'ᴡᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴇɴᴛɪᴍᴇɴᴛ. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴠᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ.'
Only one month has passed in Daliah Viper's life trying to reintegrate at court and follow the uneasy trails her eyes have caught.
One month filled with blood, tribulations, and l...
-feeling or showing no sympathy for others : hard-hearted
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On one side of the Viper halls, animals scream and feet move through the hallways. On the other side, my mother already prepares for the usual nightly activities.
I catch a whiff of white clothes on every floor as I move down.
One is just the usual stilting, gaunt man that always finds his way to my mother's room, and the other is a worrisome procession of Skonos. I leave the dogs behind, scattering my upturned collar with bolt leaping spiders. In black and white, hair, equipped with strong pincers, they brandish and protect me, as always. And then the time is up, and I have to follow suit after the invitation. Like every house in West Archeon, this one is big.
It feels morbidly frigid in itself as if it is shivering.
When I step inside, one of my spiders drops down onto the floor and rushes over the side. It brings hasty distance between me and it.
My eyes burn, but I try to assess the silent room around me.
It reminds me of our house with the steep staircase I left behind in Summerton. The same absence of warmth in any preened pristine decor. Cold and untouched and without a trace of dust.
Whoever took care of this has decided the other one too.It is wrong I came alone. The uneasiness rests on my spine like Samson's long fingers. Heron said I was a Merandus. She is wrong, of course. But it would help now.
The spiders shiver and tremble with every breath I take in walking. Maven thought he did me a favor telling me his mother would show up. Right now, that feels like a threat more than simple knowledge, even if it helps to avoid surprises. There is literally nothing in my line of power I can do, little I know, and even less I can do to subvert anything when she chooses to talk to me.
If my teeth grind on each other even more, they'll make unpleasant crunching sounds. If my spine arches back even more, it will break again. I just try to be taller than I am. Like usual. But even more desperate.
My stomach turns and twists in bizarre knots again, eating itself, as much as I want to hide it, I'm sure it's a rather futile effort in a place filled with mind readers.
If I get any more nervous, I will puke over the carpet. I want to run away. My head can't wrap around the fact that I have returned unharmed only to step inside this nest of frosted death. So I just hold it together, for now, rubbing my sweaty palms on the back of my jacket before resting them at my sides. Even now, there are around four to five pairs of visible eyes watching me.
