The entity of violence; an epitome of elegance.

Morgana was disturbed by The Darkin Blade’s question, even if it wasn’t the first time someone asked it. Her wings shook for a moment as she remembered her fall from the heavens. However, the literal fall was nothing in comparison to her figurative fall. The rage and vengeance that followed her fall consumed Morgana in the flames of her anger and passion.

“I fell far enough to become what you see before you, Aatrox,” The Fallen Angel momentarily spread her wings, coarse feathers ruffling. “Why does such a disturbing event intrigue you?”

“And yet you stand before me now. You had surpassed the frailty of what you were before, and turned yourself stronger. Why think of what you had experienced something that had lowered you? The scorched wings you bear now is proof of what you had endured.”

Aatrox lifted and stretched the claws of his own wings, showing off the tatters, damage inflicted upon him by past wars he had participated in. He then summoned his sword and pointed the living blade to the direction of the fallen angel.

Morgana gave a quizzical look at the Darkin’s first remark, “Perhaps scorched wings take a different meaning to Darkin than it does for Angels. Losing one’s flight is one of the ultimate shames an Angel can experience. To be cast out and forsaken denotes how you are deemed unworthy in the eyes of Heaven.  Although, I really should not be holding them in such a high regard anymore.” 

The Fallen Angel’s hands itched to conjure a spell as Aatrox’s blade was summoned. However, she could sense that he was not looking for a fight, for once. Yet, there was no reason for her to drop her guard. She duly noted the scars that Aatrox wore with pride rather than shame. “If you say so, Darkin Blade,” Morgana replied with an air of hesitant pride. “Contrary to popular belief, my vengeance motivates me, but it is not all of who I am. My soul is far more than willing, but strong enough to not lose to the tempting doom that vengeance brings.”

She then declared, “I shall surpass what you see before you.”

“I hope to see you rise to where you truly belong. If you wish to converse once more, feel free to approach me. I am sure the far Northern lands would give you some reprise.” For now he bids the Fallen one a rather hasty good bye.

Bathe. In blood…? 

She looked to the side with a frown just as the scent of the flowers hits her. Roses? How cliche. Why would she complain though, when he seemed so glad to see her again.

A pause before she sighs, facing him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she returns his embrace.

Bathe. In blood…? 

Morgana was disturbed by The Darkin Blade’s question, even if it wasn’t the first time someone asked it. Her wings shook for a moment as she remembered her fall from the heavens. However, the literal fall was nothing in comparison to her figurative fall. The rage and vengeance that followed her fall consumed Morgana in the flames of her anger and passion.

“I fell far enough to become what you see before you, Aatrox,” The Fallen Angel momentarily spread her wings, coarse feathers ruffling. “Why does such a disturbing event intrigue you?”

“And yet you stand before me now. You had surpassed the frailty of what you were before, and turned yourself stronger. Why think of what you had experienced something that had lowered you? The scorched wings you bear now is proof of what you had endured.”

Aatrox lifted and stretched the claws of his own wings, showing off the tatters, damage inflicted upon him by past wars he had participated in. He then summoned his sword and pointed the living blade to the direction of the fallen angel.

A weary sigh for he finds this nitpicking somewhat childish. He needs not be lectured on what he should be doesn’t he? “I don’t feel different from last time we had spoken. What I hold within me is no different from yours. Is it so hard to believe that I am not as one sided as you are?

I will show fury if I must, delight when it is appropriate and sorrow for loss, etcetera. If you find me repulsive, I care not for I have other matters to worry about.

If you represent yourself as such then so be it. I view myself as instigator, judge and artist. I could only hope that the finesse of your tongue does not reflect on your sword.”

“…You are right; you’ve not changed since we last met. I simply had not paid it any mind then. Now I look closer, however, and see that you have committed a sin against your very nature…” He peers into the other Aatrox’s eyes. “I see in you the spark of love.”

“The Witch is Iceborn, and I Darkin. We both do not know what love is for it is a trait too human for us both to understand. She had forgotten what its is when her Watchers stripped her of mortality, while I have no recollection of my host’s life before I came to be. What we have..? I doubt it is something anyone could call love.

Even now we are yet to come to terms with this vicious cycle of ours. Still, we both wish to see it through even if it means breaking the norm, the monotony of our existence.” He pauses and tilts his head down as he looked to his gauntlet which he turns to a fist.

Send me 👁👁 and I’ll draw with closed eyes (and then stylise  to make something blyatiful ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ) your muse. 

He meets the other’s gaze in return, his head cocked questioningly. Rage..?

“Why would I allow such a thing to rule me? Rage does not define me for I am my own self. There is a time and place for that.”

I will show fury if I must, delight when it is appropriate and sorrow for loss, etcetera. If you find me repulsive, I care not for I have other matters to worry about.

He ignores the almost flippant reply. His mood was high and euphoric. He hums. “I could say the same thing. Just swimmingly I might add.”

What game is this she wondered. Why would he do this. How can he hold her with touches that reminded her of his former.

She can’t bear to hear him speak to her this way, not when she knows that he is not how he is before. It felt like a betrayal, more so when she knows that Ryze is close by, fighting and looking for that shattered Void Rune. The thought of the mage stirred her, and she found strength to squirm in his grasp to try and pull away. 

 "You were the one who set the bars between us, and now you break it.

Lissandra lowered her eyes, and then closed it, not wanting him to see her expression–how vulnerable she felt.

”…what ever answers I may have for you then is not relevant now. I can’t bring back something that has already passed.

“Your heart.” Murmured Aatrox underneath his breath before completely letting go. However his wings would briefly offer a familiar embrace as the protrusions strode across the delicate yet freezing skin of the witch.

Nothing had changed. You changed nothing–you have given nothing to me.

Nothing but an annoying ache and an itch I want to satisfy.” She slipped her hand over the one resting on her breast, holding it close if not only for the briefest of moments before harshly pulling it away.

He dared to stare straight into her sinister eyes before proceeding. “But you shoved me away, just like this.

Lissandra looked up at Aatrox, her indecisiveness and disgust replaced by a fleeting touch of longing. What followed however were cold words.

“I just needed someone who could fill the void Ryze left in my heart. 

But I suppose, you simply could not compare to him. Only another mage would understand… 

You used me, and in turn I used you. 

 Pathetic. 

 She struggled against his grip—her efforts, fruitless.  

She would have demanded that he stopped, rebuked him some more and belittle his efforts the way she had done in the past.

Just an empty kiss as Aatrox parted from Lissandra, his gaze turned down and his grip on her faded in a ghostly manner. He spoke not a word, nothing at all. Unable to fully construct a sentence of any sorts. He felt pain… but not from his physical form.

She wondered how they have come to  his, with all the needless pain and suffering that they must endure. And for what. 

 Her mind strayed, and the agony of his bite did not leave its mark on her senses. 

 She is numbed though her dark blood spilled between his jaws freely. Sliding a hand behind his skull, she embraced him—holding his face close as his bite depended.

“….yes, just like that.” she whispered, her voice strained, goading.

She meets his eyes, her own half lidded, weary but resolute.

But she does feel the pull of his mark, so similar to her own. His, only more transparent for unknown reasons. This she finds amusing. His kind are truly a mystery to her despite having the Darkin in her service for a while now. 

She pulls away slightly and inclined her head at him thoughtfully. Humming softly, she brushed her digits against his cheek, moving lower to tease a finger on the curve of his horn.