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“Who do you think you are?“

random sentence starters - always accepting ||

That sudden question, which almost came out from nowhere, totally caught the Lunari unprepared, making her take a small step back, her shadows, like fumy obsidian snakes, coiling at her feet. For not only she was wondering why that unfamiliar, masked figure was now before her, letting those carmine eyes, as shiny as live blood, piercing her figure -and only the Gods knew how much she loathed that color-, but also because there was something about his aura that left her baffled, almost surprised...

Why did he smell of shadows? And his was far was stronger than hers, as if she was before the shadows themselves. As tension grew up within Ernye, so her curiosity.

«... I’m an orphan, a heretic and a martyr.»

Those were the first words that came out from her pale lips, mayhaps a more complicated and enigmatic way to describe a “Lunari”, a moonchild. Or, as Solari usually referred to them, the “scourge” of Targon, those who lived like rats to survive, huddled on themselves inside humid and dusty caves.

«I’m a woman who’s looking for knowledge and revenge, looking for all those missing pieces to restore what my heritage has lost by the hand of those who cannot live without the sunlight, who turned my people into ashes and scattered them in the oblivion. Those who are afraid of the darkness and its terrifying mother, the Moon. I wish to be the one who’ll slice their throat while they’ll cry in the darkness, begging for their Sun to help them.»

Bitter and harsh words could have never matched that porcelain, almost innocent visage of hers, a perfect mask to hide all the hatred she felt toward Solari, toward those who stole all her dreams and stripped her of her family, friends... And life. However, now was his turn. Who was he, and why his soul was as dark as the shadows themselves?

but is it as fat as her heart

ZED x MISS FORTUNE .

@expirator​ asked: murder

one word prompts: accepting

EARTHEN HUES ARE USED TO THE CARNAGE that death could leave behind, used to beholding the blood and viscera and entirely too vulnerable bloodshed that was beholden to their kind. She’d participated in plenty herself - though Akali was not a brutal killer, she was fast and efficient, only making them suffer when she felt they deserved it in her bones. Shen, of course, would recoil at the thought. There was no balance in brutality, no tranquility. But Akali had long since left the Kinkou and their ways behind. Her own path was the balance between her former home, and Zed’s Order. She would walk the tightrope in between, and if it meant getting her hands dirty - than so be it. She was used to that, even craved the bite of steel and gush of blood. But this....

The scene is horrific by the time she arrives, blood gushing from raw wounds of the dead upon the floor and even splattered upon the stone walls. The moans of the dying are distinctly absent because either they are dead already - or perhaps the assailant had taken their vocal chords out. A clever technique, particularly gruesome, but Akali did not stop to admire. The shadows were thick here, almost oppressive, and while she herself used them to her advantage, was skilled in that particular art... She felt unwelcome in their embrace this time. A cold chill spread along the bare part of her arms, and she represses the urge to shiver. This was a blood bath, and she hadn’t made it completely inside yet. 

Nimble feet have her stepping over a strewn corpse, blood splatter still fresh. She is silent and quick, undetectable to all by the best and thinks to make quick work of her curiosity here - to get in, and get out but when she slips into the corner of the nearby room, sliding doors silent on their runners... she beholds the last of it. 

It’s brutal and quick, the slide of blades and rush of air that comes with the dying. She thinks she sees the flash of shadowed figures, the glint of horrific red eyes but Akali does not balk. She merely watches... watches as the body rolls to the ground, run clean through the chest, with lashes that look like an X across the nearly dismantled form. The shadows seem to retreat to her, disappearing back to a particular location and that’s where she looks, stepping out from behind the door. A kunai is in hand, twirling once through calloused fingers. Her gaze is impassive, cold. She is unwavered.