Black Morass toward salvation

@Ione and maybe @Isobel too

he had tracked her up and down these lands. from dustbowl to open valley, now to swamp. his sister was a woman of her travels, it seemed!

or was she evading him? did she know he was looking for her?

eyes narrow as he creeps forwards, pushing his way through moss and vine, his footsteps as cautious as a foraging hare. unwilling to be caught, ready to spring at a moment's notice.

there was a pungent stench loitering all across this swamp, imbued into the very essence of gnarled roots and soft ground. the scent of a man, of a tyrant. thantos had no intention of being caught in his jaws—he simply wished to see his sister.

there was no fucking telling what she was up to now.

ione knew before she saw him.

the shift in the air, the faint disturbance in the stillness of the morass—she did not need to look to know who had come.

when she did turn, eyes softened, warmth blooming beneath the surface of her usual composure. thantos.

she moved to him without hesitation, slipping through the mist like she had been waiting for him all along. where had he been? where had she been? it did not matter now.

brother, she greeted, voice touched with something almost fond. her tail flicked, an unspoken welcome. you found me.

i will always find you. he says.

closing the distance between them with ample strides, a smile coming to warm his face. usually so characteristically sour, or on the other hand, sarcastic. but he is riddled with an overwhelming sense of relief at seeing her face once more.

but also distaste to see that she has been claimed. her scent interwoven with the shrouds of the man he had smelled coming upon this territory. eyes flash, leaving his thoughts to be bared; she will know it upsets him.

but he masks it still, coming to embrace her in a hug. burrowing nose into her fur to inhale her scent—choosing to ignore that of the brute who had defiled his sweet sister. this was not her fault! no, it could never be.

ione sees it, the flicker of displeasure that tightens the corners of his eyes, the subtle shift in his posture. she does not miss the way his nose twitches, how his expression, for just a breath of a moment, hardens like stone.

he does not approve.

but still, he embraces her, and she does not hesitate to return it, pressing into the familiarity of him. her brother—her blood. his scent is a balm against the weight she carries, a reminder of a time before. before the morass. before kovictus. before she became this.

you always do, she murmurs, voice low, knowing. he has always come for her, through the years, through the changes. through the men.

when she pulls back, her eyes search his face, the remnants of his smile, the tension beneath it. she exhales slowly. you disapprove, she states plainly, not a question but an observation. then, softer— but you are here.

since their first meeting, the priestess had taken to following in ione's footsteps. or rather, the woman's shadow. she'd pledged herself to ione and her cause—for the promise of power, of worship. of sacrifices. 

she would worship ione and their gods. she would claw through the ranks to restore the title that'd been torn from her hands. she would rise again, this time besides an equally powerful woman. 

they would do great things, and the gods would grant them blessings. isobel would make sure of this. 

but, in the meantime, she quite enjoyed following her goddess's gentle footsteps. and oh, what she'd led isobel too was far more enticing than any ritual or hymn. 

she watched from her cloak of shadow as ione embraced a tall, dark, and handsome man. her sharp eyes admiring, assessing the man. he wasn't who'd claimed ione—as it was not his scent that draped her. 

that meant isobel could toy with him, without the interference of a jealous partner. she smiled to herself, before she stepped forth into the light. 

"a family reunion?" she purred with a low giggle. "how wonderful. you did not tell me you had a brother, ione." she danced up to ione's side when they broke the embrace, brushed against the woman with reverence. 

it seemed their entire bloodline was blessed with beauty. "and whom may you be?" isobel smiled toward the man, her tail swaying like a banner at her hind.

there is bliss. momentary joy as he is held in the arms of his sister. as he breathes in her scent. as he thinks of what could have been—what almost was, but could not be.

she pulls away and all remains is the coldness in the lack of her. thantos eyes harden momentarily, looking down upon her face, and he speaks through a tense jaw. he holds land. he says. so he is better than the last.

and he leaves it at that, because then a seductress appears from the vines. the sashay of her hips like a whisper of promise, a beckoning finger that thantos hardly can resist. eyes move from her hips to her eyes in slow motions so that she has time to notice how he gawks upon her.

it is then he decides he shall stay.

i am thantos. his accent a smoky mix of his father and mothers. the entangling of spanish lilt and greek sword. and what do they call you? it is jarring how quickly his attention can switch between women. ione is mounted by another man now—not that she ever really, truly allowed thantos the opportunity—and so he must turn his eye upon another!

thantos does not mourn what is lost.

the way thantos' attention flickered, how easily he was drawn in by isobel's presence. predictable. men always were.

but isobel—oh, she was something else entirely.

ione did not scold, did not bite, only corrected with a whisper of warning beneath her tone. reverend mother, isobel. you would do well to remember it. a gentle reminder, but a reminder nonetheless. power did not go unchecked, not here. not with her.

her gaze shifted, drifting back to thantos, taking in his hard-set jaw, the way his words carried the weight of judgment beneath their surface. he is better than the last, she repeated, something unreadable in her expression. and still, you frown. she stepped closer, brushing past him with the same ease as isobel had brushed against her. does my happiness sour your tongue so?

but she did not press him for an answer. instead, she turned to isobel once more, watching the way her priestess played at something sweet, something tempting. he is my blood, she said, but i suspect he will not stay my concern for long.

she tilted her head, gaze sharp, knowing. will he, isobel?

my late ass reply...

"apologies, reverend mother." she hummed. respectful, as ione commanded nothing less. and what is isobel, if not faithful toward her queen? she would bend the knee and she would use whatever title her goddess wished; for she'd offered her nothing anyone else could. 

except for this man. perhaps he could offer her something much more pleasurable. 

she watched their interaction with a knowing smile. it seemed he was disapproving of their dominus. it would be a simple pleasure, getting to know why. but that would be for a later date. she'd have plenty of time to spin her web.

thantos. he's leering at her, in such a way that makes her chest swell with confidence and pride. yes, keep your gaze on me. she slinks away from her reverend mother's side, to now circle the man.

"mi nombre es isobel." she cooed. she steps close enough just to glide against his side for only a moment. just to tease. her gaze meets ione, and they're knowing. always knowing. 

she grins. a viper ready to strike, a black widow ready to kill. "he will not be. i will take good care of him."