her house sinks down to death and her course leads to the shades,
It was not right to have such a sudden... attachment to somebody who had been her punching bag all her life. No, no, no, she was Lillith - she had no soul to give and no soul to attach to. How then, did it explain the strange look that dwelled even in Andras' eyes as he moved about it? There was no explanation other than foul play or trickery - they did not come from a land where two were joined by the very soul. Mateship was a cruel fight for survival and besides, Andras was not mate material, right? He was brawny and arrogant at the best of times whereas she enjoyed the spoils of men of every kind - hell, if polygamy were more accepted by her kind, she'd be the spokesperson. But in that moment, even the thought of Samael or Baphomet made her soul sick and she grinded her teeth in agitation.
Her ears flew back at the sound of his gasp, her eyes narrowed and body rigged with tension - why was he making such sounds? Had he slipped himself poison - a poison to stop his own breathing? Fool! He was not allowed to die... or be that close, but, he had to be closer - no. She bared her teeth, mostly at herself as she snapped at the air in frustration. She bristled, her attempts of subduing her body's urge to shuffle closer ultimately failing as he spoke; she moved forward, hobbling forward in tiny, awkward steps, her rear still planted firmly on the ground. Even the ache over her self inflicted injury had seemingly dissipated with the arrival of Andras though she pleaded for it to burn, to bleed, to remind her that she was still in control of her body but alas, those prayers went unanswered. She almost appeared soft, at peace, before he spoke of course in which case her features tightened once more into a scowl.
"You accuse me and yet it is you that had come here to bewitch me - no, I don't need a healer!" she breathed, allowing his muzzle within inches of her before her paw moved up swiftly, aiming to bat him away (though... softly, of course, in some vain hope he'd try again). "Look - okay, okay. Look, we're going to talk to Baphomet... he... he might know what's wrong. Evidently we're both ill, or something.
She paused, assessing him with a raised eyebrow before her mouth fell into a soft 'o' at her epiphany - those bastards! In an instant, she was on her feet, ears pricked and eyes wide - she was less angry and more, well, impressed really.
"The Angels! They have used their magic! Their foul... soul magic! I just know it. We heard rumours there was some strange happening like this in Moladion," her lips were taunt, her voice quiet - a secret between Andras and she. If they could not somehow break the spell, then nobody else could know of it. What if somebody were to use it as some kind of weakness, as they had to the Angels? She couldn't let herself get hurt... and she couldn't let Andras get hurt, either. Urgh, curse whatever soul he might have had for choosing her to glue to.
all who go to her cannot return and find again the paths of life |
