#gabriel1

The dragon was quite literally experiencing true suffering for the first time. The damned corset was pulled tighter than Rune had even realized his body would allow it, he could barely breathe, couldn't move freely or sit down comfortably. He knew the castle was most likely trying to get back at him for all the trouble he'd caused but they surely didn't understand that retaliation would only rile the hybrid up more.

Even the damned suit jacket was tight, so tight that even when he buttoned it up it didn't hide the too feminine for his own comfort curve of his waist. He wanted to disappear, no, he wanted to rip everyone's head off. Yeah, rip them off and then disappear with the heads. His morbid train of images full of screams and blood were interrupted when he caught sight of someone staring at him in his peripheral, head snapping towards the unlucky man with fangs bared.

“Listen good, skoulíki.” It was a siren’s insult. Worm. Digger and dweller of Earth. As if she was not covered head to toe—yes, toe—in dirt right now. Dried dirt, sand, wet dirt, moss, blood. Filth of all sorts. Her elbow pushed deeper into the V of their collarbone, threatening the windpipe where it was vulnerable there. “I saw you palm my knife and I am going to fuck your life up if I don’t have it back by the end of this sentence, because if you think that’s my only weapon—”

It always went like this in Carynthia. She avoided the mountainous region whenever she could, but it wasn’t always a luxury that was afforded those who didn’t have a home, ergo, didn’t have reliable plumbing, ergo, sometimes a bitch needed a bath that wasn’t supervised by pirates in the bay or old men in high-rise apartments. 

Ergo, Carynthia. 

Except the fresh water made the inhabitants stupid she was pretty sure, because every fucking time she came here some slick bastard wolf tried to take her shit. Including the knife she’d kept safe for—

“OW!” Fable rasped out the exclamation. She had the knife back alright. Right in her side. She raised her fist and punched the mutt square in the nose, but when they stumbled back (taking the knife with them) and ran, Fable didn’t follow. “You stupid bitch!” she screamed at their retreating back. 

One ragged breath in, one ragged breath out. She steadied herself on a tree with one hand, pressed hard against the wound with the other. “Spare the tides,” she prayed in resignation. Don’t stop the world for me. 

Anyway, she’d been bluffing. It was her only weapon. Great. 

She wasn’t worried about the wound. Judging by the shaking of her hands she had little time left before the shitty ethereum she’d taken that morning wore off. Physically, she’d heal in the water over the course of the night, forced back into her tail. Because if they’d swiped her knife, they’d sure as shit swiped her e, too. She’d be stuck in this stupid pool until she could charm a dose off someone else. 

Hesitation had made Orlaith slow to get here. Days passed after her conversation with Elias, and then weeks, and suddenly more than a month was gone and the mysterious pictures were still hidden away in a drawer, not forgotten but not thought of either. It was a form of protection, she knew. The closer she got to the answers, the higher the stakes became. She already knew she was heading towards uncovering something she didn’t want to - the involvement of her father - but that was only the beginning of it. She could discover something worse. 

And so she had delayed. But she was here now, books piled around her in a frustrating pile, not because she couldn’t find what she was looking for - a reference to the Stone of Destiny and its connection with her mother, and those mysterious runes - but because she found it everywhere and it still told her nothing. Orlaith’s mouth had gaped when she’d recognised the runes carved into all the walls, a section here, another over there. She didn’t know what they said, but she knew the patterns the lines made by heart now, having stared at the pages she had found in her dad’s office so much. It was there, over and over again. It meant something, that much was clear, but the books, despite holding reference to what she was looking for did not tell her what it all meant. 

Frustration gripped Orlaith. With a sigh thrust out between gritted teeth, she shut the heavy book she had been looking through and pushed it aside, making room for the next book. It felt pointless to open another since all the others had been so unhelpful, but she did it anyway.