𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢'𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔫𝔞 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔞𝔶 ✶
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
𝐻𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓉“Who are you?”
Mai was sitting on a bench under the shade of a willow tree. The sun was out, soft like morning dew; her husband was arranging for a carriage at the entrance to the park, and the air smelled of spring rain.
The child - the 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑙 child - was staring at her, wide-eyed with...well, it certainly wasn’t 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟. Wonder, perhaps, or awe? Whatever it was, Mai felt a sliver of unease slither around her gut, apprehension hissing through her veins. Was this some far-fetched ploy of her husband’s, designed to catch her unawares?
Mai reached out with her mind - carefully, carefully - and probed gently at the boy, her shadow-spun magic murmuring in time with the rustling grass and whispering breeze. There was no sign of her husband’s influence within the human; no sign of the silken cold that crept slowly under somebody’s skin, numbing everything that made them 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒.
Mai exhaled. The child was still staring at her, and Mai offered him a warm, if insincere, smile. “My name is Mai,” she said. “Where are your parents?”
He blinked. “I don’t know,” he replied, furrowing his brow as he considered her. “Are you an angel?”
It was Mai’s turn to blink. Then she laughed, as soft and lilting as trilling birdsong. “Certainly not,” she demurred, smoothing a hand over the front of her skirts and adjusting the lace-trimmed capelet settled over her shoulders. “Wherever did you get that idea?”
“Mother says all angels are beautiful,” the boy said, eyeing her skeptically. “And you’re not from here.”
It was hard to argue with either of those points. Mai found her thoughts drifting - 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑦 against her will, mind you - to flaming red hair and blue eyes that burned like molten starshine, alight with something glittering and wild and so, so different from the golden, lifeless beauty of the kingdom in the clouds that it made Mai’s un-beating heart stop.
Figuratively, of course.
“No,” she agreed. “I’m not from here. Have you heard of the Borderlands?”
The boy’s face scrunched itself up into a contemplative frown. “Demons live there,” he pointed out, accusingly. “Are you human then? You don’t look like a demon.”
𝑀𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑠𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛’𝑡 𝑒𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟, Mai mused to herself, her gaze flickering to where the slender king of the underworld was paying for a carriage to bring them to their house in town. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑒𝑡, ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑟𝑒.
She supposed that she couldn’t fault the boy: mortals tended to think of demons as hideous, grotesque beings with leathery wings and twisted joints and deadly-sharp talons, something that Mai Mei - with her ink-black tresses and walking dress of snow-white watered silk and fine satin gloves that shimmered like liquid moonlight - was very decidedly 𝑛𝑜𝑡.
“I’m a queen,” she murmured instead, tilting her head to the side and regarding the human boy. “But only because my husband is a king.”
“What about the rest of your family? Is your sister a princess?” asked the mortal, and Mai shook her head.
“My family is dead,” she found herself admitting, fingers clenched tight around the handle of her parasol. “I never met most of them. Only my uncle and cousin, but my husband killed them.”
She paused, delicately. “I suppose I’m no better, though. I killed my first three husbands, and I fully intend on killing this one too.”
The park was quiet. The boy seemed bewildered, and Mai ignored him for the time being, instead glancing back toward the king of the underworld. Her eyes flitted over summer-golden daffodils and wistful lavender wisteria trees and carefully trimmed rose bushes, the petals flushed with pink sunrise. There was not a single blossom out of place, not a single speck of soil spilling out into the meticulously-laid stone path. And Devil help her, it was 𝑠𝑢𝑓𝑓𝑜𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.
Mai stood abruptly, something in her chest tight and aching. She knew that mortals like this boy feared the windswept desert, where the deadly heat of the sun bled the land dry and the sovereign in the clouds was nothing but a faraway dream. But the long-eared jackrabbits and crawling centipedes and all the other creatures that made a life where the darkness was salvation were wily and stubborn and so much more 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 than anything in this manicured garden of neat hedges and fluttering butterflies that hummed with springtime, trapped in this fanciful man-made paradise. It reminded her all too much of the glory-bright realm 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒.
“Mai, are you ready?”
Her fourth husband’s quiet, pleasant voice snapped Mai out of her reverie. His eyes glittered like icicles as they glided over Mai and the child, shining and sharp.
Mai nodded. “Of course,” she murmured, taking his arm. She turned back in the direction of the mortal boy, whose eyes were wide as saucers again - this time, though, Mai could feel his fear thrumming through the air, roiling like a gathering thunderstorm.
The king of the underworld gave the boy a dazzling smile. “Where are your parents, young man?”
Mai shook her head. “He doesn’t know. I’ll help him along?”
Her fourth husband gave a nonchalant shrug. “Alright. Be quick about it - we should be going soon.”
Mai reached with her mind once again, letting tendrils of her whisper-silk magic spiral out of her. She planted the suggestions in his head: 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟. 𝐹𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑠.
With that done, Mai let the man who murdered her family sweep her out of the flowering park and into the waiting carriage, leaving the human boy under the gently swaying branches of the willow tree.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ: ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴠɪᴀ ᴀ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴇʀꜱᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
⤠ 𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍, 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄 ⤟
𝖎. Porcelain and shadow, 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑙. The queen of the underworld is a morning glory twirled in iridescent taffeta, her lips bloodied with blossoming roses and her gown shot through with star-shine and moonglow, the skirts frothing with flouncing satin ruffles. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑜𝑙𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑤𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑎𝑡𝑠.
𝖎𝖎. Ivory queen, thorned rose. Her eyes glimmer with 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑡ℎ, and her twinkling laugh weaves illusions of lilting summer birdsong and blooming forget-me-nots. Her face is flushed with life–or maybe that’s just rogue. 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒.
𝖎𝖎𝖎. The 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 is silent as shadow, balanced on a sliver of stone hanging over the yawning abyss. She’s the eerie calm before a raging storm, whispering spider-silk and murmuring clouds spiraling through silvered skies, soft as hyacinths and hushed like deadly nightshade. Her power is faint wisps of smoke swirling around you and settling into your pores, 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑗𝑢𝑔𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑟 before you even realize that it’s there.
𝖎𝖛. In the burning plains, the sunlight cuts straight to the bone, piercing and blinding and bright, and the arid heat bleeds the land to dust, coils itself into your throat and chokes out all the moisture. The onset of dusk is hope, and roiling thunderstorms are promises of rain and reprieve: 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. The queen of the underworld is that moment before the heavens shatter in two; 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑟𝑎 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.
𝖛. For all that her heart is ribbed with ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, there is still a gentleness to her, soft like morning dew. She tells you that you have nothing to fear from her, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
⤠ 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐑 ⤟
𝖎. Velvet and midnight, starfall and steel. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 has hair that shines moon-pale, like stars winking out from the abyss; his eyes glitter like princess-cut diamonds and jagged shards of ice. 𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑 through scorching heat, blasting pressure, searing frost. Still–he is a distant sun, charming everything that comes into his orbit.
𝖎𝖎. Night king, divine destroyer. He has fine features and a smile that shimmers like spun silver; a laugh like the delicate, dazzling luminosity of gemstones spilling across the night sky, 𝑟𝑜𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒. He is a silken cold that creeps into the edges of your senses and sinks itself into the crevices of your soul until you don’t remember a life without it; whispered suggestions and flickering glances, compelling without the victim ever realizing they are being compelled–𝑛𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒.
𝖎𝖎𝖎. The king of the underworld is tall and slender, with all the dainty grace of a ballerina, poised on the knife’s edge of rigid control and quicksilver fluidity. His gloved fingertips that flutter and flit like butterflies, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑑𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑎 𝑠𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑗𝑒𝑡é, with steps that are light as air and muscles and tendons pulled taut, hard as iron. There is a heartrendingly-thin boundary between stone-willed restraint and the flowing elegance of release, and the king of the underworld ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑞𝑢𝑒 𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚.
𝖎𝖛. He is the rain that glides downward with gravity during a desert thunderstorm, 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑖𝑟 before it ever has the chance to splatter clumsily across the ground.
𝖛. He tells you that there is nothing to be afraid of. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
⤠ 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐘, 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 ⤟
𝖎. Fire and fury, ichor and starfall. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒; the ashen skies are swirled with bruised thunderclouds, and she shines like a comet streaking across the horizon, setting the stratosphere alight with blinding brilliance. Her hair is suffused with radiant divinity, and her heart 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑚𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑑 𝑎𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 into the darkness of night.
𝖎𝖎. Angel of fury, knight of justice. She is the storm that tears the world in half, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑠 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑛, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤-𝑠𝑝𝑢𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑚, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜: sun-charred lightning cast down to earth, incandescent with charged atmosphere. Blazing electricity crackles and dances at her fingertips, and 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛.
𝖎𝖎𝖎. She is angel-glass, the pearlescent stone skidded over the hills like ricocheting moonlight in the half-dark of smoldering twilight. She’s burning divinity fused with earth and quartz: holy fire singed across dust-seared desolation, the 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑦-𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑒 and the ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑠ℎ, 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑒-𝑑𝑟𝑦 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑡 coming together in a burst of angel-kissed inferno. She’s fierce winds and piercing sand and blessed flame melded all into one, 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑜 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑢𝑛-𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡.
𝖎𝖛. 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒. She wields jagged shards of roaring lightning and molten starfire, and she is the rain that glides downward with gravity during a desert thunderstorm; 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑, stubbornly defying the hissing heat that threatens to choke every last bit of moisture into mist.
𝖛. Her eyes are glittering and alive, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑. You run, and she doesn’t try to stop you.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ･ ｡ﾟ❀: .♔. :❀｡ﾟ. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ: ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ(ꜱ) ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“𝐻𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒?" one of the angels asks, squinting up against cutting rays of harsh sunshine, golden and bright - 𝑠𝑜, 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, and burning jagged shards of glass-sharp light and blistering heat into every grain of sand, every molecule of air, coiling tightly into flesh and fur alike and choking out all the moisture.
“𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠," Mai says simply, recalling long-eared jackrabbits, burrowing kangaroo rats, cunning coyote kits; all the creatures that came out after nightfall, chittering and chattering and chirping. "𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑠."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
⤠ 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 ⤟
𝖎. The sun hangs heavy in the sky, shining and still; 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑠, smothers all the moisture into mist. There is no escape, save for the darkness.
𝖎𝖎. In the windswept desert, the golden light from above bleeds the earth dry and the sovereign in the clouds is nothing but a faraway dream. The creatures in this land of stinging sands and singed sunshine are wily and stubborn: 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙.
𝖎𝖎𝖎. Some call the Borderlands a wasteland, barren desolation seared over with dust and sand, but Mai would beg to differ. The kingdom in the clouds is bright with glory, gleaming with pearls and moonstone and otherworldly in its perfection. It is a realm that is more dream than reality, a land of blinding, brilliant divinity that glitters hard and sharp, like gemstones shattering over silk. But the kingdom above is no more alive than the smooth marble statues standing vigil over their sacred temples; 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, not in any way that matters.
𝐵𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒: ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ?
𝖎𝖛. Crawling centipedes and chuckling roadrunners and venom-dripped scorpions make a home in the Borderlands, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛, piercing straight to the bone. The flowers and birds and butterflies that meet the unforgiving heat and icy indifference of the desert with cleverness and cunning and an iron-forged determination to survive are more alive than anything from the kingdom above could ever hope to be.
𝖛. Twilight falls over the hills, soft like ash; when the sun slips fully below the horizon, the night fills with chirps and cackles and snarls and screeches. 𝑆𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑚𝑢𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠, and silvered moonglow shines out from behind the drifting clouds.
𝖛𝖎. In the Borderlands, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒. Anyone who does not know it now will come around, 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
⤠ 𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ⤟
𝖎. Dark clouds gather in the west, roiling and restless: they are bruises of dust and water vapor, blooming over the sky like deadly nightshade. Thunder growls over the land, a heaven-bound panther stalking its prey, and the mortals fear its wrath. Mai is not so foolish: 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑𝑠 𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒. It murmurs like a lullaby to her ears.
𝖎𝖎. The heat is stifling and silent. The air is dry as bone and poised like a hissing rattlesnake the moment before it strikes: 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑡. 𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙.
𝖎𝖎𝖎. The storm shatters the skies open as jagged daggers of lightning rend the world in two, 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑡𝑒-ℎ𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒. Unrest rolls over the hills and chaos spirals across the desert. Mai feels it like singing steel piercing through velvet darkness, sending beams of silver-spun moonlight ricocheting into the night.
𝖎𝖛. She breathes it in, lets it fill her veins. 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟, and the demons are there when rain falls, when volcanoes erupt, when tectonic plates shift and collide. They bring the end of the world for an earthworm, a forest, an entire species, 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑎𝑥 𝑚𝑢𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 - because the angels are there when seedlings bloom into trees, when weeds and wildflowers wander into fire-struck desolation, when ash-green lichens and spring-soft mosses meander their way through the cracks and crevices of land scraped rock-barren by receding glaciers to begin anew. It’s a painstaking equilibrium between order and disorder, chaos and harmony, and the desert balances on the knife’s edge, dangling over the abyss. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑝 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘.
𝖛. Sometimes, the storm-dark air is too dry, and the rain that glides downward with gravity 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑠𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑. Lightning lances over the earth instead; it catches the tangled tinderbox of hardy desert shrubs on fire, and the blustery winds gusting across the hills only fan the flames higher.
𝖛𝖎. Other times, the rain falls doggedly toward the parched dirt, stubbornly defying the hissing heat and arid air and all the other forces of the universe that threaten to smother out every last bit of moisture. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛, 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑠.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
⤠ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 ⤟
𝖎. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛, 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛, 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 in a radiant burst of glory-golden light: like sun-charred lightning striking the ground, or a meteor hurtling through the sky, bright and incandescent with molten mesosphere. The horizon lights up like a comet, and the moon is haloed in singing embers.
𝖎𝖎. A shock of celestial fury tears over the hills, setting all the desert alight in a rain of starfire. The flames that scorch the land are 𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠, 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ: blazing, brilliant, and burning themselves to dust.
𝖎𝖎𝖎. The fire flashes and flickers over low-lying grasses and snarls of woody vegetation, devouring everything in its path as the air glimmers with heat and dances with ash. When it finally goes out, weeks later, there is angel-glass skidded in saw-toothed ribbons over the earth: ignited divinity and stinging sand fused into shimmering nuggets of pearlescent stone, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑦-𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑒 melded with the ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑠ℎ, 𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡 of the Borderlands. It glitters moon-pale and silver-searing under the darkness of the desert night.
𝖎𝖛. 𝐻𝑜𝑙𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙-𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑒𝑥𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛. Even so, Mai cannot bring herself to look away. She crouches down and closes gloved fingers around a small shard of the lustrous stone, running her thumb over the surface and feeling all the layered ridges and the bubbles of trapped air: 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔-𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑎𝑡𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑝ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 fossilized into eternity
𝖛. The wind swirls viciously around them, howling a sandstorm into ash-dark twilight. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙’𝑠 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠 under the scarlet-scorched light of the Gate; when she wraps an arm around Mai’s waist and presses a steadying hand into the bloodied shreds of ivory silk and ruffled star-shine clinging to her shoulders, Mai burns, molten divinity filling her veins and flooding through her un-beating heart. Wild desert marigolds and berry-sweet birds of paradise 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟, drowning the hard steel and lancing moonlight of her ribcage in petaled brilliance.
𝖛𝖎. 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, the air hisses and crackles and catches on fire all around them, soft like morning dew and bright like sunbeams flaring over the stratosphere, setting mud and mountain and sky and sea ablaze in sparking flashes of gleaming gold and liquid amber.
𝑀𝑎𝑖 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑒𝑙𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒.
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ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ: ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴀɴ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
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𝖎. 𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙, 𝑔𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡; roaring radiance that burns away the darkness, shimmering and sharp and shining, incandescent like a shooting star. 𝑆𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑡, smolders through stinging sand; 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑-𝑚𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑚-𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜, shatters into jagged daggers of ignited divinity. Dawn is a smothering affair, and the ashen twilight is singed with glowing veins of sun-charred star-gleam, the taste of dust and cinders coiling into your flesh and heavy on your tongue. Cicadas scream into the night, lit up by silvered beams of ricocheting moonlight.
𝐿𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙. 𝐿𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑑, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑠.
𝖎𝖎. 𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑬 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟. It sears through forests, gusts across the plains, skids over the mountains; flickers through snarled undergrowth and clears it all away to begin anew. Fire that heals wounds closed; fire that draws lost souls close, like moths to the flame.
Fire that burns it all to dust; fire that brings down trees that are rotting where they stand, scorching away the dead and the dying to open the forest to trickling sunlight and fallen pine cones unfurling in searing flame, 𝑠𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑖𝑟.
Fire that devours. Holy things burn, burn, burn, and when angels fall from the kingdom in the sky, the embers flash across the stratosphere and sing with molten divinity as the flames set all the world ablaze.
The desert lights up like a tinderbox. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑟𝑢𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠.
𝖎𝖎𝖎. 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑦. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, the moon pushes and pulls and the tides roar and recede accordingly, trees bear fruit and water flows downhill and that is simply the way of things. The angels bring the light; they are the phoenix that rises out of the ashes, breathing spark and soul into all that remains after cataclysmic chaos. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑹𝑬𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯.
The kingdom above gleams with glory, glittering like broken glass. Their temples of marble and moonstone are gilded in sawtoothed star-shine, and their leaders are shining beacons of truth and light, justice and divinity. There is no death, in this blissful paradise where all is bright like a dream.
𝐴𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑏𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ?
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𝖎. 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑟𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡, 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎𝑠ℎ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑤. Darkness that surges out in a crash of icy-fingered waves, smothering away every last bit of brightness in an ocean of midnight. Darkness that snuffs out the flame and swallows you whole, leaves you stranded in the space between the stars - 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦, 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑦𝑠𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑤𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑠.
In the desert, the darkness falls over the land in a shimmer of silken starlight, slithering through the night and cloaking the world in puddles of gloom that prowl across the skies and murmur with the wind. The smoldering afternoon heat finally dissipates into nothingness, and the moon is incandescent with silver and steel in the frostbitten air.
𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑑𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑑𝑜𝑤, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
𝖎𝖎. 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑺 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑠 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑙𝑓, 𝑠ℎ𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠. Wind that tears a sandstorm over the hills, the thrashing, jagged-edged columns of dust and grit skidding and splintering across the desert until even the sun and stars succumb to the never-ending tide. Thunder that rumbles long shadows over the stratosphere and growls like some celestial beast stalking its prey behind rain-swollen clouds bruised in deadly nightshade, a howling wolf slashing razored claws through a haze of scorch-singed heat.
Storms that reverberate across all three realms, bellowing echoes that gust over desolate skies and ram through mountains in a screech of chaos and catastrophe. Silver-serrated lightning gashes the thunderclouds open, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑.
𝖎𝖎𝖎. 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑜𝑠. Magma moves mountains and splits the oceans in two, erupts out of volcanoes as smoke thunders into the atmosphere and stings the air with ash; glaciers freeze the land over and scrape the rock barren as they retreat. The demons bring ruination; they are the fires that devour the world whole, the spark that sets the land aflame for the phoenix that will rise out of the ashes. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑦𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑜𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑹𝑬𝑩𝑰𝑹𝑻𝑯.
The kingdom below blazes with hellfire, burning like a falling star. The boiling earth roils in time with the magma underneath, haloed in flame and gilded in darkness; 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒, here in this molten underworld of scorch-shimmer and shadow.
Yet: wind blows and tectonic plates collide and souls decay into the soil, and that is simply the way of things. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 ━ 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 ━ 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ: ᴀꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴠᴇ, ꜱᴏ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ / ʜᴏʟʏ ᴠꜱ ᴜɴʜᴏʟʏ.
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━𝐑𝐄𝐃 ✶ They sprang apart. Mangled ribbons of iridescent ivory taffeta fluttered gently to the ground, crumpled like crushed butterflies. Mai glanced down - the other demon’s blade had managed to draw blood, though the cut was superficial. The steel had sliced through the uppermost section of Mai’s sleeves and bodice, exposing her shoulders and clavicle; her skirts, once a gossamer cloud of flouncing satin ruffles, were flecked with drops of 𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖘𝖔𝖓.
𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 ✶ The wind swirls viciously around them, howling a sandstorm into ash-dark twilight. The angel’s eyes shine like falling stars under the 𝖘𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖊𝖙-𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉 light of the Gate; when she wraps an arm around Mai’s waist and presses a steadying hand into the bloodied shreds of ivory silk and ruffled star-shine clinging to her shoulders, Mai burns, molten divinity filling her veins and flooding through her un-beating heart. Wild desert marigolds and berry-sweet birds of paradise burst to life inside of her, drowning the hard steel and lancing moonlight of her ribcage in petaled brilliance.
𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 ✶ There was a radiant burst of 𝖌𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖞-𝖌𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖓 light; like sun-charred lightning striking the ground, or a meteor hurtling through the sky, bright and incandescent with charged atmosphere. From her drawing room, Mai stood by the window, and watched.
𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐍 ✶ She breathes it in, lets it fill her veins. Chaos is power, and the demons are there when rain falls, when volcanoes erupt, when tectonic plates shift and collide. They bring the end of the world for an earthworm, a forest, an entire species, all so that angels can coax mud and mountain and life out of it all - because the angels are there when seedlings bloom into trees, when weeds and wildflowers wander into fire-struck desolation, when 𝖆𝖘𝖍-𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖓 lichens and spring-soft mosses meander their way through the cracks and crevices of land scraped rock-barren by receding glaciers to begin anew. It’s a painstaking equilibrium between order and disorder, chaos and harmony, and the desert balances on the knife’s edge, dangling over the abyss. Here, the line between life and death is sharp and quick.
𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 ✶ The angel’s burning 𝖇𝖑𝖚𝖊 eyes were (understandably) wary, and she held herself very, very still as tendrils of Mai’s whisper-silk magic spilled into the air between them, susurrations of satinet energy swirling over the cut. “Are you sure your healers can do anything with celestial blood?” she breathed out, exhaustion seeping into her skeptical voice.
𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 ✶ At the bottom of the hill was a wide expanse of flat land, and jagged chunks of the shining stone were sprinkled across the terrain like stars twinkling across the cloudless sky. The angel-glass glittered moon-pale and 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖛𝖊𝖗-𝖘𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 under the darkness of the desert night, and Mai dismounted to take a closer look.
𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 ✶ Storms that shatter the heavens in half, shuddering the world apart at its very foundations. Wind that tears a sandstorm over the hills, the thrashing, jagged-edged columns of dust and grit skidding and splintering across the desert until even the sun and stars succumb to the never-ending tide. Thunder that rumbles long shadows over the stratosphere and growls like some celestial beast stalking its prey behind rain-swollen clouds bruised in 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖑𝖞 𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖊, a howling wolf slashing razored claws through a haze of scorch-singed heat.
