Homecoming Queen – 17&27.10.2023 – Delilah
Mar 6, 2024 14:00:41 GMT
Jaezred Vandree, Andy D, and 1 more like this
Post by Delilah Daybreaker on Mar 6, 2024 14:00:41 GMT
The time has come at last to centre-stage
An angel both divine, unholy too.
Oziah, filled with fire, born of rage
Of what comes next, the choice is up to you.
A mirror, a pretender’s in your place
So taking all you left behind with ease.
I wonder when Oziah sees that face
Just which will be the mouse and which the cheese.
Of Leomar, the path is surely plain
A bastard needs no mercy from your light.
His legions will of course accept new reign,
And surely he’ll collapse without a fight.
For Archon though, the road is thick and dark,
Perhaps too many nightmares to see clear.
As only hearing distant father’s bark,
Tonight we separate the truth from fear.
Oziah needs her friends tonight, I say,
To balance vengeance with going astray—
An angel both divine, unholy too.
Oziah, filled with fire, born of rage
Of what comes next, the choice is up to you.
A mirror, a pretender’s in your place
So taking all you left behind with ease.
I wonder when Oziah sees that face
Just which will be the mouse and which the cheese.
Of Leomar, the path is surely plain
A bastard needs no mercy from your light.
His legions will of course accept new reign,
And surely he’ll collapse without a fight.
For Archon though, the road is thick and dark,
Perhaps too many nightmares to see clear.
As only hearing distant father’s bark,
Tonight we separate the truth from fear.
Oziah needs her friends tonight, I say,
To balance vengeance with going astray—
The pale half-elf raises her hand and the bard falls silent immediately. She levels a look at them.
“It is too upbeat.”
“Uh-upbeat?”
A nod. “If you ever meet my lady, then you will know that such tempos and timbres are not to her taste, and certainly not when it pertains to her.”
“I see,” the bard says, looking nervous. “Then… then I can lower it to a minor key and-”
“What about an epic?” the half-elf says, cutting them off. The shadows ripple around the lithe woman and there is the smallest hint of a smile.
The bard, who has met their fair share of powerful and menacing people, does their best to keep their composure. Perhaps Gemma was right. Perhaps coming to the gothic castle outside of Daring Heights wasn’t their best idea. Would they make it out of here alive? Or would the shadows gobble them up if they spoke wrong, unintentionally insulting these-
“…my lady better.” There’s an arched brow and the bard, Everrel, did flinch this time, realising they didn’t hear what their temporary employer said except the end part. Shit. Was there something important they missed?
The silence stretched on for a moment longer than comfortable for them.
“Can you do it?” comes the soft question. There was no menace but the quiet stillness was extremely unsettling. They shivered. They couldn’t help it! This woman was terrifying.
“W-well… I am not sure…” They see their hostess tilt her head oh so slightly, eyes narrowing. “Not sure how to fill out an epic poem without more of the details, I mean! Yes. That. Uh, would you-”
“Speak to Gabrielle Elvresult. One of the staff will take you to her so you can get most of the story from her. Do not mention me.” Pitch black eyes level a very telling look. “Once you have gotten the epic to a place you are satisfied with, send word directly to me and only me. I will give the final feedback.”
Everrel nods. They were already anticipating getting out of this room, away from this intimidating woman cloaked in shadows, back to sunlight and warmth and somewhere other than this exceedingly dark library with its shifting shadows.
“The first instalment for your efforts,” the pale woman says with a nod.
A shadowy hand with elongated fingers and talon-like claws rises from the shadows, proffering a pouch that tinkled with the sound of coins. Everrel had already been stepping forward to take it when they stopped, frozen in momentary fear.
“Uh…” They glanced at their hostess but she was looking back, expression impassive.
Carefully continuing their motion, they try to lightly pluck the pouch from the hand but nearly fumble it.
“Ah- Oh- shit-! Wai- Got- got it, haha. I got it.”
The moment it was free of its burden, the hand melted back into the shadows.
“Th-ank-you,” Everrel says, sweat glistening on their brow.
“Hmm,” the half-elf intones, half turning away. “You may go.”
Everrel did not need to be told twice. They bolt out of there, chancing a glance over their shoulder, which nearly makes them trip over their own two feet, double checking the too pale half-elf wasn’t some kind of vampire about to suck their blood. The door closes softly behind them and there’s a beat of silence.
“…must you always be so dramatic…?”
Delilah’s mouth twitches. “Must you always lurk in the shadows?”
“…touché…” Beastie jumps up onto the huge, wingback reading chair by the fireplace and begins to settle down. “…good luck keeping this a secret from Oziah…”
“If she finds out about this I won’t be upset.”
“…oh…?”
But the Pale Daughter remains silent, smiling to herself. Her lady-love tore down her father’s house, claimed her birthright as she wanted it to be, and now has a legion of her own with some of the most loyal followers. They also have their home, full in ways Delilah would not have thought possible for her in any lifetime. Ankaa is still a threat, but somewhere on the horizon. That problem is for another day.
Poem written by the incredible andycd 🖤