Post by Oziah Daybreaker on Mar 15, 2022 18:53:36 GMT
Co-written with Delilah Daybreaker đź–¤
They return to the fort in the dark hour just before dawn, Oziah still looking an absolute mess after her tĂŞte-Ă -tĂŞte with Jaezred in his dragon form. They shed robes and armour in tired silence, both Oziah and Delilah deep in thought. As she closes the doors to the wardrobe, Oziah turns to Delilah, speaking in hushed tones, reluctant to disturb the quiet.
"What I did to Jaezred, when I.. removed the spell keeping him in his dragon form… I think I could do that to you. To the handprint. If you'd ever want me to."
Delilah freezes, going scarily still. No part of her moves but Oz feels more than just Delilah's eyes are looking at her in the dim light of their bedroom.
"Are you-... Are you sure it would work?" Her dark eyes are almost shining. "Because if you're sure Oziah, then..."
Oziah hesitates, uncertainty flashing across her face. (A weakness she’d only allow herself around Delilah - because of Delilah.)
“I’m not,” she says. “That mark isn’t something I’ve seen before and as much as I’m comfortable discussing the ins and outs of arcane experimentation, this ability is new and… instinctive. I’ve heard of others who can do it but I know little of how it works.” She grabs Delilah’s hand and brings it up to press a soft kiss to her palm. “But I’m willing to try if you want me to.”
Delilah’s breath is shaky but there's not a hint of it as she speaks.
"I do."
Oziah looks at her for a long moment, letting every ounce of her confidence bleed into Delilah through willpower alone. Then, pulling out a worn Tarot deck from a pocket, she says, "You're my exception, Delilah. To so many things."
Something glitters across the Deck of Fates as Oziah Blesses them both. With what, neither of them know, but neither care.
Oziah raises a hand and carefully fits it to the handprint marring Delilah's face. There's a faint high-pitched ringing that grows in strength as Oziah's eyes turn to molten gold. Brilliant golden light spills from her hands and flows over into Delilah, all but burning her from the inside out, attempting to cleanse her of her mother's shadow.
Delilah flinches, beginning to squirm in Oziah's grip, feeling herself and the shadows she commands within her trying to flee. There is a rising cacophony in her head getting louder and louder, like thousands of distant screaming voices. Yet it is empty as the void, as death, and just as silent. It's the first time such pure light has tried to burn her. Were it anyone else she wouldn't have let them do this. But because it's Oziah she knows she is safe.
Or so she hopes.
As the brilliant golden light spills into the handprint, her knees give out and she is thrown back in time. She is younger, barely a woman, but the hatred coursing through her is raw as only youth can produce. But laced through it is a fear, the dreadful dawning horror at what she is witnessing. What is coming. How this will end. Because she has been here before. Memories are funny that way – you are both in and out of them. Reliving and remembering.
"Ankaa... please... Please stop this..."
It was the only time she had ever begged. Maybe that's why her mother did it, why she grabbed her daughter's face still coated in disease ridden, necromantic magic, and made her look. She showed weakness –– and weakness must be punished. It must be burned out of her if she was ever to become stronger than brittle glass.
Then a hand clasps her face. And then fire. Tears and screams. She feels her throat tearing itself apart in the present and in the past. Her hands digging into the arm of the woman she loves where she was unable to stop the hand of the woman she fears and hates most. She wants it to stop, make it stop, it won't work, the magic is too strong. She is meant to cursed, meant to be defaced, meant to always have the reminder of her weakness, of her fragility.
It is a moment that lasts for an eternity in both the past and present.
Then the first becomes cool, and the feeling seems to disappear from her face. That didn't happen in the past. What is it? Why can't she feel the pain?
And then she realises why.
The living rot is gone. The handprint no longer holds the slowly decaying necromancy that her mother touched her with.
When Delilah opens her eyes they are both on their knees. Oziah is carefully cradling her face, stroking her cheekbones with her thumbs, shushing her gently until she comes back to herself.
"You're alright, my love. You're safe. You are free of her touch."
A gentle thumb brushes across the remaining handprint, weaving soothing shadows like silk across her face. Delilah knows Oziah's healing magic like a person knows their own name. It flows into her, caressing the parts of her that burned not a moment ago.
She feels the disease leave her, feels the poison leave her body.
Oziah kisses her gently on the lips and she feels the marred flesh heal and close over, leaving only a ghostly silver imprint behind.
The sweat and tears mix on her face as Delilah looks up at Oziah. "I- I'm sorry, I collapsed. I'm sorry I screamed. I-"
Oziah shushes her again, shaking her head. Delilah can see the tears glittering in Oziah's eyes as well, tears of fury for her, for someone having dared to inflict this upon her.
"I'll rip her apart. I'll hold her down and let you carve her to pieces. She does not get to live. Not after what she did to you."
With a shaky hand, Delilah pulls Oziah closer, kissing her again deeper, freer, fully for the first time without any pain and with full abandon.
And I've never loved a darker blue
Than the darkness I have known in you, own from you
You, whose heart would sing of anarchy
You would laugh at meanings, guarantees, so beautifully
When our truth is burned from history
By those who figured justice in fond memory, witness me
Like fire weeping from a cedar tree
Know that my love would burn with me
We'll live eternally
Hozier - Better Love
They return to the fort in the dark hour just before dawn, Oziah still looking an absolute mess after her tĂŞte-Ă -tĂŞte with Jaezred in his dragon form. They shed robes and armour in tired silence, both Oziah and Delilah deep in thought. As she closes the doors to the wardrobe, Oziah turns to Delilah, speaking in hushed tones, reluctant to disturb the quiet.
"What I did to Jaezred, when I.. removed the spell keeping him in his dragon form… I think I could do that to you. To the handprint. If you'd ever want me to."
Delilah freezes, going scarily still. No part of her moves but Oz feels more than just Delilah's eyes are looking at her in the dim light of their bedroom.
"Are you-... Are you sure it would work?" Her dark eyes are almost shining. "Because if you're sure Oziah, then..."
Oziah hesitates, uncertainty flashing across her face. (A weakness she’d only allow herself around Delilah - because of Delilah.)
“I’m not,” she says. “That mark isn’t something I’ve seen before and as much as I’m comfortable discussing the ins and outs of arcane experimentation, this ability is new and… instinctive. I’ve heard of others who can do it but I know little of how it works.” She grabs Delilah’s hand and brings it up to press a soft kiss to her palm. “But I’m willing to try if you want me to.”
Delilah’s breath is shaky but there's not a hint of it as she speaks.
"I do."
Oziah looks at her for a long moment, letting every ounce of her confidence bleed into Delilah through willpower alone. Then, pulling out a worn Tarot deck from a pocket, she says, "You're my exception, Delilah. To so many things."
Something glitters across the Deck of Fates as Oziah Blesses them both. With what, neither of them know, but neither care.
Oziah raises a hand and carefully fits it to the handprint marring Delilah's face. There's a faint high-pitched ringing that grows in strength as Oziah's eyes turn to molten gold. Brilliant golden light spills from her hands and flows over into Delilah, all but burning her from the inside out, attempting to cleanse her of her mother's shadow.
Delilah flinches, beginning to squirm in Oziah's grip, feeling herself and the shadows she commands within her trying to flee. There is a rising cacophony in her head getting louder and louder, like thousands of distant screaming voices. Yet it is empty as the void, as death, and just as silent. It's the first time such pure light has tried to burn her. Were it anyone else she wouldn't have let them do this. But because it's Oziah she knows she is safe.
Or so she hopes.
As the brilliant golden light spills into the handprint, her knees give out and she is thrown back in time. She is younger, barely a woman, but the hatred coursing through her is raw as only youth can produce. But laced through it is a fear, the dreadful dawning horror at what she is witnessing. What is coming. How this will end. Because she has been here before. Memories are funny that way – you are both in and out of them. Reliving and remembering.
"Ankaa... please... Please stop this..."
It was the only time she had ever begged. Maybe that's why her mother did it, why she grabbed her daughter's face still coated in disease ridden, necromantic magic, and made her look. She showed weakness –– and weakness must be punished. It must be burned out of her if she was ever to become stronger than brittle glass.
Then a hand clasps her face. And then fire. Tears and screams. She feels her throat tearing itself apart in the present and in the past. Her hands digging into the arm of the woman she loves where she was unable to stop the hand of the woman she fears and hates most. She wants it to stop, make it stop, it won't work, the magic is too strong. She is meant to cursed, meant to be defaced, meant to always have the reminder of her weakness, of her fragility.
It is a moment that lasts for an eternity in both the past and present.
Then the first becomes cool, and the feeling seems to disappear from her face. That didn't happen in the past. What is it? Why can't she feel the pain?
And then she realises why.
The living rot is gone. The handprint no longer holds the slowly decaying necromancy that her mother touched her with.
When Delilah opens her eyes they are both on their knees. Oziah is carefully cradling her face, stroking her cheekbones with her thumbs, shushing her gently until she comes back to herself.
"You're alright, my love. You're safe. You are free of her touch."
A gentle thumb brushes across the remaining handprint, weaving soothing shadows like silk across her face. Delilah knows Oziah's healing magic like a person knows their own name. It flows into her, caressing the parts of her that burned not a moment ago.
She feels the disease leave her, feels the poison leave her body.
Oziah kisses her gently on the lips and she feels the marred flesh heal and close over, leaving only a ghostly silver imprint behind.
The sweat and tears mix on her face as Delilah looks up at Oziah. "I- I'm sorry, I collapsed. I'm sorry I screamed. I-"
Oziah shushes her again, shaking her head. Delilah can see the tears glittering in Oziah's eyes as well, tears of fury for her, for someone having dared to inflict this upon her.
"I'll rip her apart. I'll hold her down and let you carve her to pieces. She does not get to live. Not after what she did to you."
With a shaky hand, Delilah pulls Oziah closer, kissing her again deeper, freer, fully for the first time without any pain and with full abandon.
And I've never loved a darker blue
Than the darkness I have known in you, own from you
You, whose heart would sing of anarchy
You would laugh at meanings, guarantees, so beautifully
When our truth is burned from history
By those who figured justice in fond memory, witness me
Like fire weeping from a cedar tree
Know that my love would burn with me
We'll live eternally
Hozier - Better Love