angels on fire - halsey
i'm standing in the ashes of who i used to be
and I'm fading away, you know i used to be on fire/
'who were you before they broke your heart' - anonymous
-
aleksander
The Lantsov King had demand his presence. The Darkling scoffed at the note that had hastily been handed to him by one of the new recruits. The boy scurried off, avoiding eye contact. Good. At least someone was scared of him. The paper was too neat, too clean; it felt like a trap. But to be honest, every thing these days really seemed like one. Every trick of the sunlight convinced Alek that he was dreaming, that he was living in a sugar coated delusion. He didn't want to believe that he had lost control so easily; he had let someone, a girl, a puppet into his life, into his head. And now, he had lost everything. He threw the paper to the ground, white sheet floating ironically gently to the ground. He had lost the empire he spent many lifetimes building in under a year. That must be a new record.
Seraphina had been here for only under a year and she was already fucking with his life. She was like a storm, a perfectly destructive little thing. He hated that he respected her. He hated that he thought of her as perfect. But he didn't hate her, his heart whispered. He didn't at all. She was the only one who could get into his head, the only one who could force him to go to extremes. She was his equal. Maybe she was better. A perfect apocalypse.
Aleksander straightened his kefta and snuck a glance at himself in the mirror. He dreaded what the Lantsov king wanted from him but he wouldn't let her get into his head today. He needed to look his best, be his best. He needed to show the king that he was a leader, the fearless General. He had been doing better; he had gone to the Barracks and commanded troops to squander small rogue Fjerdan attacks. He had led men into the forests of the east and used his powers to slay the Grisha traffickers. It felt good to feel the life drain out of someone's body, to play god. He liberated over a hundred Grisha soldiers. He was a saint, a saviour. He was unstoppable.
It had been a while since the rumours echoed that Seraphina had visited the King. The Darkling wanted to believe that they would just words that rolled off the tongue but he knew that beneath the gossip, there was some ounce of truth. Or maybe he was thinking too much, Little Palace chatter was a serpent, it poisoned thoughts and turned people on each other. Not him though. Never the great Aleksander Morozova, commander of the Second Army. He had cast shadows that slithered around his enemies' necks, cutting them off with a clean slice. His powers had grown considerably; it might have been the depression, the anger, the guilt that was piled up inside him. When he released his power, he felt his veins hum with life. The black tendrils that emerged from beneath his kefta were so black, so void like that his soldiers whispered of The Shadow King, The Saint with no Stars. The Starless Saint. He liked that.
His encounters with Seraphina had been brief but even then, he could tell that her powers were being amplified by something, something not quite of this world. They showed in her face; if he looked closely enough, he could see veins writhing under her skin. But, in the next moment they were gone, replaced by her insincere, dead smile. Her eyes were so cold she looked like a corpse when she smiled. He should be afraid because he had no idea what she was capable of; the unknown used to scare him. But at the same time, she had no idea what he could do. He was the Starless Saint.
He was so enveloped in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that he was outside the doors. Magnificent, he admired the woodwork. The air smelt fresher, cleaner. The Durast in front of the polished wood greeted him with a small sharp nod. He eyed the clouds in the distance. His soldiers would be out of training soon; he wondered with unfortunate Grisha would have to spend an hour with his mother today. There was light tapping from inside and the heavy doors swung open.
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horology | the darkling
Fanfictionho·rol·o·gy /həˈräləjē/ noun the study of time - Seraphina Vessensky knew that it would be easy to make any man fall in love with her, even the Black Heretic himself. Her quick wits, extraordinary talents and alluring beauty caught the eye of any wh...