Altar of Twilight standing in the ashes at the end of the world

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Dakarai apologized as any decent husband might, but it did little to quell the sorrow that simmer in her gut.  The shrouded empath felt his regret and returned it to him a thousandfold. Between the two lovers there was so much sadness, made ever worse by the completeness of her adoration for the dark night. He was good — too good for her. They were two sides of the same coin; but such duality [and at the same time, such esoteric harmony] which so often led to the volatility which plagued their earthly existence. It was impossible for her to renounce her love for the man, even when the stars so willingly shared their displeasure. Their love upset the natural balance of the world and it revolted against them, trying to buck them from their paths and resume the energetic homeostasis! The lovers had left the stars’ warnings unheeded, believing their love was enough to solve their more practical dilemmas. It was a factor in Dakarai’s fateful injury, in their expulsion from the coast [and the hinterlands] and their banishment from Teaghlaigh. 

Perhaps that was the starcrossed lover’s downfall; never knowing when enough was enough.

Declan acknowledged her wish to stop with a terse grunt, which the mother was thankful for — the man was not the most social of fellows and often times did not heed her wishes [though, who was she to make requests of him?]. Olive loathed the role he played in her life: he was her axeman, the huntsman. The one who delivered their sentence and swung the proverbial sword. Deep within her heart, the fae knew Declan was not to blame for the actions that were Arturo’s doing, but he vexed her all the same.  Turning from Declan, the shewolf placed Cassiopeia on the ground and Olive kissed her husband’s velveteen cheek. She settled on the ground and curled her waifish frame around the small pups. A nudge from her frangible maw encouraged the babes to latch properly and as her two children suckled hungrily she kissed their milkstained faces, wishing them to drink their fill and then some.

Breaking the relative silence amongst the small band of prisoners, Olive turned her attention [once again] to the solitary Teaghlaigh member who bedeviled them. “How much farther must we go before you consider your task complete?” The woman questioned hotly, wishing to finally tend to her many hurts in peace. For the longest time the small, tragic family had remained under the oppressive thumb of their pack [turned captors] — but they were now so close to freedom and so close to the new beginning she so desired.  It was difficult to withhold her frustrations; Olive had never learned how to do so.  Her eyes cut a narrow gaze and her words were spoken in a gravellike tone. “I hope Ceannasach is proud of you, leaving young children to starve in foreign lands.”

She no longer knew how to bite her tongue, for what was the use? If she remain silent, she ran the risk of abuse; but if she speak up, but ran the risk of retribution. Olive now saw the role she played in Teaghlaigh’s woes and no longer believed herself to be an innocent, but she was determined to no longer be the silent victim of her circumstances. So Olive gritted her teeth, tossed Dakarai glance, and waited for her reckoning.

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