although ondinea had been banished from the naiads, esos nymph instincts were still very much intact. their body would react before their mind. a familiar smell. a whiff of hot iron and bruised bone. hys eyes go wide and there's an urge to run. ondinea doesn't. can't. they're still in their dance studio, packing up. the nymph isn't entirely sure what's going on until a very familiar face enters.

"oh, i-- lord ares--" ondinea fumbles, drops the ballet slippers they were about to slip into their bag. the nymph bows, avoids eye contact. it had been years since they crossed paths with someone so powerful. so influential. their sisters had always fawned over ares, finding him handsome and strong and important. nothing like the lower level deities and satyrs that chased them around. ondinea nodded along to their sisters chirping and cheeping once upon a time, but being in the god's presence now is nothing less than terrifying.

────── Heat is sapped from her the moment she holds the Jewel of Souls in her hands. As if it were warning her that the intention in her heart was against every set of rules she'd been given from the moment of her glorious birth. There is that sense of foreboding that precedes a dangerous, perhaps even stupid decision, but she had already steeled her heart to do this. So she must.

A subtle glow stars from between her fingertips and steadily grows brighter and brighter as she begs the artifact to do as she willed. Bring him back, fix him the way he was. She doesn't dare utter the selfish wish aloud and instead closes her eyes. That stomach churning feeling of magic beyond her current level causes the world to spin, tipping downwards as if she might collapse onto the cool floor of the his tomb. A wave of nausea causes her mouth to water and she squeezes her eyes shut as if that might right the world that is threatening to collapse.

To use such powerful magic was surely a bad idea. Yet, even as waves of nausea and regret ensue, she knows that this is the only way to save him. He'd already been used and discarded by the Heavens, despite her warnings, but where they had confined him too had been lost to her. She'd been searching for what felt like an eon and the moment she had figured out that it was his final place? She'd stolen this piece of her very own soul and had fled without a second thought.

Finally, after what feels like eons, that ice cold feeling eases. The dizziness doesn't quite quell but she can barely focus on that when the feeling in the tomb has completely changed. A flash of silver hues and she peers into the darkness, looking for a sign of something. "Wei Feng....are you there?" She whispers, a deep ache in her chest.

Cherry, by some miracle, had managed to make something grow. Down here, where the roots of dead trees twisted up through cracked, crumbling soil. No birds sit chirping on their knobbly branches and the only real sound was the rolling wind through thick, reed like weeds... that was until the first tomato plant had begun to spring. Perhaps it was whatever life force Cherry himself brought to the land, but slowly and surely green had started to sprout from that once dry and barren patch of dirt outside the small cottage he now called home.

"I asked him to bring me flowers, I hope he does-" the cherub sighs to himself as he eyes the empty jam jar, ready to act as a make-shift vase for the flowers he'd requested from Azrail on his next visit. Visits that had become too far apart for Cherry's liking - he was going to bring that up too. With a huff the cherub starts to shuffle on his boots, intending to head out and tend to his small vegetable patch, before the sound of something takes his attention. It was distant at first, but then it becomes louder. The caw of a bird!

"Birds-!" He gasps, leaping forward and out of the door, hoping to see a flurry of plumage, maybe a red breasted robin, or something light like a parakeet! Instead, what he sees is crows... eating his tomatoes!

Working for one generation of cruel, pompous bastards is enough.

It started as a joke. Heir apparent Feyd laughed to Baron Vladimir that he'd like to be 'given' Piter as a wedding present. Vladimir just rumbled back that Piter can't cook, doesn't listen, and talks too much. Piter laughed, though he was privately irked to be spoken of like that, and told Feyd, "He can afford me. You can't."

But the topic must have come up again between them, in a conversation Piter was not part of. Because one day, suddenly, it was reintroduced to him as the plan. There was an evil light in Vladimir's eye, as he delivered the news. He and Piter have always butted heads, and Vladimir has always taken the position that a Baron should not have to work so hard to gain the simple cooperation of a mere advisor. He gave Piter the news like he was solving the problem of him. With the wedding on the way, Vladimir's biggest project at the moment is really just making sure that Feyd and his lovely bride, the girl what's-her-name from their new political ally, get settled and stay on track for inheriting the Barony. So, yes, it's for the best if Piter stops working for Vladimir and works for Feyd, since he knows so well what is needed. And, yes, the new role would come with a significant pay cut. But if Feyd is satisfied with Piter's work, Piter will have his old role back when Feyd takes over as Baron, right?

"A little motivation can work wonders on changing a fellow's attitude," Vladimir gloated. "You of all people should know that."

He was alluding to Piter's work in the dungeons, work that a Baron would never bloody his hands with. And maybe if a Baron would, he would know that twisting a knife is actually not a magic shortcut to cooperation... doing that to a person mostly just makes them hate you.

Is it really that hard for these nobles to understand that if they want me to do things for them, they have to pay me? Piter thinks to himself with satisfaction, as he cautiously takes the rings from sweet what's-her-name. See? This girl gets it! And I did not even ask her. I was doing this for my own petty revenge, and still, she understands.

He studies what's-her-name (it's Faeyeth, he remembers) with new eyes. He's still deciding what he's actually going to do with her. The wedding was so close by the time he decided to act that he had no time to properly come up with a plan. He's sure he's done enough already to have made a lifelong enemy of the Barony, but he doesn't want to make them so angry they'll send assassins after him. Sending Faeyeth's remains to Feyd in a big gristly box wrapped up with a bow would communicate some important points, sure... but that would be designing his own death as well. Nobles get particularly antsy when they become targets of the violence they perpetuate. His fully violet eyes, a cost of peering into magic for knowledge that man was not meant to know, are a dead giveaway. He can expect to get by, living in hiding for a while, but he would not survive a dedicated manhunt.

If he shouldn't design an early death, what does designing survival look like? The thought comes to him that Faeyeth is... well, she's a lot cuter and more likeable than a bitter, middle-aged political advisor who more often keeps company with maidens of the iron variety. If they travel together, kind and honest people might be moved to suffer helping him, if it means helping Faeyeth. And the cruel people, people like him, who would mainly understand Faeyeth as an easy target or a valuable bargaining chip, he can kill. He found her first!

"I come from the Barony you were to be wedded to," he says slowly. "I will not be forgiven for helping you, and I intend to try to seek asylum with a Duchy by the sea. Their rivalry with the Barony has lasted for over a century. If the one Great House could not crush the other in all of that time, I expect there is no safer refuge."

He has puzzled over the matter of getting them to honor a plea for asylum, when he is known to them as the man behind their enemy's schemes. They have a reputation of being honorable, but he doubts anyone would be that honorable. Would they shelter the likes of Faeyeth, though? There's no question. And if he and Faeyeth arrived together? He smiles, slightly.

                                                                       ✧･ﾟ  𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓'𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐗.

        Taliesin snorted into his wine-glass, stifling a bitter chuckle. ❛❛Fine. Likewise. Since the idea of touching me is such a horrible option.❜❜ Humans. How entitled she was to think that defrauding him of their wedding night was some sort of punishment. It had been a tiny silver lining, he admitted it, but he wouldn’t have taken much joy in it. Fayeth was pleasant on the eye but gods, the circumstances ruined it. IT WAS BEYOND HIM how someone could’ve deemed him fitting for this, but they obviously were wrong. They were also wrong about his formerly betrothed and oh-so sweet now-wife. Handing out olive branches wasn’t an easy task if both were so good at snapping them. The one she was offering him right now came with a bit of surprise, but only regarding the package she tried to sell it with.