WHEN THE STARS WEAVE themselves into the dreary night, two rulers sit side by side, gazing at the moonless sky. And for a fleeting moment, the sisters flaunted their forced silence, as if the prophesied queen was a void hollow in their memories.
Two sisters, woven by blood, yet so entirely different.
Aliidrea curls her fingers into a ball of steely resolve. It was a lazy attempt to swallow her rage and it's overwhelming contempt seethe from her throat no more, but soon, the bone-thief may have not even the slightest of breath to leer at her sister. She shuts her eyes, breathing, dying.
How could we have let this happen? How could we be so foolish?
"You're a fool, sister." The villainous bone thief stabs her words into the starlit skies, letting its wispy feathers stain the fog thick hatred that lay abundant in the air.
Her sister laughs, honey-coated trills that lusted for attention.
"Am I now, you murderer? Am I the thief that ripped out sinless hearts and stole innocent minds? Am I the fool?" She leans forward, menace lacing her breaths. "We're both to blame for this, you killer."
You're wrong, sister Azarade, you're wrong.
But Aliidrea could not speak those words. She could not let those lies sting her tongue and burn her lips, for she is not a liar.
She is a traitor.
Aliidrea blows her poison drenched breath out from her red lips as she leans back, dragging the heel of her palm against the sand-dusted tips of speaking emerald. At the mere swipe of her bare skin, long spidery fingers of feuillemort reached out, stroking the pale greens with such fervour that it devoured them entirely, not pausing until their straight backbones hung drooping, like a languished man fallen prey to his crimes.
Like the dead had travelled the land.
Azarade hisses in distaste.
She snatches Aliidrea's spindly fingers, prying them from the sickly crescents before releasing her grip and tossing them away as if they scorched her scented skins.
"Test me, Aliidrea," she whispers, each enunciated word dripping with an unspoken threat, "and you will regret it."
Aliidrea grins, eyes glittering with no less malice. "You created this world, sister. I am merely cleansing it. It will be your fault — your careless weaving — if the prophecy comes to pass." She lowers her lashes, allowing her sliver clad tresses to unfurl into a forest of wild beasts behind her.
"When the prophecy comes to pass."
"You will never destroy it." Azarade rises. Her voice is a trembling murmur. She thinks she won't dare. She thinks. "You don't have the power."
"Do I not, sister Azarade?"
So as the stars weave themselves into the starlit night, the gods can only hope for perennial slumber.
For destruction.
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THREE WISHES
Fantasy| LYING THIEVES, SCORNFUL HONEY, WON'T YOU WATCH THE GLAZED-EYED GODS? | A lie-swathed god dripping with her nectar letters, a traitor king with magic sewed into the pores of his skin. ❝ Bow. Bow to the gods of fate, to the defiant, to the rulers - ...
