#moirabanshee

He’d been avoiding going to the cemetery since it happened. Everything had gotten so messed up and he didn’t feel like he was allowed to pay his respects. Hadn’t he spent the better part of fifteen years avoiding the man? Just because he’d gotten a little ink done by him didn’t mean they were close. Still, he felt like there’d always been a weird pull between the two of them. Like they’d been linked because of the events of the fall day when he was 15. He hated that he’d wasted all those years, but it didn’t change anything. They’d been on two different paths. They’d always been on two different paths. 

Amos had demons and a way of dealing with them that Demitri would never understand. It had been those demons that had caught up to him, as so many said they would. It hurt to know the world had lost such a good soul, but it was what it was. Death was a way of life. The end of a cycle and the beginning of another. Demitri could respect it, even if he wasn’t a fan of who it had chosen to take this time. 

Months had gone by and Demitri had not ventured into the burial ground. He’d heard about what happened on Halloween, but again, he hadn’t wanted to set foot inside. The pain of dealing with the loss of what could have been an amazing friendship, the shame of knowing he’d fucked that off and the knowledge that the sacred ground was probably hurting had kept the earth witch from crossing the line into the cemetery. It been long enough, though and with what was going on with Xera, Demitri was feeling like maybe he should visit his friend. He was kind of worried he’d be attending the funeral of another friend sooner rather than later. 

The walk was easy enough, but he’d been right. The ground was hurting. He could feel the unrest with each step. The plants called out to him, he could feel them straining and reaching. He tried to ignore it on his way to the headstone, but as he walked, spells fell from his lips, his fingers touched trees and plants, easing their pain. He did that all the way to Amos grave and even as he sat on the ground, he fed it his magic, hoping to bring comfort to it. 

He said nothing to Amos, though his fingers ghosted over the lettering of the stone. He didn’t really know what to say. He missed him, but Demitri wasn’t very good at talking anyway. Instead he just placed a wooden carved feather that matched the image on his arm at the base of the headstone and turned to leave. 

“Just because you care doesn’t make it your problem.” She sneered at him, lip upturned in a snarl. But the look on his face, that look that so easily called out her bullshit made her falter, her nose wrinkled indignantly as her jaw jutted out, “I can handle this on my own. There’s no need to put you in harm’s way for my mistakes.”

“Just...” Rayne raged inside, a storm brewing behind sapphire eyes. “This is not just a flesh wound,”  She all but growled in anger. Her hand pressed the once white towel to the wound on his chest and she glared down at him. This was not a flesh wound, if she had not been in control of her hunger, this blood would have sent her into a frenzy. “What the fuck were you trying to accomplish. Las? Besides getting yourself killed!” 

The woods were alive with noise. In the dead of night she heard the cries; mixed sounds of wolves howling and men shouting. It was confusing, and there was an electricity in the air that made her skin go numb. Padded feet thundered past her, large beasts descending into the dark depths of the forest ahead, their eyes gleaming in the moonlight that trickled down between the leaves of the canopy. 

Flashes littered the fringes of the blackness and the howls were replaced with wailing cries. Mina... In the chaos, something stung her that made her gasp and step back. Her hands clasped her waist and she immediately felt the wet warmth flooding in ribbons over her fingers. Mina... She raised her trembling hands, the colour of red shining on her skin as Mina drew in a sharp breath as a metallic taste filled her mouth. 

“Mina!” 

She woke with a start, a gasp of breath drawn in as she scrambled for a moment before cool hands smoothed down heated skin, “Sssh my dear,” The soft voice purred to her, “It was only a dream.” Moira cooed, and Mina settled again, head falling back into the banshee’s lap as pale fingers coiled amongst ruby locks. 

It was an interesting phenomena, how morality was dictated. It was all to do with the way in which you treated others, which Ashildr agreed with to an extent. However, she took it a step further. Morality wasn’t judged by how you judged the living, it was how you treated the dead and the act of death itself. 

To others, killing was immoral. To a goddess of death, it was only the beginning. Ash knew people were scared of her, they were frightened of death because it was something that they didn’t understand. They were even more frightened in how easily death could come by her hands, but truly… Was that such a bad thing? 

Ash gave death like a gift, morality had nothing to do with it. Breaking the wolf’s neck beneath the grip of her fingers in the midst of the ring may have been seen as immoral, but everyone knew the rules here. Still, it doesn’t stop the drunk or weary from trying to take revenge in the dark allies Ash feared not to tread. 

They were angry, and Ash knew that was a mortal condition. They didn’t like how she brought death with such joy, they didn’t understand that she had sent the fierce fighter on with the chances of being plucked by her sisters to feast in the great halls. She might not have the power herself anymore, but there was always someone watching a battle. They surrounded her, thinking that numbers will help.

✍: For what my muse has written about yours in their diary.

☄: My muse is lost, luckily there is cellphone reception- does my muse dare to call yours for help?