#neovale

the creature lied slack as a pool of black, curdling blood smothered the snow beneath its open belly. its leathery face remained contorted, still possessing an unrelenting outrage that not even death could claim. it might have mocked her, but the raven queen was too transfixed by the traditional embroidery along the edges of the torn kaftan it wears. this creature had once been human -- that much is apparent, but it is the unapparent, a knowledge so few carry, that makes her pale beneath the cold ivory of her mask. staring at the blighted villager, as if time might reveal them to be no more than another trick from the whispered one, their putrid eye simply stares back -- -- unblinking, collecting snowflakes. and she knows without question she had seen this scourge once before.

there's a whistle of a storm blowing in, and of a dagger flying through the narrowed space between the white birch trees, finding its mark through the throat of another rogue creature. it is rare that the fate weaver should be blindsided. unprecedented that it should happen twice in the same day. ( then again, a young mage apprentice had once said to another, it's much easier to turn a blind eye to the things we do not wish to see ) she hears the creature's gurgling protest as it falls to its knees, until the last breath falls within her like a heavy stone.

at this his brows knitted faintly, as if she might have said the suspicious thing, the unlikely. for a long moment, against the backdrop of a half-hanging castle and the wisps of gloom taunting them from the cracks of the maddened earth, all they did was stare at one another. brother and sister, or so they were suppose to be, but he couldn't think of a time that had felt true to his soul. and if there had been a time such as that at all, what blade of fate had cut them up so mercilessly, that they were rendered unrecognisable to one another?

that he could not recognise any more the very woman who might have held his hand when he was a child, let alone the souls that might have raised them at all.

❛   home?   ❜ he said, and though he had meant to ask out of some deformed sense of confusion and sincerity, the ends of each letter could not help but grate against his teeth on the way out. his brows furrowed more deeply, flustered. ❛   and what home have you left to return to, that you're so eager to go?   ❜

it seemed one more barrier between them, though whether it held weight or was a figment of his imagination was still a debate he had not quite found the answers to. a part of him took satisfaction from the trouble and predicaments his refusals could prompt; another wondered how far he could stretch the thread before they left him to gloom. ❛   look—   ❜ a look in @neovale's direction and he wondered, had things gone differently, if she might have thought of him hopefully too, or missed him if he'd gone valiantly. ❛   we could still look through the caves until sundown. there's still time.   ❜

where the river finds its confluence, she finds the ire of the mountain. it was not entirely intentional. naivety and a demanding curiosity were to blame for possessing her to venture so far away from home. had her bevy really wished to have her abide their rules, to never swim beyond the lake, they would have been wise to name her something more stagnant.

❛❛ i was following the river, actually, ❜❜ she says, with a fae's way of half truths. ❛❛ which, coincidentally, follows your direction. . . ❜❜ finding no more use for disguises, the vila takes full shape, emerging as a spritely thing out of the steam that rises from the too warm waters of this strange, brumal wood.

❛❛    real touched, might have a sob.    ❜❜ the toneless delivery would entail anything but warmth however, as the supposed prince struggled to keep his unblinking expression from veering directly into a scowl. the only incentive to have held it back was knowing it would change little besides provoking the stern disapproval of every sheikah on the premises. though she had spoken in a manner consistent with herself, the same soft-spoken formality given to most, his ears only heard the thorns. a part of him realised it as he spoke to her face to face, slighted and with ire, that he had the same quiet tenor to his voice she did.

[    𐊌    ]       accepting,       an assortment of dialogue prompts …

the once-prince often did, but to voice it was an exchange scarcely delivered. in the grand realm of hyrule itself he felt he was at times a stranger to these lands and at once its brother, having known its high trees and lowest caves and yet, never before had he witnessed to full breadth of its castles and its hidden cliffs. there are faces here he does not recognises, yet nonetheless staring too long would pinch the back of his mind, a memory just out of reach without the will to enter into the palm of his hand.

impa was one of these faces, something about the depth of her straight mouth and worn hands an image out of his periphery, blurred intentionally by time or unintentionally by forgetfulness. at any rate, she seemed to feel his restlessness in a way only the land of hyrule ever did, evidenced by the sudden interruption of a very long silence. how would she have known that? to have seen it at all was bewildering, a supposition that one too many upsets with the other sheikah had left him somehow changed enough for notice.

dal had a point. the likelihood of the ceiling collapsing grew plausibly for every second that was spend reconciling the fact that there was, virtually, no apparent way out. kenneth pulled down the protective cloth that covered his mouth from the volume of sand and grim they were trapped with. along with a the bandwidth that would be required to deal with this claustrophobic disaster, they were also in need of something that bodily resembled a miracle.

❛❛    no, stay with me.    ❜❜ as in, stay present. as in, don't get nutty right now. he dragged his boots against the sand that seemed to grab at them with the strength of live hands. it wasn't deep enough to drown them yet, but the rapid funnelling would soon squander their chances. on top of that, they had a creaking roof to worry about. ❛❛    fuck.    ❜❜

a solemn quiet hangs over the horizon. for the same amount of time, in the same amount of years and same amount of intensity, it hangs between a sister and a brother. a sister who had clasped her crown with sinless wisdom, and a brother who had chucked it aside and run amok. he feels it now, that distinct thread that binds them together: a vibrant light, like colours over a shallow pool of water. and he feels the other thread too, the one that fractures and separates them; a thin seedling of corruption, darkening the underside of his eyes and drawing his breath short with the magician's pull. you got bad only to get better, only to get worse. the shadow had watched this transpire.