#softersinned01.

"It comes from the same place." Vastaus, she whispers and draws a path on unclad skin, fingers moving in tandem with the thundering pulse. Satu feels the current as one would wind, restless, untamed, nestled beneath layers of magic. A myriad of spells. It's expected; commendable, even. A witch does not open willingly to another witch. 

Not so easily, not without trust.

"I want to know what my magic feels like to you." Still, she presses on, leaving a string untied, loose, and enough power in the air to entice Astoria in.

(  Though  out  of  sight,  his  children  do  not  stray  too  far  behind, waiting  for  his  consent.  Vainly.  )

The  dragon smiles.  This  is  their  introduction.  How  apt,  to  stand  before  a  myth,  a  waning  idea.  Before  Apollo's  victory,  and his  tragic  attempt  at  permanence.  But  nothing  is  unending.

Except  him.

“ HM. ”  A frigid body and a pool of congealed blood are swept aside. And like a moth to a flame, he turns to her, the gruesome murder already yesterday's news. Top of the food chain, difficult to please. Impossible to miss.

He takes aim. Figuratively speaking, of course.