Beauty over Wisdom- Just as beautiful as you are; It's so pitiful what you are.

Zafina · April 05, 2019, 12:45 PM

Imprisoned, banished, into a nexus of my own design...
Now Time mocks me, and my sentence is Gravity.

The Witch pondered slow and intimately over Amekaze, over how she could be dissecting each of her words, looking for ways the Divine could be incriminating herself. How she would certainly need to watch what she threw out of her mouth, before either Amekaze caught her, or the other Celestials cursed her with forcing this to be true.

“Three?!” she gasped, nearly recoiling from the shoulder up with discomfort in the surprising fact. Three! She hadn’t had experience with the aspect of children, but she knew of it- the pain it wracked mortal bodies with, the immense pressure and stigma of it, across near all species the survival of them-
Amekaze has survived three waves of agony through replication!

’No wonder why she desires no more spawn,’ she concluded. Amekaze has been through that vile mess thricedly. It was then she wondered if Charon was simply bedazzled by the single aspect of replication, of populating all of this plane with his spawn. What difference it would make, how much impact it could have. Or whether he just wanted to keep with a tradition of keeping an assumed bedridden mate.

Surely sympathy began to spurn at this ordeal, and Zafina had only brought herself back to her senses before she had managed to ask, “How many total have you produced? And what was your most in any of the trio?”

Their walk was coming to round one of the many perilous trails upon the exterior of the mountain, both darkly pelted women blending well against the darker shades of the stone flesh. In weather bleached fractures, they stood out, calm and sharp shades against the slate and granite skin.

The air grew crisper, colder.

”[font]What you’ve given me is enough[/font],” she gave a modest smile, something close to appreciation lilting into the end of the sentence, heightening the abrupt end to it, smoothly. The dulcets clung around them, sticking briefly before echoing outward in soft mockings. “It is very rich, and it sustains. Very inspiring to someone such as myself.” The Celestial have a gentle nod to the mortal shadow, before allotting- “Should I give you my history, you’d think me mad. And I rather not meet the borders again on farewell terms.” Though it annoyed her the narrow mindedness of mortals, some had come and given her history a taste. And she had proven to them she was no mere wolf, explaining the above and beyond of her mysticism and her knowledge of where they too had come from. She recalled Kove, the Northerner, one whom was surprised she spoke of His Tongue.
Many others had come, and as Kove, had gone.

But every sky will build my throne.