Whispers Waltz Around Our Dreams . . .

Losa was unconscious only for a moment or two. The sudden blackness that claimed her mind gradually drew back, fading in the light of an odd pulse that filtered through her veins. It was almost like a second heartbeat . . . magic glimmering in time with the steady rush of her blood . . . spreading outward from the central seed that had planted itself inside of her and eagerly taken root. It curled around the pieces of her that marked her as Arcus Irae, meshing itself seamlessly into that benign energy; it skirted the jagged edges of her bond with Duma, cutting itself on sharp shards only to immediately heal and unfurl in a new direction. Flashes and sparks danced beneath her skin. Losa moaned from where she lay collapsed among the flowers, her pastel hide quivering with the electricity that simmered just under the finely painted hairs. This was the magic of Blossom Forest. Wild, untamed, hungry, lonely. Seeking vessels to pour itself into, wanting to make itself complete. And Losa just so happened to be the perfect host.

With a decided wrench, the energy exploded within the confines of her frame—and the princess lurched awake, spine bowing and her head thrown up toward the sky to release a scream into the still night air. The glow suffusing the field seemed to pulse with her cry, magic answering magic, and then that mysterious silver glimmer rippled into nothingness—leaving Losa in deepest shadow. She was breathing hard, claws clenching at the soil and every muscle trembling. Her flesh felt as if she had walked through fire. Moisture prickled at the corners of her vision, and as soon as she seized hold of her mind the damsel raked her gaze over her silhouette—searching for a change. At first, waiting for her eyes to adjust, Losa noticed nothing. No mutations altered her shape, no grand transformation had twisted her into someone—something—else. Only when she stood, and pale starlight flickered against her fur, did she finally see.

“O-oh . . .”

Bands of electric blue lightning carved up all four limbs, splintering her cobalt gloves. The forks ended at her elbows and knees, terminating at the first shades of gentle sunrise. It looked as though Losa were waltzing in the middle of a thunderstorm. Could this be the only thing that had changed? The only sign that this land’s magic had claimed her? She swallowed hard, shakily turning about to better glimpse these new decorations. She hoped so. Gods, she hoped so . . .

☽Arcus Irae Princess | Sister to Zawyne | Chained to Duma | Bound to Hurricane | xathira☾