Ultima
ask no questions
Weren’t all good love stories between those who should never be together? The best pairs did not fit together seamlessly. If they did, their stories would be bland and boring; their stories would be lost. It’s those that raged against the expected, those that fit together with frayed edges and imperfect lines that made the best stories, made the best pairs. Her story is too young to be a story at all, though one the outside it makes sense. Both she and him are touched by death, are familiar with the Devil and the Reaper, call their gods friends even. Ah, but to be cursed as they are cursed leaves one rather incapable of love. It leaves them both broken and battered and bruised in the only ways that matter. They do not fit together really, but they do.
His story, if she knew it, would make sense to her (not that she could even yet admit to herself what she felt for her own dark demon). Not that she knows what brings him here today, not that she knows who he mistakes her for. Weaver was not unlike his sorceress. She has never been aimless or lost, has never been without purpose, has never been anything less than a princess destined to rule (perhaps not as Queen, but simply by the power of her name). She has never been any of those things, until now.
Purpose would come again, certainly. It always did. Weaver’s purpose was not to explore though, was not to collect information with no end. Oh, she would collect information because were was power to be had in it, but right now, she wasn’t sure what power she was seeking, what knowledge she would need. Though it was becoming clearer. Kaos was the product of a dead god, yes, but then what had the tigress been if not a dead god. Was she dead? There were questions just beginning to form in her mind, but she was not yet at a place that felt purposeful again.
The stallion that finds her, staring without a word for too long, is not Helovian. At least, she doesn’t think he’s Helovian. There’s too many things that scream other about him, even for Helovia. “I’m sorry to disappoint,” she says, when he finally breaks the silence, and the tone of her voice makes it rather clear she’s not sorry at all. Her tone is not unfriendly though, but simply playful, her usual mischievous self. At least that much had found its way back to her. Losing one’s personality was a terrible shame. “I’m Weaver. Might I ask who you were hoping I’d be?”
- weaver -
and you'll be told no lies
@Raistlyn
