#curenone

⸻⸻⸻⸻ . . . ⸻⸻⸻⸻

⸻ @curenone

“  you  flatter  me,  chancellor. “  lunafreya  answers,  after  a  particularly icy  pause.  the  only  indication  that  his  presence  had  been  regarded  was the  slightest  turn  of  her  chin  in  his  direction.

no  matter  how  pristine  the  room  was,  the  air  was  dense.  words  stuck  to  it  like  a  thick  fog,  final  syllables  practically  echoing  off  of  the  walls. she figured  the  two  of  them  were  both  plenty  accustomed  to  tension. 

umbra  stirs  at  her  feet. 

“  though  ---  if  i  may,  i  believe  you  misunderstand  your  role,  as  well  as  mine. " as  if  he  would  ever  bow  to  her  hand,  his  role  as  usurper  notwithstanding.  ardyn  seemed  to  confuse  himself  with  the  much  more modern  treatment  of  the  oracle,  perhaps  highly  different  from  his  own time.  to  call  his arrival  in  service  was  laughable,  if  maybe  in  more agreeable  company.  but,  no,  this  was  no  royal  manor.  as  soon  as  one stepped  foot  into  her  domicile  ....  this  was  a  prison. 

you’d  mistake  house  fleuret  as  an  imperial  garrison,  with  the  amount  of armored  soldiers  stationed  in  such  a  domestic,  let  alone  holy,  place.  she’d  known  from  the  very  beginning  the  reason  as  to  why.  the  empire saw  her  as  a  dangerous  player.  a  threat  to  the  so  carefully  planned  future  ahead,  as  if  the  plague  encroaching  on  their  domain  could  be contained  or  even  weaponized  to  serve  a  single  man.  absolute  madness.

it  served  one,  but  he  was  no  man.  not  anymore. 

CLOUD.

       “ fact. ”                 a nod, high above the fold of arms across wool.cloud’s face lacks all trace ofinterest & emotion, but-

“ your intimate understanding...      comes from being made its bitch? ”

@curenone

        He was unfazed,letting the frying scent from flesh and bones fused with daemonic fluids comeacross his nose. There was a burning-like ‘odor’. Much to a skin’s incineration.

       Verstael was used to it. Notthat he liked the smell of it but more like the fact that those bodies weredecapitated, absorbed by the daemonification. and slowly worked into the metalmembrane.

       “If this would keep you out of my lab thenlet it smell like this always.”

@curenone asked: " your eyes speak volumes."

any interaction had with the usurper seemed an uphill battle. if she was to be dealing with divinity, any mention of the accursed was to delve into legend. made sickeningly, hauntingly real. an ancient bogeyman, if that interpretation were to be given any merit.

she was well versed in his history, past and present. she knew of his true name, and of his entanglement and influence in niflheim military 'advancement'. to her understanding, he was the essence, and root, of all evil.

so, if she were tight-lipped around him, it was merely that she had a lack of words for him.

it wasn't her purpose. not to instigate him, not to banish him, not to blow the whistle on the mass gathering of darkness encroaching on the realm. her god-given mission was to have bahamut's will executed --- to prepare the true king with every tool necessary to dispel the darkness. as his purpose was to flood the star with it.

she supposed, if noctis were here, he would lunge at him, eyes blinded by hate. she didn't feel hate. gentiana always seemed to hav a certain curtness in relation to the accursed. she wasn't sure if it was natural to even embrace that. of course, there was an unsettling aura about him. skin that only barely bonded together against the rippling black ichor beneath it, a phantom taking the guise of a man. though, fear wasn't exactly the right expression of her heart, either. he knew her form was not wholly physical. no harm he could impart to her would impact anything, nor would she do anything of the sort unto him. if he were to kill the body, the spirit would still remain, as was the same for him. they were on two paths set in motion. an impasse.

but it reeked.

despite everything, what he had was an affliction. his body was riddled with the starscourge. could someone ... born of darkness truly be so addled? the thought never failed to twist her expression. he emanated a thick miasma. a living, breathing, parasite. wont was she to question the astral's teachings, but ... his origin was ... puzzling, at the very least. perhaps there was an oversight. perhaps ardyn lucis caelum was equal parts man and monster.

it wasn't her job to think. but it was her job to heal the afflicted.

pity wasn't quite the name for it, either. she's sure it ached. even being within speaking distance of that amount of ick was enough to make her skin crawl. she's sure it burned like a fire none other. that it tugged and rended at the flesh, the mind, the spirit. she was certain they both knew, that death would be a mercy. she doubted it would come gently, if at all.

she knew the gain he had from speaking to her. bahamut's eyes from the ground, hers is a vessel of pure sanctity. in essence, she is his next-best thing. but he knows better than to shoot the messenger.

perhaps the word was troubled. and if her eyes spoke all of that, he had no need for any of her words.