Moonlight Shadows – 9&16.03.2023 – Delilah
Mar 30, 2023 8:32:21 GMT
Jaezred Vandree and Anthony like this
Post by Delilah Daybreaker on Mar 30, 2023 8:32:21 GMT
Sentimentality. Weakness. Chains. Pulling. Waiting. Knives. Moonlight. Blood. Wind. Fear. Pain. Burning. Phantoms. Darkness. Rage. Helplessness. Falling. Endlessness-
Delilah wakes up.
Oziah lays beside her, one arm carelessly thrown over top of her, a calloused hand loosely cupping her breast. She doesn’t smile exactly, but the slight panic from sudden waking retreats as the pale half-elf goes to give a kiss to her love. She doesn’t get that far. The phantom limb twitches, then her whole side and shoulder begins to burn. A cold sweat breaks over her skin and she stops. With a silent sigh and an attempt at controlling her breathing, Delilah carefully pulls her pillow down to replace her form just as she melts into shadow.
She appears at the foot of the four poster bed and nearly collapses, barely catching herself on one sturdy wooden post. The half-elf leans her forehead against the cool wood, willing the shadows to stop going topsy-turvy. It takes a minute, but slowly, eventually, the floor feels more like solid stone and less like the deck of a ship pitching this way and that in the middle of a tempest.
Cautiously, she steps towards the bureau, sitting down a little hard on the elegant but simple wooden chair. From under the desk the shadowy form of a cat emerges face tilted up.
“…bad dreams…?”
Delilah pinches her nose between forefinger and thumb. “No. Just memories.”
Oziah gives a particular heavy intake of breath that almost sounds like a snort, as she rolls over in bed.
On the desk is a simple silver band. The soft moonlight that filters through the Luskan curtains catches on one half of it, while the other glows a deep, burnt orange from the embers that burn low in the fireplace. Delilah goes to reach for the ring, but scowls when she realises she’s trying to reach with the arm that’s no longer there.
“…about that…”
“I’m not sure if normal magic can regrow this body.”
Beastie sits down, tail flicking back and forth, disappearing and reappearing through the shadows. “…I meant the ring… but yes, the missing limb…”
“Is a problem.”
Jaezred’s expression of guilt, the fact that he couldn’t even look at her, almost made Delilah angry. But she was in pain, reeling at the loss of limb and strength, and though her words were sincere they may have come out a bit more harsh than intended.
“Your guilt is pointless, Jaezred. I was exactly where I wanted to be — beside you and Oziah. Breaking the chains that bound you is more important than keeping my arm. I would do it again, if the results were to be the same.”
At that point she had been near delirious with it all but she needed to make him understand.
“The price of your freedom, of a friend’s freedom, is with it.”
Beastie stood on their hind legs, placing their front paws on Delilah’s thighs and seemed to peer down at the ring she was holding in her hand.
“…a favour not from Twilight… but from the Queen of the witches…” Their gaze lifts up to Delilah’s. “…many things it could be used for…”
It was an extremely rare gift. Delilah has not earned anything of its calibre from her own Court, which was rather telling. Not for the first time the thought of possibly leaving Twilight for good dances across her mind. But her sense of pride won’t let her. Not for any sense of loyalty — she was beginning to feel more and more disconnected from the Court the more time she spent on the Material Plane, with Oziah — but for her reputation. Ankaa’s survival, the murder of Ilfrey, the missing Temple acolytes… All those things happened because of her sloppiness. Her sentimentality. Her weakness.
It was almost no different than how she lost her arm.
A shadowy paw bats at her hand. Delilah looks down at the not-cat.
“…what?…”
She raises an eyebrow.
“…let me rephrase it…ahem…what are you moping for?…”
“I’m not moping.”
“…if that’s not moping then I’m not a cat…”
“You are a cat.”
“…”
The Pale Daughter sighs, gripping the ring in a clenched fist.
“Alright. Spill it. Give me a piece of your not-cat wisdom, and better make it good.”
“…you have a habit of breaking things…or things have a tendency to break around you…”
Delilah almost doesn’t hold her thoughts in. But despite not being a cat Beastie is undeterred by the flare of emotion that dashes across their bond.
“…those things tend to be binding contracts…magic…chains…”
“…And?”
“…and nothing…it’s just an observation…”
“Here I thought you were actually going to be helpful for once.”
“…I’m always helpful…”
A short chuckle.
Perhaps Beastie had a point. The conversation she had with Kurtz when he returned confirmed he still wanted to be free from the Shadows. This favour could be the key to achieving that. But she had to be careful how and when she did that. As Jaezred’s ordeal indicated, when you have an enemy that knows you intimately then plans within plans within plans is not just prudent. It’s a necessity.
She sets the ring down on the wooden bureau top with a slight clink. Is that what she really is to be? A liberator? Breaker of chains? That seems like what good people do. Delilah was not a good person. The people she helps, neither are they — sometimes.
Yet it feels right, somehow.
What else will she have to sacrifice to help him though?
She looks over to the sleeping form of her love, her world, her everything.
What will she lose to free Oziah from the demons of her past?
Delilah wakes up.
Oziah lays beside her, one arm carelessly thrown over top of her, a calloused hand loosely cupping her breast. She doesn’t smile exactly, but the slight panic from sudden waking retreats as the pale half-elf goes to give a kiss to her love. She doesn’t get that far. The phantom limb twitches, then her whole side and shoulder begins to burn. A cold sweat breaks over her skin and she stops. With a silent sigh and an attempt at controlling her breathing, Delilah carefully pulls her pillow down to replace her form just as she melts into shadow.
She appears at the foot of the four poster bed and nearly collapses, barely catching herself on one sturdy wooden post. The half-elf leans her forehead against the cool wood, willing the shadows to stop going topsy-turvy. It takes a minute, but slowly, eventually, the floor feels more like solid stone and less like the deck of a ship pitching this way and that in the middle of a tempest.
Cautiously, she steps towards the bureau, sitting down a little hard on the elegant but simple wooden chair. From under the desk the shadowy form of a cat emerges face tilted up.
“…bad dreams…?”
Delilah pinches her nose between forefinger and thumb. “No. Just memories.”
Oziah gives a particular heavy intake of breath that almost sounds like a snort, as she rolls over in bed.
On the desk is a simple silver band. The soft moonlight that filters through the Luskan curtains catches on one half of it, while the other glows a deep, burnt orange from the embers that burn low in the fireplace. Delilah goes to reach for the ring, but scowls when she realises she’s trying to reach with the arm that’s no longer there.
“…about that…”
“I’m not sure if normal magic can regrow this body.”
Beastie sits down, tail flicking back and forth, disappearing and reappearing through the shadows. “…I meant the ring… but yes, the missing limb…”
“Is a problem.”
Jaezred’s expression of guilt, the fact that he couldn’t even look at her, almost made Delilah angry. But she was in pain, reeling at the loss of limb and strength, and though her words were sincere they may have come out a bit more harsh than intended.
“Your guilt is pointless, Jaezred. I was exactly where I wanted to be — beside you and Oziah. Breaking the chains that bound you is more important than keeping my arm. I would do it again, if the results were to be the same.”
At that point she had been near delirious with it all but she needed to make him understand.
“The price of your freedom, of a friend’s freedom, is with it.”
Beastie stood on their hind legs, placing their front paws on Delilah’s thighs and seemed to peer down at the ring she was holding in her hand.
“…a favour not from Twilight… but from the Queen of the witches…” Their gaze lifts up to Delilah’s. “…many things it could be used for…”
It was an extremely rare gift. Delilah has not earned anything of its calibre from her own Court, which was rather telling. Not for the first time the thought of possibly leaving Twilight for good dances across her mind. But her sense of pride won’t let her. Not for any sense of loyalty — she was beginning to feel more and more disconnected from the Court the more time she spent on the Material Plane, with Oziah — but for her reputation. Ankaa’s survival, the murder of Ilfrey, the missing Temple acolytes… All those things happened because of her sloppiness. Her sentimentality. Her weakness.
It was almost no different than how she lost her arm.
A shadowy paw bats at her hand. Delilah looks down at the not-cat.
“…what?…”
She raises an eyebrow.
“…let me rephrase it…ahem…what are you moping for?…”
“I’m not moping.”
“…if that’s not moping then I’m not a cat…”
“You are a cat.”
“…”
The Pale Daughter sighs, gripping the ring in a clenched fist.
“Alright. Spill it. Give me a piece of your not-cat wisdom, and better make it good.”
“…you have a habit of breaking things…or things have a tendency to break around you…”
Delilah almost doesn’t hold her thoughts in. But despite not being a cat Beastie is undeterred by the flare of emotion that dashes across their bond.
“…those things tend to be binding contracts…magic…chains…”
“…And?”
“…and nothing…it’s just an observation…”
“Here I thought you were actually going to be helpful for once.”
“…I’m always helpful…”
A short chuckle.
Perhaps Beastie had a point. The conversation she had with Kurtz when he returned confirmed he still wanted to be free from the Shadows. This favour could be the key to achieving that. But she had to be careful how and when she did that. As Jaezred’s ordeal indicated, when you have an enemy that knows you intimately then plans within plans within plans is not just prudent. It’s a necessity.
She sets the ring down on the wooden bureau top with a slight clink. Is that what she really is to be? A liberator? Breaker of chains? That seems like what good people do. Delilah was not a good person. The people she helps, neither are they — sometimes.
Yet it feels right, somehow.
What else will she have to sacrifice to help him though?
She looks over to the sleeping form of her love, her world, her everything.
What will she lose to free Oziah from the demons of her past?