ask no questions

If Amaris went into her history of all the terror, it’s a likely bet Weaver would stick to awesome as her assessment. She’s not really one to judge on that front. Actually, she’s far more likely to judge someone for having a damn bleeding heart. But that’s sort of what happens when you are Weaver. Her mother, though her name less awe-inspiring, was far from kind. And Weaver had been raised without much feeling. Her mother loved her, certainly, but they were hardly the hugging kind of family.

Instead, Weaver fought the four horsemen of the apocalypse, and died in the process. Death sent her back, clearly, his rune forever burned into her chest in those strange blue marks. She knew pain and hunger and hopelessness in ways most couldn’t even begin to manage, and she knew it strengthen you. She watched her mother start a war in the blink of an eye by stopping an innocent girl’s heart in front of the other monarchs of the land. A pointless war only to leave everyone running afraid of the Chamber.

And oh, how they ran afraid.

Weaver ended up dangled from the claws of a dragon, actually, in that war. Which is when her mother gave her the wings. Not that it mattered, because at that point she’d already earned her resurrection, and they could just keep threatening to kill her and she’d just keep coming back if they actually did it anyway. She’d been quite literally beaten to death on her way to Helovia, stuck in a place that simply feared strangers without a quick exit. She came back from that, too, but damn, did it hurt.

The short of it is this: terror, mayhem and chaos are kind of her things. She’s never known anything else.

Raven does a weird flapping on his wings like a happy dance, like he’s trying to say Yes! That’s closer! in some weird bird language that quite likely, only Raven actually speaks. He caws again, less to get the dragon to copy, and more just a pleased sound at this little game and the dragon’s quick progress. Weaver rolls her eyes slightly in her companion’s direction with a little amused laugh, because in the end, she can’t feel anything but love for the black bird. Even when he was acting like an idiot.

But Amaris pulls her attention back, and Weaver rolls her shoulders in a shrug. “The ravens, or my family?” she asks with a laugh, because you do not live with The Raven Queen without also living with a veritable army of ravens. “Both, in a way, though. I had three bothers and an overbearing mother and more raven babysitters than I can count. But they were my family.” She says, hoping that explains it.

Yea, they didn’t hug, but they’d always be her family. She probably didn’t miss them as someone else might, with stabs of pain or aches of loss. But sometimes she wondered what became of her disbanded family, what her mother was doing now. “My brothers left first, and eventually me. I couldn’t live in her shadow, you know?” Maybe the mare doesn’t know, maybe she does. Maybe they all sort of got that. Some shadows were just bigger than others.

- weaver -

and you'll be told no lies