In Dire Straits - Butterflies in my Brain [Sarissa]

Thread Warnings:
Vulgarity, violence, gore, and ableism.

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Rage boils within her like tar bubbled up from the earth back home-- and that was home, wasn't it? Even with her sisters and failures and the fucking Rosa, she was raised there. She is one of many to Crow, and there were so many more in the Valley, but at least there, they didn't matter. None of his were a goddamn Sun-- or god, or Sovereign or whatever they're calling it now. Attention was divided between Kaiju, Lyra, Caesar, and herself-- and that meant she only had to compete with the three of them. They were her age, anyway: she could have killed any of them. Here, his offspring are adults, with children of their own, and how many will she have to cull until Crow is hers again?

He was never yours, you silly girl. YOU AREN'T EVEN HIS.

An elk had evidently escaped some predator earlier, abandoned by the herd for its hind limp that's only exacerbated by how diligently she's been following it, trotting close until it sprinted off, but there was no losing her with that pained bleating and the scent of infection. She was doing it a favour, really. Soon enough it would flop down in exhaustion, and scream as she sunk her teeth into the jugular, sprayed the underbrush in blood-- no, no. Too easy. Too kind.

It tripped over a protruding root, and fell to one knee, trying to kick back to its hooves, but the crippled leg gave out, and down it went. Miasma never even had to touch it. She only trotted along, panting in the humidity that frizzed up her thick coat, tasting the prey and injury in the air. It kicks weakly as she approaches, but there's no help for the elk. That's the way things are-- the strong win, and the weak die.

That's how it has always been, how it should be, who let a FUCKING CRIPPLE LEAD ALTERON!?

She tears into the abdomen, and gnaws at a displaced intestine while she waits for it to die. Her heart slows, head clears, and Miasma starts to sob.

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As she finished brushing her plush fur against the thorns of her rose garden, Sarissa decided to venture out and grab some food for herself. Daddy wasn't much of a helping hand in that any more, she was a big girl and therefore took care of herself. Once in a while she would dine with him, talk with him and feel comforted from the absence of most of her family now. He was the voice of reason in the darkness of her own delusional mind. A good father in her eyes, and she loved him dearly for that.

The scent of roses followed her through the forest as she weaved through the little trails she had grown to know, and her ears quickly picked up the bleating of prey echoing through the trees. Annoying. The girl quickly jumped through, leaving a trail of fern pollen behind, watching as the hulking beast tripped over gnarled roots. Sarissa was curious just how this one got plucked out from the rest, but the flash of gray caught her attention quickly, a hint of the hunter. As she came closer, she realized it was someone familiar.

Someone familiar.

The scent of blood overwhelms the sweet stench of flowers and she smiles. Red was always her color.

Both of them.

She was beautiful in it and Sarissa desired to be bathed in the same crimson. The beast was still heaving heavy breaths as Miasma tore into the abdomen and disemboweled the poor creature. The girl hummed. "It'll be over soon, darling." she said, stepping over the neck, careful of the antlers. It was still alive and capable of goring her, but she knew it was all too weak to think. The pain must've been excruciating after all. Eyes swept to the girl then, a smile tugging at the sword's lips. "It's been awhile, hasn't it? Mind if I join you?"

A meal was better with company, after all.

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  Miasma makes a picture, mud up to her elbows and blood on her muzzle, dripping mucous on the still-quivering intestine dangling from her jaws as she snaps her head to spot the Sword. She spits out the bowel with a tear spilling bile into the dirt, and licks her nose closer to clean, but nothing hides the streaks of tears. "Oh Sarissa, it's just terrible!" the yearling wails, sniffing back snot. No one should see her like this, but least of all Sarissa-- pretty, perfect Sarissa. "Did you know my dad has children with the Dragon? They're all grown, and she's gone, and--"

  She chokes on her own saliva, and sucks it up, swallows. "Cocytus is one of his. How can I compete with that? I can hardly compete with Kaiju, and his other child is a fucking alpha with my father's fucking blue--" Miasma cuts herself off again, shoves her snout in the elk, past the entrails, bites down on the liver and rips. It shrieks, before devolving into twitches. Miasma gnaws on a chunk of the meat, collects herself, swallows before going on. "... I left home for Crow. I went to war with him-- everything-- and when we get here, a son he's never met before is on the throne, and where does that leave me?"

  The dire mix rests her chin on the abdomen, which has finally stilled. "Alone."

Eyes widened in surprise as she saw the beautiful girl weeping. Tears stained her cheeks and she was obviously distraught. Brows furrowed as Sarissa listened to Miasma, wailing in sobs about the Dragon and her father. Ah yes, the children that the sword both loved and despised. The girl was jealous in a way, that her grandmother wouldn't pay attention! Mother was missing too, but she cared not for that bitch.

Sarissa sighed, her body deflating as she came closer to the monochrome girl, a kiss gingerly placed on those scarlet cheeks. "Oh darling, don't fret. I'm sure daddy dearest loves you so, as mine does. Mothers are so..." She paused for a moment, wanting to spit the word out, but it didn't come. Her mind though, hissed —

USELESS.

She sat then, watching as Miasma moped, leaning against the carcass. "Royalty is such a... intricate thing. I have royal blood through my veins, yet what do I get? Nothing. Doesn't mean I have to be alone though, doesn't mean you have to either... couldn't we have each other?"

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"I don't have a mother," she admits-- insists. She rubs her cheeks against the dead deer's fur, trying to scrub off the blood and sorrow, but succeeding only in streaking her face with a wide swath of burgundy, like Regency rouge. "Ink isn't my mother, you know. She birthed my sisters, but not me." Spoken like a secret, or some solemn swear. Miasma leans closer, voice low. "I'm not related to either of them, really." Eyes widen while she whispers, something dark dancing behind the pupils, within the skull. "Crow killed my family, and kept me for himself. He killed for me, Sari." Although Kaiju swears he's killed for much less, it's a sentiment the half-breed has clung to as long as she's had it. Bright eyes still glistening wet, pleading an unspoken question of the girl before her.

He killed for me. Would you?

  Sarissa seats herself against the elk, and Miasma busies herself by tearing at its skin. She speaks of royalty in her highborn voice, and it makes sense to Mia, face demurely buried in the deceased. Falco was the son of a god, and he left their land. Gideon was a prince, and a serf in the same day. She doesn't hate Telana for her disability, but the audacity to steal power from the heels of Azuhel. Family isn't blood, she thinks, opening an artery-- but a bond you would bleed for.

  "Couldn't we have each other?" she asks, so sweetly, like liquor and nightshade.

  Miasma raises her head, turquoise orbs perplexed while crimson drips from her chin. "Of course, Sarissa."

Gorgeous, you had me at hello.
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Family discourse was such a commonality, wasn't it? Miasma only had her father (who wasn't even of blood) and Sarissa was stuck in the same situation, only her father was true. There were no mothers, there were no siblings. They were oh so alone, it was almost tragic. The sword refused to let her head sink below that level however, she often fantasized about ripping Atlas' throat open.

Too bad she was gone.

She was quiet though for the most part, listening until there was dead air. The girl sighed tenderly as if wistful, red eyes glancing to the elk's matted fur as she drew circles with delicate nails. How odd this feeling was, she thought, as her heart blossomed into a swirl of warmth next to this girl. A girl without a mother. Without family. With only a father who would kill for her.

Head snapped back to Miasma, blood dripping from a once-white chin. Sarissa leaned forward, lapping the wine from the girl's lips and smiled.

Of course.

Because in reality they were both lonely girls. They had lost something only left with the scraps of their hearts on their chest. For Miasma it was anger and sadness, some sort of twisted guilt. Crow's unholy generosity had been grasped desperately, kept close to not be torn away. For Sarissa it was some form of vendetta and reason to keep moving forward. To become stronger, to become something she always felt within — a monster. Miasma gravitated and was pulled in, a possession in the eyes of sinners whose motivation was greed. The apple was too perfect not to pick.

And Sarissa gingerly plucked it. "I'm glad you think so." she said, turning to dig her head deep into the belly and through the chest, tearing at cartilage and strings of muscle in order to get at the heart. It was strong, but the sword was stronger as her teeth gnawed and feet dug deep into the Earth below her. In a few moments, she emerged, completely bathed in red — a color she loved so much — and offered the morsel to Miasma.

A heart for a heart.

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There is a second of shyness, where she turns away, licks the blood from her mouth before it can dry, and still tastes roses on the air-- she could tear it by the ligaments, a ventricle for them both, but she's always been greedy for something she can't quite comprehend. They both are. They could share, and sate them both, but that is not the nature of this relationship. Miasma sinks her teeth in the centre of the muscle, blood gushing like a popped cherry while she chews ravenously. She is the sort to take everything offered, and give the whole of herself in return.

Make me yours, and you'll be mine. Keep me like a slave, and I'll treat you as a queen. I have never known affection without obsession, but I don't think you'll mind.

It doesn't take long to devour the heart, but she's not done yet. Miasma surges forward, a crawl rather than bothering to stand for such a short distance, closer to the pretty princess drenched in red. It's so Sarissa's colour, but Miasma wants it to be hers as well. She licks a drip from Sarissa's leg, laps at the stain on her chest. There's more in her mouth, spreading between them while the dire tries desperately to clean her off.

They'll never be clean. Not now, anyway.