@bleedingwings​ Location: The Embassy

“There always has to be at least one truly unruly child. Admittedly, I should have remembered that you were the closest thing I ever had to that.” Though, she’d always made it quite clear that she wouldn’t always be there - that things beyond her control would always see fit that she could never linger too long while still rising to power. He’d never been devoid of such knowledge. “Oh, they were luckier than they should have been.” Dismantling what remained of the coven in such a way was a rather quick fix, and not exactly what she might have preferred - but time was always of the essence. “Are you not already in my debt, Kaan?” She asked, casting idle curiosity in his direction. “They’ll close ranks. What remains and what they’ll build of the senate, I expect you to be among them. Play nice, for now.”

pythia​.

The lengthy twist of her smile as he chides her is minute, enough to cast weary indifference in his direction as she peeks up at him from the comfort of the chaise lounge she occupies. “You should be far more impressed, Kaan. I only moved twice as quickly as you did in securing your place within a second coven. Though, I suppose you had to learn treachery from somewhere, didn’t you?” It’s little more than a jest - his occupation amuses her greatly and has for centuries now. “My oracle? Do you truly believe this is all due to some little prophecy? Tsk. Tsk. Where’s your faith?”

-

“Yes, because I should have spent my time pining the loss of you instead of doing just as you would have done.” The words hold no malice, nor any indication other than amusement at her own words. He had spent too many years searching for a means to restore the Asphodel coven, had sacrificed too many in her name in the hopes of retrieving what had been lost. The Narcissus coven, however, had been a means for his own selfish gain. He had slipped into its folds, made a name for himself, and secured the mantle of Sovereign for his own goals. For his own safety. “The other covens were not so lucky, especially the Amaranthus. Color me surprised to receive a message from your oracle prior. Shall I consider myself in your debt then?”

Interruption had always irked her - as a general, she’d never tolerated it. As a demonic entity? Even less so. One would think that they’d learnt their lesson, the death she’d dealt to the woman one that barely sparked familiarity among the myriad of bodies and soul’s she’d taken since the previous Halloween. Life within the confines of Rome had not been short of them. Lips left behind the slight imprint of the brazen red lipstick she wore, an exceptionally good iced coffee intruded upon as she strode haphazardly towards the markets.  “Excuse me?” Disdain dripped from her words thick as tar. Paid to kill. The idea of it alone made her seek a blossom of laughter within her chest, and yet, still incredulity stalled her as she looked upon the clearly seething woman. The snap of her finger coiled serpentine attention to the man passing them by and the split second sound drew him to a near statuesque stop. She held out her drink and without a word, his hand rose to take hold of it before she turned back to the woman. 

The look in her eyes had shifted, a murderous abyss calling out from the depth of her pupils. “Who is he? And what makes you believe you’re special enough to need an order to carry out your death?” The corner of her mouth twitched, just. “I remember you, Zoey.” Serpentine features hovered ever nearer, “Weak, little Zoey.” The singsong tone of her voice was harrowing, an eerie whisper upon the wind carried through Rome, “Your death meant nothing, and was for nothing. You were simply there.” It curls venomous around a smile as pointed as fangs themself. “Hardly a waste though, at least now, you have a soul that’s worth something.” At least this, she could feed to the book. “

who? @fxllenpythia​

where? the streets of rome

when? whenever the thread

 with Konstantin ends and Zoey storms off, probably night to make it more dramatic

notes: I love putting Zoey in situations, I truly do

Anger is hard for Zoey to hold, it slips through her fingers as anxiety and self-doubt chip at the hard block that had settled on her chest at Vasiliev’s confession. It is still there, waiting for a moment to strike, but sadness is all encompassing, the devastation a blow to her psyche that she doesn’t know she will recover from. Her death is something she has yet to come to terms with, and the confession that no matter what she had done on the day of the Red Wedding the result would have always been the same? It’s devastating. Zoey hadn’t known the name of the person who had killed her, but now she knew one of them.

Konstantin Vasiliev.

That is the name of one of her killers. Now if she could find out if he had asked one of his friends to finish the job.

She is wandering around Rome, not ready to return to the Mars Palace or to her apartment to face Jamie or Adatiel, when her desires are answered in the most unexpected of ways. Zoey turns a corner, and in the distance sees them. The one that had killed her. In a flash, her anger returns as she stalks closer, her fangs bared in a snarl despite the instinct telling her she is before a predator.

“Did he pay you to kill me?” She hisses, Adrian’s words of how her death was likely a murder echoing on her head. If the Senator is correct, there is only one person who would benefit of her death. The demon that had seen her as disposable. “Did he order you to? Or did you just did him a solid and killed the annoying bitch bothering him for free?”

The hunger in her alone could swallow up every God, every woman, every man, every person, the whole universe.

Nikita Gill, from Great Goddesses: Life Lessons from Myths & Monsters (via heavensmark)

Alas, Leviathan was only ever where they needed to be at the precise moment necessary, though many could assume it inconvenient, the aspect was forever listening, lying in wait for every opportune moment. As such,, Arakhor's hands warm against her face remained the only thing to somewhat soften features otherwise hardened. However sharp and venomous they remained, slivers of the seraphim - not jaded by betrayal, would always belong to him. "I'd threaten to remove his tongue, but undoubtedly, he'd enjoy it more than I would." She muses, almost entirely to herself, the corner of her mouth twitching to liken a smile, the mild softness she shared with the fey extended so far as to encompass his brother. Her own hand rises, curling around one of Arak's wrists in near comfort, "I thought we'd learned not to allow him so many opportunities to speak." Albeit, amusing, she knew just as well that Enfenim could talk the hooves off of a changeling. "At least you're here now, just in time to see your brethren ally with the Eye of all things," It's almost comical; the threat of the Asphodel would always seemingly force enemies together, but the Eye? The worst of humanity, lording themselves over the creatures they captured - tortured and maimed. It would see more bloodshed, without her ever lifting a finger.

fxllenpythia​:

@arakhor

Another triumph, underlying the return of the fellowship that had set out some time ago. Whispers had sought their way back to her on the wind, through the shadows and in the thick of each soul spilled to the book. Heroes that would stumble upon a broken crown and all the instability that would come with it. It spun its way through her entire being as an ultimate high, she almost missed it. A tremor that worked it’s way into her fingertips and the promise of an oath not sworn in blood or souls, etched within the very celestial bones of what she’d once been, alerted her to something beyond the dissipating stretch of space between her and what she would bring upon this world. Her form filtered into a darkened mist, each speckle of darkness a black hole that emanated how rotten she was to the core, and when her hand slipped over his shoulder, the corporeal form following, she drew him into the heart of the otherworld. The chambers of the Asphodel and the Necronomicon echoing with centuries of silence and distance that never once left a mark upon what existed between them “I knew this lifetime would bring you back to me.”

-

The Soratami had fallen at the hands of Ayi’ig, the drow edged closer and closer to their goal, which did not concern Arakhor, though the fall of his race wasn’t exactly his and his brother’s dream. The eladrin within Rome had suffered another loss, each moment they remained in the mortal realm, they were further and further away from their chance at survival. Many fey wandered the Otherworld still, but they, too, fell victim. Once the blood of the firsts, the beings that could do anything if their song and ability willed it, were now reduced to a handful of Chancellors who had done nothing but hope someone else would step up so they wouldn’t have to. Either way, darkness ran in his blood, it was there since he’d attacked Titania’s warder, since he’d watched the queen banish them instead of kill them – she was weak, unable to strike those down who struck against her. Now, he was free. Free to power his magic with blood, free to find himself in the arms of Leviathan, of the one who had found him. 

“You always seem to disappear when everyone is looking for you,” he joked, recognizing the soul in front of him. Leviathan’s form had changed over the years, they’d picked a feminine one this time, and Arakhor grinned as he took her face in his hands, “We were a bit delayed. You know my brother likes to hear himself talk, so we took the long way to Rome.”

@bloodxlevent

"I can all but hear your frustrations, Levent." Pythia's voice echoed the room, as though they were everywhere, and nowhere all at once. Just as they had eyes in all places. Though his devotion certainly hadn't sought to fail, there was undoubtedly something keeping him at bay. "You've certainly missed the opportunity to tap out," as if the punishment brought down upon Kaan was an indication at all, "but you might as well have your say now, so I can figure out what to do with you now."

Perfect. He was - rage and all. She moves toward him, crouching to run fine grains of sand through her fingertips and she truly wonders how he would fare with the horrors done to him without the chaos that consumed him now. “You won’t be caged much longer,” in this cell or in his mind, of that she knew almost completely. “I’ll find you, once you’re free.” Her hand brushes his as she rises once more. Her powers offered the capability of returning him to his bloodline, however, while he remained a prisoner of the Senate, there was little she could do without drawing another into the fold. With time, he’d see the streets of Rome again. “But if you need me, just call.” The corner of her lip twitches into something of a smirk and she casts a wink down at the vampire. The illustrious figure in his mind dissipating just as surely as she’d appeared.

fxllenpythia​:

“I’ve seen far worse than your mind,” she states, the edge of humor lingering upon the precipice of her tongue as the corner of her mouth twitches to something that might have otherwise grown to a smile. Nothing about Dominic - in this life or the last was enough to make her shirk away and nor would anything to come. Pythia had seen - felt - committed atrocities far worse, to which there was no true end in sight. Instead, where others saw rot and poisoned beings, worthy of nothing more than to be cast to the depths of sanctimonious punishment, she knew resilience and loyalty beyond all else. The light wasn’t the only place that could curl hope around entwined fingers and draw them closer to the sun.  

Lips pursed as she dug her toes into the warm sand, pivoting in place as he rose to his feet. To some, Selene Carvalho was a fidgeter, never quite capable of remaining still for too long but the serpent that lay beneath simply knew no rest. “We all do when we’re kept from being what we’re destined to become.” And his chains kept him from so much, “What they wish to do won’t fix you. They want compliance and little more. What you’ve become spits in the face of their docile little community they wish to return to and the Eye knows as much; hence why they did what they did.” Haplessly, her tongue slips out across her lip as she narrows hues in reflection of his own, “I know what they’re out to do. I say let them try.” There was little Pythia wouldn’t face; she’d certainly never backed down from a challenge. “What about you, Dominic? If you were to be.. fixed, as you say. What then? What becomes of your anger and rage for the eye? For the senate? For all they’ve done to you?”

-

That had to be true, didn’t it? His mind was a cavern of broken and shattered walls, and Pythia seemingly navigated it easily. Selene, as she’d told him once. Perhaps the name of the body they chose, but this version was nice. He was always trapped, that’s what they always wanted. When he’d been a pirate, free on the open ocean, no one could hold him down. His soul was gone, but he was a free spirit. If he could’ve turned into a bird and taken flight, he would’ve done that as well. Perhaps Pythia had understood that, too. What would happen to his rage? He liked to think it would all disappear, that his anger would be softened, his bloodline and empathy restored. That cambion had unlocked as much, but Dom was simply a pawn for the Eye at that time.

“The rage stays,” he whispered, his fingers curling into the sand, unbridled fury only hidden by the way he gripped the image in his mind. “They pay. I want them to die.” The Eye had done this to him for decades. Tortured him for so many years, starved him, turned him into the Leech that Rome hated. And he’d been so good at it. He loathed the idea, and now he would make them all die. “And the Senate – I don’t give a fuck about them. I hate everything this city is.”