[let it be known that there is little satisfaction to be found in murdering four-legged creatures? even as coronabeth finds herself trembling, adrenaline getting the best of her, the monsters that lunge at her are far less difficult to defeat than her past training partners; the ninth house rapier, hideous though it may be, still slices through her enemies' necks with ease, allowing its wielder some degree of confidence as she pushes through this heavy fog. she is a new person, she tells herself. less a princess, more a king.
and yet, as that all-too-familiar drawl cuts through the temporary silence—
—well.
another creature leaps at her, teeth bared; she cuts it down midair, kicking past its corpse without any true care in the world, because that voice—! that voice. some part of corona despairs, even as some greater part of the whole rejoices—for it is better to be together isn't it? always. two halves will only make a half, unless they are matched, meant to be something greater...]
You always were fond of calling others bitches. I never was an exception.
[spoken slowly, measuredly, as corona steps into sight. her rapier is held before her; she looks every bit the warrior princess, prepared to strike at the heart of her enemy—
—until, of course, eyes meet eyes. there is a sudden shudder; there is the sound of a corona taking a short, sharp breath as she lowers her weapon, because it's impossible to ignore the staccato rhythm of her heart. how does one describe the relief they feel, upon spying the other half of their soul? how does one ignore it; how does one do anything other than admit defeat by virtue of saying, desperately:]
Oh, Ianthe—
[let her close this distance and she will! she will tangle the fingers of her free hand into ianthe's somewhat paler hair; she will tug ianthe closer, pressing their foreheads together before closing her eyes with a shuddering sigh. she's been alone for a while now, thanks. exploring this new place was fun until it very much wasn't—and now that they are once again reunited, two halves of a true whole, everything is suddenly that much easier to bear.]
into the fog! ianthe, baby... 🥺
and yet, as that all-too-familiar drawl cuts through the temporary silence—
—well.
another creature leaps at her, teeth bared; she cuts it down midair, kicking past its corpse without any true care in the world, because that voice—! that voice. some part of corona despairs, even as some greater part of the whole rejoices—for it is better to be together isn't it? always. two halves will only make a half, unless they are matched, meant to be something greater...]
You always were fond of calling others bitches. I never was an exception.
[spoken slowly, measuredly, as corona steps into sight. her rapier is held before her; she looks every bit the warrior princess, prepared to strike at the heart of her enemy—
—until, of course, eyes meet eyes. there is a sudden shudder; there is the sound of a corona taking a short, sharp breath as she lowers her weapon, because it's impossible to ignore the staccato rhythm of her heart. how does one describe the relief they feel, upon spying the other half of their soul? how does one ignore it; how does one do anything other than admit defeat by virtue of saying, desperately:]
Oh, Ianthe—
[let her close this distance and she will! she will tangle the fingers of her free hand into ianthe's somewhat paler hair; she will tug ianthe closer, pressing their foreheads together before closing her eyes with a shuddering sigh. she's been alone for a while now, thanks. exploring this new place was fun until it very much wasn't—and now that they are once again reunited, two halves of a true whole, everything is suddenly that much easier to bear.]