#equilibrius beast

Duchess cursed for a second time, scowling at the fact she could not roll back the clock once more. Manipulation of time was a privilege, yet it never quite felt like enough. 

In battle, a couple of seconds could make or break a fight. 

Here… well it made for something even more incredible. 

“Ahh!” Recluse yelped, well, as loudly as she would permit herself to. Really it was more of a muffled gasp, with only a hint of a broken voice. 

Duchess swept her tongue between the ebony thighs one last time, before resolving herself to the fact that they had reached the finale. 

“Your ability is a powerful one,” Recluse huffed. Her obsidian hand invited Duchess to her feet, unknowing that she much preferred to stay on her knees. “It would be wise to spare it.” 

“Pain is permanent,” Duchess told her solemnly, “pleasure is temporary. Thus it has a higher need for repetition.”

Recluse didn't reply, instead her free hand searched for a discarded belonging. Duchess wanted to tell her that whatever it was, wasn't here. The area of the hold in which they currently resided was a distant one. Up, they had climbed, until their legs could take no more. A resolute balcony, overlooking the lake of endlessness and the ever approaching shadows threatening to consume them.

That was to say, the loft was empty. Whatever the witch was in search for would not be found here. 

“Can I help?” Duchess asked, sidelining her skepticism. There was something about the way the witch carried herself she found enchanting. Though she wore no armor, and scarcely carried a sword, she was among the strongest of them. 

“A stick” the raider had called her staves upon introduction. Duchess still chuckled slightly at the memory. Even now, as they ventured across limveld, if the Raider partook in the hunt he ensured that the witch carried some type of blade. 

“Just in case you have a need to gouge out an eye,” he had laughed. 

“No,” Recluse told her, “I suppose it was never here.”

“When we descend,” Duchess offered again, “I could aid you as you shuffle through the books.” 

Recluse smiled. The soft, painfully pitying grin she always used when she'd had enough while the Duchess begged for more. A means of setting her expectations. 

“The others should criticize you,” Recluse explained in her siren voice. “For aiding in my search while the Priestess sent them on their own.” 

It was true, there would be criticism. But it wouldn't come in harsh words. Instead it would be her brother, leading the rest of the Nightfarer's on an adversarial mission of relentless teasing. 

“I don't entertain their ridicule,” Duchess reminded her assertively. “This is my roundtable. And as long as they reside within it they answer to me.”

Recluse chuckled again, only it was worse this time because it was accompanied by the reapplication of her robes. Though her attire provided what the witch termed a “peek”, for the most part, they were quite chaste. Leaving a lot to the imagination. 

And Duchess had a disruptively captivating imagination.

“Bold,” her paramour whispered, grazing her chin with a cold fingertip. “The other would-be captains may not agree.” 

“Then they should mutiny,” Duchess jested, relenting in her advanced and taking a step back. Recluse used her fingers to brush out the knotted locks of hair. The floorboards and scavenged leather bedrolls hardly made for a proper venue. Often they left looking much more derelict than when they arrived. 

Luckily for the Duchess, ruffled hair was a part of her look. With so much going on she rarely found the time to do anything more than tie it back. 

The Recluse, however, wore hers in a waterfall of frost. Covering her back and shoulders. Sitting in a perfect uniform, tucked into place by a wide-brimmed hat. It required more attention to remain soft and un-matted. 

Duchess considered offering her aid, but as she observed the quiet hum and Recluse's nimble fingers working out the knots she figured her hands were no longer needed. 

“Uppn the sunrise, who will your dagger search for?” Recluse asked. Duchess knew there was an answer she wanted to hear. A nightlord she targeted so specifically. One she had been waiting for countenance. 

But the time wasn't right. They needed to prove their strength first. 

“If my brother is successful with Adel this night, then you and I will have the great opportunity to fly-swat.” 

Recluse paused for a moment, and laughed. His lips were slightly parted and she still wore her eyes seductively. “The pests, sentient as they may be, are but insects. Thou doesn't have brighter ambitions?” 

“In time,” Duchess reminded her. 

“Time,” Recluse said dreamily, “spoken as if you have so much of it.” 

Duchess clenched her fist. Her fate being tied to the roundtable was a secret, one she had kept close to her chest. And although her and recluse had been well aquainted these past few weeks, did not mean she'd gotten vulnerable. 

So either Recluse had found out for herself, or her words were so vague that it was easy to find unintentional meaning. 

Recluse held her silver mask in her palm, presenting it to the Priestess with avid eye contact. 

“Tragedy is in your eyes,” she told her, as the Priestess picked it up. “It would be wise to hide it. Lest the others be discouraged.” 

The priestess put it on, sighing in relief when her face was no longer able to be read. 

“And you?” She asked, stepping onto the window ledge.