#!:threads

             — Coward?, she asks. The word weighs upon her tongue, a blade of ice that she throws at him. The laugh that follows her question is bitter, broken and silent thing. Fingers move, a soft kiss of their tips against his flesh. Feminine hand falls to her side, one simple gesture. "I am not more coward than you or any other, for I am made of flesh and blood as you are." The woman tries to smile, but the laugh is not in her eyes. Blue, blue like water. Grey, grey like rain. "I love you, άνεμος, and I have no reason to fear my feelings for you. But I cannot become your queen."

There is darkness, winter nights are made of the shadows of dancers. Black figures move round and round and round as she walks and each step, each sound that she makes is a part of a cadence — the wind sings in her ears, delicate silhouette moving down a street and she hears it, the soft breathes of the humans in their beds and she hears the growling thing in the alley, enormous creature and monster, dark and red and brown as her own eyes.

The huntress frowns, alert eyes glowing in the shadows: two ruby jewels as fire, as she breathes and notices strange fragrances in the air. Monsters, monsters! Where is the one that she must kill? One hand holds a sword, made in the Japanese style, dangerous blade and dangerous warrior. The thing roars in the distance, but mortals have no ears for such a music. The children of the night! What a music they make! Unbending she stands, that girl of dark hair and crimson lips. 

It happens, quick movements and agile hands, agile feet. The creature comes, smelling of dead skin and shed blood and its roars and she jumps and moves her arms and cuts flesh and bones as one would cut food. She bleeds, hand against the silver sword, opening a wound. She breathes, strong scent of death and she gasps and cuts it again. One, two, three times she kills the thing and the thing dies in a pool of crystallized blood.

A queen stands in the rain, cold drops of silvery water flowing as a waterfall in her pale skin. She is a tall woman, wearing moonlight as a veil when she walks. Steps echoes like whispers, in a duet with the drops falling from the grey sky. The queen closes her eyes, silently humming a song that belonged to the memories of the dead. The lyrics come to her in the gentle voice of her lord father, who used to sing to his daughters when they were very little. It is cold and dark, but the woman likes it — she still remembers of dances in the rain with her sister, arm in arm and the most soft of the smiles in her lips. How many years since the last time they saw each other? Helena opens her eyes, sapphire iris sparkling in the dark of the street. 

 shotofmercury said: The doctor just chuckled and tipped his hat off to her, “I am Seraffo, a grand doctor. I mean no harm to such a lady like yourself."