Sun Mote Copse archelaos

far from anywhere she knew, she was born again.

again, again, again!

the chanting of a greedy, restless spirit. perhaps it was the divinity in her blood which sung to such things, never denied of it before. it had become too easy to consume new things (places, experiences, others) in her life and come out the other side bathed in blood.

this time she wore fire, she wore flames.

a phoenix replaced the royal eagle.

and it is her warrior, her blood bound, who comes to see this next part of life. perhaps more loyal than she had ever been — or ever deserved. it is the royal hunger within her that calls for him, though. it is the fire in her veins that burned for him.

there is a blood debt that is owed to a crone, too. she whispers nothing of that now in this reunion. it is not for his mind to carry the brunt of and it is not even in her own to sully pleasures with talk of politics. even if she knows all too well how two topics dance so beautifully together in a royal court.

tonight she wishes for only the two of them to dance.

tonight this copse will be their own.

he has already set it into motion with his call. it would never be obedience (what is this, though?) that had her heed it, but she comes when called. she admired him in ways denied before now. allowed herself to appreciate the carving of muscles and the height his limbs thrusted him into. she adored the brilliant gold he wore like a royal cloak similar to her own — and his eyes a shade of blue!

do not call out again, devilish warning but the mischief that danced upon her warming face says he is safe from ire. i do not wish for any eyes or ears that are not your own. she reached for him with teeth that intended to hold and not pierce.