#fallesto

Sabrina was in a state of blissful relaxation, having indulged in a steaming bath that enveloped her in warmth. The water, still pleasantly hot from being refreshed twice by a magical contraption, made her feel as if she could remain in that tub indefinitely. She had sunk deep into the soothing embrace, with only her head, hands, and feet peeking out over the rim. Her long, flowing hair cascaded over the edge, having been thoroughly washed and dried, a testament to her leisurely attitude in the bath.

The tranquility was momentarily disrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the door, causing her eyes to flutter open as she glanced toward it, hoping for a visitor. A strange scent of steel and blood wafted through the air, transforming her initial irritation into a curious thrill. When the door finally swung open, she was met with the familiar and welcome sight of the witcher, the very one who had been assisting her through her struggles. Caught in the liminal space of her curse, she was neither mare nor human, but rather a Succubus—an embodiment of her own greed and darkness.

She was already beginning to rise, his torso now fully revealed above the water, his hooves sinking back into the depths. Water cascaded down his skin, pooling in the delicate grooves of his scars. A subtle smile danced on her lips, the familiar expression that always appeared when their paths intertwined. Her warm gaze met his golden eyes, and she took in his appearance—the blood, the expression etched on his face. It was his typical look. An eyebrow arched as she prepared to ask why he was there, but the sound of his boots on the ground interrupted her.

That sound silenced her words instantly, a contented hum escaping the creature as she regarded him. The door closed with a flick of her magic, but she barely registered it, her focus entirely on him.

[Fallesto - if you wanna write again, follow me once more on my main account, this one is dead, but understand if not x]

The Witcher climbed off Scorpion, patting the war horse and letting him go off to graze in the nearby woods, then passed through the evening rain, hooded black cloak shifting on the breeze, and approached the entrance to her sizable blue tent with gold trimming. At once, he sensed and smelled her familiar scent and the bath within, the beating of her heart, through his enhanced senses. The side monster contracts and time in the nearby town away from her had been welcome, a change of pace... but all good things had to end. He still had a curse to break, that he had reluctantly agreed to, and thus far they had only worn away at it a bit. He would have to find another excuse to go hunting, when the opportunity presented itself. Too much time around her, after what she had done to him and Deidre... other Black Sun girls, her ambitious doings as a Sorceress... whatever strange connection of destiny they shared that she should remain on his Path, he needed a respite from it all periodically. Even if the cold, hostile reception of the nearby town's ungrateful folk hadn't been much better... at least he knew where he stood with the average peasant. They made their feelings and intents quite clear.

"Here we go again..."

With a silent breath, jaw tightening, steeling himself Eskel reluctantly slipped through the door and within the giant tent... viper eyes at once looking around the magically sizable, familiar, wealthy palace-like interior. Illusions and enchantments, he knew, to remind her of the luxuries she and her upper class kind were so accustomed to... to remind her of her place at Ard Carraigh, in Henselt's court. His gaze settled gradually on Sabrina in the lavish tub, in a new, alluring form he hadn't been expecting. One that gave him pause... the heat in his blood burning hotter, one of the side effects of his mutations betraying him again, forcing him to ignore such instinctive, primal desires. To remember and center himself. In a display of her magic, his enchanted silver wolf head medallion buzzing, she closed the door behind him automatically. Folding his broad arms over his red, silver spiked leather jacket and his Witcher's armor, Eskel studied her closely, not disguising his gaze that moved along the long crimson red haired Succubus' bare form. At last, eyes within the hood narrowing on her own, his deep, calm voice washed over her no less than the water was her body, remaining standing where he was by the entrance.

"Still not quite looking your old self, Glevissig. Didn't think I'd find you like this... but I know you in any form. Horns, hooves and tails suit you. Demonic. Surface starting to match what's inside. Always been well connected around Kaedwen, take it your spies tipped you off I was returning, or was it more of your magic? "

"It wouldn't really matter if it were a problem, would it?" It didn't take a genius to realize that the few who wore resin bubbles were of the Noble and Celestial Dragon ilk. As much as she enjoyed flirting with death, there was something about his ominous presence that gave her pause. Likely the militaristic style of his clothes, the cool demeanor that disguised his true wickedness, both, or something else entirely. No doubt about it, she had just lumbered over something more fragile than eggshells.

The corner of her lip pulled upward into the smirk a tricky coyote might wear. Both dread and disdain lurked beneath a calm, friendly exterior. Death surrounded her; bodies had already become daycares for black flies or a macabre snack for brightly colored butterflies. Behind her, an agonized wail was chased by the loud laughter of someone she assumed was this man's capricious partner. Then, of course, in front of her, an equally terrifying figure that towered over her and the fields.

"What I'm more interested in is how." She had been resting beneath the grains when the first screams had been cut short. A wind had blown through, heads of wheat whispering to each other and warning her in vain to remain hidden. Her curiosity, however, was a virus that grew too quickly, drawing its host to the reaper's door time and time again before falling dormant.

@fallesto

Kikyo regarded him in silence for a long moment as the wind moved first, stirring the white sleeves of her robes and carrying with it the sharp scent of blood, ash, and scorched scales from the dragon carcass behind him. Around them, the battlefield had finally gone still. Broken bodies of monsters littered the hillside in grotesque heaps, blackened blood soaking into the grass. Yet the swordsman standing before her looked almost offended by the quiet, as though peace itself inconvenienced him. Her dark eyes lowered briefly to the ruined arrow between his teeth.

The judgment formed without emotion, merely observation. He carried himself like a warrior blessed by heaven and cursed with the temperament of an unruly boy. His strength was undeniable as she had witnessed it clearly enough. No ordinary human could stand atop a dragon’s skull and batter it to death barehanded while wielding chopsticks like weapons from a tavern joke. Even the aura around him felt strange to her senses, overwhelming and turbulent, like standing too close to a river during flood season. However, power had never impressed Kikyo.

The ravenette stepped closer anyway. The grass bent softly beneath her feet while fragments of pale soul-light flickered faintly around her form, appearing and vanishing like distant fireflies. Her expression remained calm despite the insult thrown at her so casually. “The dragon intended to flee,” she answered evenly. “Had it escaped, more villages would have burned.” Her gaze lifted to meet his single eye directly now, unflinching beneath the weight of his irritation. Most men reacted strangely when looking upon her for too long. Some softened, some feared her, and others became entranced by the unnatural stillness she carried like moonlight over a grave. “You are skilled,” she admitted quietly. “But your pride clouds your judgment.”

Another gust swept across the hill, pulling strands of raven-black hair across her cheek. Kikyo reached up and brushed them aside with elegant calm before extending her hand toward him once more. “Now return my arrows.” For a moment, her eyes drifted past him toward the dead dragon. The creature’s spirit had already begun dissipating into the air, but remnants of malice still lingered like smoke. This land felt unfamiliar to her, yet the suffering within it was painfully recognizable. Humans dying, monsters feeding, and heroes fighting endlessly while believing strength alone could save anyone.

The priestess’s attention returned to Reid as there was something deeply abnormal about him. She had seen powerful beings before. No, it was the ease with which he stood amidst carnage, laughing and shouting like a man at a festival rather than one surrounded by death. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit. He resembled neither noble warrior nor bloodthirsty beast. He existed somewhere between the two, unconcerned with appearing righteous. Kikyo found herself unable to determine whether that honesty made him dangerous or trustworthy. “You speak as though slaying monsters is a game,” she said at last, her voice softer now, almost distant. “Do the dead mean so little to you?”

Continued // @fallesto

Nunnally watched him. That small interaction with his squire, the way he dipped his fingers into the scented water he had been offered moments earlier. She was still sore from too much of his attention, yet she knew better than to complain; it would be pointless anyway. Aerion and Nunnally. The prince and  his lover. Though that word – ‘lover’ – was , indeed, an exaggeration. She was not worth enough to be called a lover. A royal harlot was closer to reality. Had she been highborn, they might have called it an affair. As she was, she was simply Aerion’s toy.

She made an effort to appear foolish, uninterested in whatever unfolded before her, but her gentle eyes missed nothing. Attention to detail had kept her alive in the past, and it remained her only hope for the future. She lay there, still naked, a fur draped over her slender form. Only when she shifted, did it slip, revealing a glimpse of alabaster skin; fragile, and now faintly bruised.

She noticed the squire’s glance; a mistake, boy; Nunnally thought; you shouldn’t be looking at me. Yet aside from shifting to lie more comfortably, she made no effort to conceal herself. Instead, she asked her question, hoping to distract the prince and let the boy’s insolence pass unnoticed.

Nunnally already knew the prince’s answer. He was not (that) difficult to read. Even for a simple merchant’s daughter, which she was not (or not really). But that knowledge changed nothing about how the world perceived her. Still, it was not so bad. She was used by one man, and not by many. She was a rare beauty, one that had bloomed from the filth of a poorer, less fortunate world. And now she was making her way towards something better. The prince was merely a step in the right direction, not the goal itself. She was not that foolish to assume he could be.

Aerion’s reply did not surprise her, though it was perhaps sharper than she had expected, sending a cold shiver down her spine. Perhaps she was unlucky that it was he who had noticed her; but it no longer mattered. What had happened could not be changed, and Nunnally would make the best of it.

“Good, then. Ambition is not something I lack.” – she made sure the squire had left the tent before allowing herself to sit, briefly exposing herself to the prince before drawing the silk robe around her. If anything, it made her appear even more sensual. And she needed Aerion to desire her (body).

“Shall I pour Your Highness some wine?” – she asked, fully aware that, despite everything, she was treading on the thin glass (of his patience). Waiting for his reply, she turned to face him, and then slowly approached him. Letting the robe slightly fall exposing her shoulders and her cleavage to him. A promise of pleasure he grew to enjoy.

Torrential rain hammered down without mercy, each icy droplet pelting his tiny amphibian form like a thousand tiny accusations from the heavens themselves. Oh, what a wretched spectacle he made now the great party prince of Maldonia, the one and only Naveen, transformed into a slimy little frog and flung aside like yesterday’s confetti into some godforsaken, unfamiliar swamp of a land far from the glittering balls and infectious jazz he lived for.

His small, slick body felt impossibly heavy, every feeble twitch of his new limbs sending waves of exhaustion crashing through him. Not that he had the faintest clue how to move like this, mind you hopping about on all fours like some common pond dweller? Perish the thought! Even the mere idea sent sharp, stinging pangs of pain radiating through his fragile new physique. Of all the extravagant, champagne soaked ways he had ever imagined shuffling off this mortal coil perhaps collapsing dramatically at the climax of the grandest masquerade, surrounded by adoring fans and beautiful dancers this?

Being cursed into a frog and left to croak his last in the mud? That had never once crossed his mind.

After all, it wasn’t as if he had ever done a single thing to harm anyone. No, no, the world loved him! He was the Party Prince, the ultimate fun-loving rascal everyone clamored to have around. Friends? He had them by the boatload. Fans? They stretched across every corner of the globe at least, that was what he had always believed with all his roguish heart. Yet here he was, dealt the cruelest hand fate could possibly play: to vanish without a trace from the world’s glittering stage, with no one ever knowing what had truly become of Prince Naveen, the dashing heir to the throne of Maldonia.

Chopper squeaked in surprise when he felt something on his shoulder. Hearing the voice, the reindeer tensed up, standing as still as possible. This individual, much like the ghost he assumed she was, vanished and reappeared behind him without a trace where he just witnessed her, prompting him to grit his teeth in unease and clench his hooves into small, cloven fists.

"N-No! I was just… going back to the mansion!" He didn't even say which mansion, but considering where they were, it should've been obvious that he was going to Roswaal's home. His eyes quivered on the verge of tears as he still viewed this oddity as a potential threat.

Inosuke woke up to the touch of something warm and slimey frantically running across his face.

He tried to keep his eyes shut, his traits contorting in displeasure, until he finally caved in and glared at his mother's latest technique to get him out of bed. Perhaps she was running a sponge across his face, or a warm rag that she'd doused in water...

"Just five more minutes..." He pleaded, popping an eyelids open. Weird... since when was his mom blonde?

Wait a minute.

This wasn't his mom. This was a huge, smelly dog.

Long, cream colors hair. A pointy snout with a tongue sprouting out, licking his face like it was trying to get a taste of its next meal. Weird, bright golden eyes that shone with malice, and black hair above that almost looked like a pair of eyebrows.

"....mom! There's a weird fucking dog in here!!"

He tried to push the ugly thing away, only to discover the mess that awaited behind him. On top of the usual mess, that was.

His schoolbag was scattered across the ground, paper sheets reduced to shreds. An entire afternoon's attempt at homework, perhaps Inosuke's only chance to get a passing grade.

Devoured. Destroyed.