#korcarian

Theshe-elf was the spitting image of anything and everything bitter, yet shecould not say she had had the privilege to truly live. Her kind had always beenon the run, dissuaded time and time again to pick up arms and fight theiroppressors, thereby forced to live in conditions of uncertainty. Emra had attempted to resist in her youth, or at the very least, had beenstubborn enough to speak against each effort to pick up what little belongings they had and carry alongas soon as the tides grew tense. Those were strained times; she’d been born at the end of a war, a warthat was not their own, and for which they had paid all the same. They had always been the bystander, and more often thevictim than they were not. Clans of shem’len insisted on distinguishing themselves,but she could not tell them apart. Their crimes were one and the same. 

Ithad taken many years for her to ease into the obedience she did notquestion, for the good of the clan. Her fighting days would come, she promisedherself in earnest, and it would not serve to challenge the Keeper by conductingherself as the child of old. She bore her vallaslin now, an adult to her clan,a recognised hunter and protector of her kinfolk; but also an abandoned child,discarded by a mother best erased from their history altogether. She wasresentful of the mother name she bore, as was their custom, and swore a daywould come where she would be known otherwise. Her wishes had been fulfilled,though it was not in the manner she would have hoped for.

❝  What of those who have onlyknown bitterness?  ❞   She returns sharply. It was not to sayEmra had never known tender hand or tender heart, but always she had borne something resentful inward.  ❝  Would you say a child whohasn’t yet reached their fifth year has truly lived?  ❞   

     “It’s done.” Is all she says before leaning in, her mouth moving against hers without pause, crushing her lips. She doesn’t kiss softly – she wouldn’t know how – but she lacked the thirst and hunger that would have otherwise rendered her touch profound, poignant. For all that Morrigan was – certainly not some reward for the completion of her quest, at the very least – Emra harboured a lasting fascination for her, the oddity in her rigid expectations. It was a strange thing, to pursue something she did not quite comprehend, but it had happened naturally, gradually, and surprisingly, willingly. 

The fire within her burned not hot, but cold. Biting through skin, forming cracks in fortified walls. The threads between this world and hers were not singed, but ratherfrayed, severed, and gnawed. This was not her fight ; thiswould never be her fight. It was not change that she feared ; she feared that change would never come, and that her venture would cost them everything. She did not fret over what was right or wrong – she had always drawn her stimuli from whether she was justified. An impetus that never wavered.

     Responsibility weighs on her shoulders, an opportunity sitting on her hands, but she does not know how to seize it. The life of the forest had not prepared her for this. She could both take a life, and save one, but she had no means to ensure progress. She was first taught to build, before she was taught to destroy, but this?

     She rarely hoped. There were no ifs, no buts. There was only what was, what would be, and what couldn’t ; what failed. She did not need hope to endure, only strength of the mind. When the latter lacked, she would forge a new one. This required hope, only she did not know where to draw her hope. 

“I’ve never aspired to be a bridge.” It rings hollow, and doubt weaves its way into her utterance. Doubt was weakness, and weakness did not befit her, was unlike her. It was by no means blatant, lest she be scrutinised by the trained eye. A trained eye the witch possessed. 

It was simple enough, as they lay together in silence. Thewitch opens her mouth to speak,and the free elf’s ears hearken to listen – she always listened. Even when theyhad had little reason to trust one another, Morrigan had proven herself to be quick-wittedand sharp – all the reason to listen to her observations, and give themconsideration. Today still, she respects her voice.

She props herself up on her elbows, her body bare, and herself unashamed. Her eyes were faintlyluminescent in the dim lighting, as they trail over the mage’s curves, tracingrunes into her skin, over analytic, lost in thought. Once she would have been repulsed at thethought of joining with another human, but such reflection had long left theforefront of her mind. Instead, her gaze was appreciative. 

❛ We do not settle, Morrigan. ❜She leans in, her voice soft asthe rumble of a storm, before she presses salient lips to her shoulder. ❛ Weknow what we want, and when to wantthem. ❜ She reaches up and nips at a human ear with pointed teeth, as thoughthey had been honed alongside her daggers. Morrigan’s ears were small, rounded, like any other human’s. She had never been able beento appreciate them – her nibble was almost spiteful, even if it washarmless. 

She could be selfish – it was not inherent, not when she had been raised with clan mates that served as family, and they had functioned as a family, but she waslearning. Even if her main objectives – defeating the archdemon, ending theblight – could only circle back to her people, she was not their mindless servant. Not even to her Gods.

She was cruel – cruelwhen she claims the life of a selfish, reckless mother, depriving a troubledchild of motherhood. In retrospect, it was for the better, and yet, she hadn’t cared for the consequences. She hadn’t hesitated, or chosen a way that would have avoided such bloodshed. She had been given a choice, and she had made it.   

when I was in elementary school I told everyone I would be a marine biologist when I grew up and proceeded to memorize like ½ of a marine-life almanac verbatim adlsfknsdf I FEEL THE NERDINESS ABOUT IT I REALLY DO

Lashes flutter o❜er amber irises, which glitter unrestrained admiration, lips curling a simper so faint, were you to blink you would surely miss it. A brow quirks, fingers smoothing along the flesh of her arm whilst they crossed upon her chest.

    ❛ What have you need of? ❜

The faint curl of her lips stalls her reply, the flush of colour painting her cheeks quasi-merry, if only temporarily. ‘Twas a novel façade for one that steers, yet dons airs of shadows ; darkness become, but light for the heedless.

❛ My, you are rather bold. ❜