhaps it was that Nymeria wasn't good or heroic like the paladins that flocked to Helovia, but she was no longer the anarchist her mother had intended her to be. Her machinations (however eccentric and ambitious) were her own now: and she did not delight in the violence and the chaos of rebellion like Confutatis had. When she did ascend, when she took her rightful place at the helm of Helovia, it would be because of her hard work and her passion and her dedication—not out of misguided desire to rule the world. (That was only partly true—the wiser parts of her knew that taking over without followers to support her would lead to a quick demise.)

In any case, she didn't plan to be a villain.
(But what villain does?)

Isopia looks at her with unbridled curiosity, cutting her off mid-speech. Nymeria's annoyed (her eyes momentarily glitter with it); she'd been on a good roll, hadn't she? Nonetheless she pauses, willing to hear out tükör arca's question. The more she talked to the hybrid, the more certain she was that Isopia would be a valuable ally. It was crucial that they get to know one another better.

She counts the questions. One, two, three, four, and five. Hard inhale, soft exhale. It takes a moment for her to organize herself. Then she clears her throat and swishes her tail across her haunches. With every passing minute her pretence of impartiality is fading; she is far from being herself, but when is she ever?
(At least Isopia had the courtesy to ask intelligent questions.)

Confutatis. It is the first time in a long time that Nymeria thinks of her as anything other but mother—and as the World Eater creeps back into her mind Nym shifts, tensing subconsciously. Her eyes harden, her lips tighten, her tendons grow taut and sharp against her skin; memories surface, memories that dwell on the shadowy borders between nightmares and daydreams. There is her mother, cold and stark as steel, golden-eyed and ruinous; there is her mother, World Eater, poisoning and rotting the world around her. There she was succumbing to fire, disappearing to a prison of desert sand, and returning only to leave again.

"I..." she starts and then she trails off, suddenly at a loss. How can she not understand? Nymeria makes eye contact with Isopia, perplexed. "It's the way I—we—were raised. In my mother's opinion, blood was everything. She hadn't expected twins, but when we were delivered, she believed it to be a harbinger of her future power. She would be the Queen: my brother would be on her right, and I would be on her left." It wasn't quite an answer to Isopia's questions—it was more than that. And by all the gods it felt strange to confide in someone like this. These were the stories of a history she had never shared before; she wasn't even certain it was a good idea to be sharing it. "What I mean to say is that Volterra and I were raised to believe family comes before everything else."

(Why am I compelled to be honest, Lil? When am I ever?)

"You've met Volterra," she continues, "and you're right about my wits and his lack of. We do balance each other out as my mother intended. What she didn't anticipate was our similarities. It's difficult to explain, but... well." Nymeria shakes her head ruefully, drags out a heavy sigh. "In all honesty, we seek to outdo one another. Both of us are too stubborn to admit defeat, and both of us are too ambitious to admit defeat."

The hybrid bobs her head in agreement and Nymeria relaxes, putting aside her thoughts of the World Eater. It was good to be able to talk—and even better to talk to someone who agreed with her.

... More mistakes than he's even aware of. For once Nymeria does not read into it; she merely takes it as a token agreement. It wouldn't surprise her either if Volterra had more children she didn't know about.

Now it is her turn to sit back and listen. As Isopia goes on in past-tense, revealing some degree of history between her and Volterra, Nymeria is content to watch. In the back of her mind she turns over the earlier statement about Isopia's father; if there is one thing she can glean from it, it is that Isopia's father must be a very powerful horse indeed. Perhaps she would ask Isopia if she could meet him one day, and see how he acquired such an ability...

The mothers are a type of conquest. It was an acute observation, one that made Nymeria feel ill to her stomach. Too well did she remember the way she had brushed up against her brother, how she had offered herself to him upon learning of his conquests whores—the way her stomach had turned and the euphoria and rage that burned through her veins when he'd turned her down.  (Why had he? Why wasn't she good enough why—did you think we could just fuck our differences away? he'd snapped at her, his voice a savage growl, a savage threat.)
He'd wanted it.
He'd wanted her.

The path you were meant to walk together?
It stings. Isopia couldn't know better but it hurts anyways. Her family (her brother and her in particular) were a fucking disaster.

"I don't know." There's a heaviness to her, a lingering sense of despair.

"In many ways he's an... animal. He's not like you and I, tükör arca." A mischievous pause, something to make light of the situation. "He only thinks with his dick."

It doesn't come out quite as facetious as she had meant it to.