[ alina starkov doesn't cry in front of people. it's the first rule of being a war orphan. you keep it to yourself because no one else gives a damn, and if they do, it's only so they can attack you with it.
when the tears come, she's tucked between rows of public library shelves, gathered on the floor with her knees to her chest, clutching a wood and glass frame holding the picture. she'd needed air when she'd found it. needed to walk, to get away from that strange place she'd been sleeping. but she is grisha, and more than that, she is the sun summoner. she knows better than to leave something as valuable as herself out in the open. so she hadn't found a spot amongst trees to cry in, or the fountain in the empty square. she'd found a cubby in the library.
mal's face is smiling back at her. it's wonderful and impossible and painful. he's got his arm wrapped around her like he always used to do, pulling her in so that someone could capture this moment in time. they look ... happy. it's hard to imagine that. does she remember it that way? being happy? it feels too far away now too be sure.
the more she thinks of it, the louder her sobs become until she presses her forehead down against her knees because she can't keep her eyes open to look at the picture anymore. ]
02. let slip the dogs
[ the fog draws her into the streets. or more accurately, the way it had rotted the stolen bread and cheese on the countertop of the home she squatted in. alina walks slowly, hand ahead of her, trying to reach for something through the fog.
scraaaaape.
she stops. ]
Hello? [ fear chokes her voice. ] Is someone there?
[ what a miracle that would be. she tries to call for the light again. to summon it into her hand, to somehow banish the dense fog, but it doesn't come. it's far away like the sun, a distant warmth, and it's just like it had been in baghra's hut. exhausting. she shakes her hands like that will make them work, but nothing comes.
well, nothing comes from her.
a creature lunges at her from the dark and she yelps, twisting and running. what is in the other direction? she can't remember. can't seem to keep herself oriented in this strange place now that the fog is everywhere. paving stones are under her feet, but they stretch all over the town. a fountain emerges from the fog in front of her too late to dodge. she smacks into it, spills into the water.
or maybe it's not the fountain she hits. maybe it's you. but the dog is advancing, and alina is scrabbling to get away from it. ]
03. darkness manifests (assumed cr)
[ it's smarter to stay together.
in the fog, alina had come to that agreement with someone. they will stay in her house or theirs together, close, so that if the dogs come, they have a better chance. she sleeps resolutely with her back to them, straining at the edge of the wide bed, trying not to listen to their breathing. even her socks are still on her feet.
but it's not her companion who wakes her, in the end. it's the blood. and there, in the doorway, a volcra, bewinged and screeching, claws splintering wood and scraping stone.
alina doesn't scream. she scrambles over her companion on the bed, tugging at them, trying to wake them if they aren't already. ]
We have to go. We have to go. [ because the volcra isn't alone. ]
04. wildcard
[ feel free to hit me up protects if you want something different or more specific. assumed cr is great and necessary for prompt 3, and is also welcome for wildcard text tags which i love! ]
alina starkov (shadow and bone)
[ alina starkov doesn't cry in front of people. it's the first rule of being a war orphan. you keep it to yourself because no one else gives a damn, and if they do, it's only so they can attack you with it.
when the tears come, she's tucked between rows of public library shelves, gathered on the floor with her knees to her chest, clutching a wood and glass frame holding the picture. she'd needed air when she'd found it. needed to walk, to get away from that strange place she'd been sleeping. but she is grisha, and more than that, she is the sun summoner. she knows better than to leave something as valuable as herself out in the open. so she hadn't found a spot amongst trees to cry in, or the fountain in the empty square. she'd found a cubby in the library.
mal's face is smiling back at her. it's wonderful and impossible and painful. he's got his arm wrapped around her like he always used to do, pulling her in so that someone could capture this moment in time. they look ... happy. it's hard to imagine that. does she remember it that way? being happy? it feels too far away now too be sure.
the more she thinks of it, the louder her sobs become until she presses her forehead down against her knees because she can't keep her eyes open to look at the picture anymore. ]
[ the fog draws her into the streets. or more accurately, the way it had rotted the stolen bread and cheese on the countertop of the home she squatted in. alina walks slowly, hand ahead of her, trying to reach for something through the fog.
scraaaaape.
she stops. ]
Hello? [ fear chokes her voice. ] Is someone there?
[ what a miracle that would be. she tries to call for the light again. to summon it into her hand, to somehow banish the dense fog, but it doesn't come. it's far away like the sun, a distant warmth, and it's just like it had been in baghra's hut. exhausting. she shakes her hands like that will make them work, but nothing comes.
well, nothing comes from her.
a creature lunges at her from the dark and she yelps, twisting and running. what is in the other direction? she can't remember. can't seem to keep herself oriented in this strange place now that the fog is everywhere. paving stones are under her feet, but they stretch all over the town. a fountain emerges from the fog in front of her too late to dodge. she smacks into it, spills into the water.
or maybe it's not the fountain she hits. maybe it's you. but the dog is advancing, and alina is scrabbling to get away from it. ]
[ it's smarter to stay together.
in the fog, alina had come to that agreement with someone. they will stay in her house or theirs together, close, so that if the dogs come, they have a better chance. she sleeps resolutely with her back to them, straining at the edge of the wide bed, trying not to listen to their breathing. even her socks are still on her feet.
but it's not her companion who wakes her, in the end. it's the blood. and there, in the doorway, a volcra, bewinged and screeching, claws splintering wood and scraping stone.
alina doesn't scream. she scrambles over her companion on the bed, tugging at them, trying to wake them if they aren't already. ]
We have to go. We have to go. [ because the volcra isn't alone. ]
[ feel free to hit me up