Bramblepoint königinklinge

He greeted her in turn; she did so like to hear her proper title acknowledged in such a way, unphased though she might appear. Hydra had accomplished much, and strove only ever to accomplish more. With the Nightwalkers, it seemed attainable; it was no idle fancy, but something she had built. Her brick and mortar had started by tooth and claw, but Alya's words came to mind. 

Friends. She could do with those. And Mahler, a kindred spirit, might yet become one. Two conquerors, two kingdoms; who else might understand her ambitions better, except for Vengeance? Vengeance. Her sister might not like to hear it, but Hydra had come to enjoy him too. His savage sentiments and ways tapped into what had always existed within her, but that had rest idly for a time. Before Spring came to be, she owed him a visit. 

And yet, such a notion was difficult for her to follow through with. Again she thought of Dragomir, of her words to him: you choose who disappoints you, at least when you arrived to a certain point. Hydra was of the mind that she would simply rather not choose. Rid others by proxy of the ability to even get the chance of hurting her ever again. Life was better, for her, that way; easier, too. To grant others the opportunity to disappoint her, to hurt her, seemed a terribly foolish thing to do. 

She would so hate to be fooled twice.

As Mahler approached her, Hydra took in the full stock of him; if he faced the hardship of hunger, his thick winter furs hid it well enough. He was a handsome man, this General, strong and solid in look. Larger than she remembered, but then the last time she had seen him he had taken care to mind himself given where he had stood, then. Now, though, she could better see him for what he intended to be; as the sun dipped in the horizon, its splintered rays fractured in such a way around his head that the silver tips of his skull were, for a moment, dipped in shadow and sun both, splintering into something of a crown. 

A weaker woman might have swooned, but Hydra was no such thing—Queen in name, in deeds, in spirit. She was a woman who could appreciate, and wonder at, the craftsmanship of creatures as fine as he—as Dirge! How fortunate she was to be in a world where she could witness both; how unfair it was that she was a principled woman to only be able to claim one! Ah, well; she had no regret there, and did not think there might come a time that she ever would. 

You look well, she drawled in earnest as the proud shape of him was near. How have you fared this Winter? Diaspora? She inquired, wanting to know the truth of it and hoping he was doing as well as he looked.