s

o forget theories of sorrow / & hellfire & brimstone at the final circle of the earth: / if I must believe in anything, I choose this

---

She is a woman made raw and made new. Again, and again, and again.

Each new slight is more painful than the last, but each time Melusina steels herself a little harder, rebuilds herself a little stronger. Each time she thinks she has nothing left to lose she forfeits another little piece of herself, and each time she fools herself into thinking she is strong she is struck down by the stronger.

Often does she reflect on the battle at Scilla, the gravity of desperation with which she begged her father to relent. But he did not, and she did not. When she had picked up that stone and driven it into his neck, she had every intention of killing him.

She would have killed him, and has lost too little sleep over the realization of it.

It is easy to consider it the unheeded anger of a young daughter scorned by her father, but it is not frustration or slight that she feels but hate.

Melusina feels hate, and that in of itself is freedom.

She had come to the Freeze at first to spend every waking moment she could away from Illyria, but as the storm crept upon the distant horizon, she debated going back. She's barely spent more than a few nights within its icy halls and already was her fate being discussed and debated behind closed doors. Whatever was to be her future, she was not made privy to yet—but the dust from the war had only just begun to settle, and Melusina had scarcely made a show of face within the pride her father has spirited her away to.

Away from her home. Away from the home she chose.

Just like Aeistrios. And in a way, just like Luther. Like son, like father.

Before she realizes, she is caught amidst the storm. The heavy downpour of rain slicks her fur against her skin, and against her better judgment, she stands among its piercing, wet cold. Whatever cough she was sure to develop afterward would provide a well enough excuse to discourage any curious onlookers within the pride, and there was no better company to match her unrelenting fury than the silvery veins of lightning sparking through the clouds, and the cacophonous roar of thunder that follows.

---

@Dominic

Art by rabbit, table by cala

He was a man now, right? That's what the world was telling him. What every person he encountered since reaching adulthood had not outright said, but implied. Why couldn't he go back to being a cub. Back when his Mom had been around more, when he was innocent - where everything was simple. Before he'd been locked away trying to save someone who hadn't even need or benefit from his help. Not that he'd done anything but be a burden. To his parents, to Melusina, and now to Magdalena.

His pain is so raw, his body so hot from the constant fevers - he'd come here. In the depths of this frozen hell, to cool down. Despite being so cold, down to his bones - his soul, he knew it would help calm the heat raging within him. The wounds had been cleaned, and what could be done for his eye - or lack thereof, had been done. It was beneficial that he knew enough now to take care of himself and to try and fight the infection he knew had taken root.

When the rain began, Dominic wasn't even fully aware of it. Having become somewhat delirious, he only awakens from his haze when the chill of the icy rain reaches his flesh and the rumble of thunder tickles his ears. With a deep breath he lifts his head, the motion feeling heavy, too much effort. He collapses after a moment; exhausted. The rain begins to fall heavier, soaking him and all that hair. He shivers and once more pushes himself up, finally getting to his feet.

Through his blurry vision, he spots a figure not too far away. Brows furrow; unable to tell who it is just yet in his delirium. With heavy footsteps does he approach, a low rumble escaping from his jaws as he stumbles a bit, then rights himself. Finally, as he grows closer, he notices its @Melusina. "Mel..." He'd never called her that before, just Melusina. The name left his tongue, cut short by the sound of thunder rumbling again, followed by the crackle of lightning.

"We have to find shelter."

s

o forget theories of sorrow / & hellfire & brimstone at the final circle of the earth: / if I must believe in anything, I choose this

---

For once, there is comfort in the biting cold of the rain as it falls upon her face. The roar of the wind and the thunder echo in time with each other, each violently vying to be louder than the other. Melusina is tempted to part her mouth and join them, as if howling to the wind might somehow ease the anger in her heart.

But something stays her. A shadow in the corner of her eye, a silhouette drifting in-and-out of view through the haze of the thunderstorm. Melusina squints her eyes, but as @Dominic nears, she can begin to make out the familiar edges of his shape. Rugged, large—injured.

Mel... he rasps her name like gospel, we have to find shelter.

Her eyes rise to meet his but—there's something missing. His hair is slick against his face, falling to either side of his eyes. But there is blood—too much. Wounds old and new span across each other, as if an artist has tried to repaint his canvas over and again. Blood clots here, but seeps there, and a mediocre patch job at best barely keeps his face put together.

Every instinct in her drives her to usher him to safety, to begin the arduous task of pulling away that saturated patchwork and clean away the evidence of his defeat. But so too does that instinct bring a familiar dread, a resignation to what she's been made, and not what she will make herself to be.

Instead, she raises her hand, and aims to smack him across his face.

The good side, for she is merciful, and she owes him at least that.

Fuck that, she snarls, each word cutting on the edge of her bared teeth. Who did this to you?

A silvery vein of lightning crackles across the sky, followed by a deafening roar. She is the tempest. She is the swell.

How could you let this happen?

Art by rabbit, table by cala

Their eyes meet and for a moment he finds solace in her gaze. Relief floods him and a smile goes to spread across his weary lips. She is okay, after all - even if everything else had been a lie. That hadn't.

Even in all this rain she was beautiful; and he was left breathless, lost in her presence. Before that smile could even make it's way across his features - he feels the hard slap across his face. It causes a ripple of pain to go down his spine, the stiffness of his body and the oversensitive nature of his infection had him shaking momentarily.

Claws dig into the earth and the man feels his legs tremble. Harsh words echo into the air, heard easily over the rain in her anger. Who did this to you? A question, but it sounds so accusing. Why was she angry with him? What had he done. Silver eyes grow wide, features laced with confusion and betrayal.

The sky lights up and he can see her more - the bared teeth, and then the roar.

For the first time in his life Dominic finds himself angry with her. No, not angry. Furious. It surges up within his chest like an inferno, bubbling to life. Swelling and swelling until he explodes. It's painful, his face contorts into hurt, confusion - rage.

Tears sting his face as he snaps back, his voice raised in a manner he never thought himself capable of, "How could I let this happen? You ask me that? WHO? Perhaps you should ask the man with the moon on his face. The man that called you a whore and claimed you fucked him, over and over again. ASK HIM." He is fully shaking now, repressing every urge to raise his own paw and hit her in turn.

Hurt her like she had hurt him.

s

o forget theories of sorrow / & hellfire & brimstone at the final circle of the earth: / if I must believe in anything, I choose this

---

She sees the brief flit of his smile and it is almost enough to stay her hand, but it is not enough. Long had the levy broke, something deep and gnarled within snapped. No gentle, reassuring smiles nor gentle furl of boyish brow could ever stay her heart again.

Then, his expression twists. Disbelief, anger, fury. Glorious, unrelenting rage.

No less than she deserves. No less than she craves. To watch the likes of men fumble and falter over their own anger—to feel the rush of power and control when it was she who drove the knife deeper. What she could stitch back together she could too easily tear at the seams, wrenching open old wounds and bringing to light all their dirty little secrets.

She's never felt so alive.

How could I let this happen? You ask me that? WHO? @Dominic snarls, and with each word he howls she bites the urge to echo his sentiment. Perhaps you should ask the man with the moon on his face.

Her jaw slackens, her eyes widen just the slightest, but it is the only sign she gives that she is affected at all. Just as quickly as the shock of his involvement is there it is gone, and it comes to no surprise to Melusina that Cassius had gotten his claws into Dominic. Not just his claws, no—his words, his poisoned manifesto.

The man that called you a whore and claimed you fucked him, over and over again.

Melusina the whore.

ASK HIM.

Melusina the manipulator.

She closes her eyes, and sighs, and smiles.

So what if I have? I will be the whore. What business of it is yours? I will be the manipulator.

Dominic is so seethingly angry he is almost alight, tension tightening his musculature as if it were aflame. Melusina, by contrast, is agonizingly icy, and still, and controlled. But the rage stoked within them both is kin, to which they both eagerly throw tinder if only to feel the lick of its burn, if only to feel so infinitely alive.

You're a fool. You've lost your eye over a foolish, stupid thing.

Art by rabbit, table by cala

He saw it there, in her eyes - a satisfaction. At what? His anger. This flared his temper worse, made his skin crawl. He wanted to hate her, wanted to say that Cassius was right. That he meant nothing to her. Despite all his rage, he couldn't.

He wanted to grab her, to shake her - what was wrong with her? What happened to that soft, beautiful girl he'd grown up with? That had given him a reason to want to protect, to smile and had made his life beautiful - even for just a short time? So many questions ran rampant in his mind.

They stopped abruptly at her question. At first, there is a seething jealousy. A feeling he had never expected to rise up in his chest. Melusina wasn't his. Never had been, never -

No, she never would be.

Yet still it was there all the same. His heart felt as if she had taken it and ripped it out of his chest. So had she slept with him? Through the fog of his anger and hurt, Dominic's mind focused on her features. He cannot believe it. No, he wouldn't.

The rain continued to pour over them, cascading and soaking his mane, causing the lengthy tresses to fall over his face - the side that had been brutally mauled. That now missed an integral part of him. "No, Melusina, I don't think you did." He says, jaw tightening, his words holding a hint of finality. Dominic steps closer, his heated, fevered breath brushing over her cheeks, her forehead. He didn't remember getting this close to her.

But the distance between them is a dream now.

He can reach out and touch her. No, she wasn't a whore. "Whatever this is, whoever this is - I know better." How long had he been watching her? Loving her? Oh, for so long. Without thinking her moves to grab her, to pull her in against him. Finally touching...holding...

She could pull away and he'd feel content, to know how soft she was. The scent of her was still so very strong, even enhanced with the fall of the rain around them. "I love you." He breaths, his one good eye lidded heavily as he leans in - no hesitation, and moves to bring her into a kiss. Soft at first, then demanding. Longing. A paw raises to trail around the back of her neck, talons pressing into flesh in their wake.

He'd had no choice in losing his eye. But she could assume whatever she wanted. All that mattered to Dominic now, was this moment. However fevered he was, the words he spoke were genuine, true - ushered like a pray near her ear. A soft whispered promise.

s

o forget theories of sorrow / & hellfire & brimstone at the final circle of the earth: / if I must believe in anything, I choose this

---

TRIGGER WARNING!
This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of sexual content & potty mouth.

---

She wants his hurt, she needs it as much as she needs air to breathe. His hurt, her hurt—an intertwining of frustration and hate and freedom. As necessary as oxygen, as innate as breath. Melusina had never known anything but her desperation for air. She wants him to fight, to lash out. She wants to chase that feeling from the riverside, with Cassius and his insults and his hate. She had never felt more alive.

Melusina cannot bear to see him as he once was: So hopelessly devoted to her that he would allow himself be maimed. Then, and even now. She would fight her own battles. She would bleed her own wounds. She would carry her own ashes.

Even if @Dominic must hate her for it.

No, Melusina, I don't think you did.

Her face falls, ever so slightly, the single brief break in her resolve that wonders if he could love her through it. Her jab had been sinister, unkind. She has not hidden her machinations and the deeper maliciousness behind her words. If he could endure through her hate, then was that not the ultimate form of devotion?

Whatever this is, whoever this is - I know better.

She feels the sudden tightness of his grip on her arms, the fierce and desperate pull into a chest of waiting warmth and earth and lavender. It pierces through the crack in her resolve, wrenching herself free and back into her fury.

At first, she struggles in his grip.

You're mad—you're delirious.

I love you.

The last, fleeting logical part of her knew it must be an infection driving him to some strange delirium. Melusina was not blind, she knew Dominic cared for her in ways he did not for others, but their lives have been too full of tragedy to ever consider love. They have always been too busy surviving to ever consider anything else.

But then his lips are on hers—and they are soft, but demanding, and devouring. It sends a burst of electricity down the back of her neck, roaring and surging like the thunderstorm above them. A heat unfurls deep within her belly, that sprawls upward and downward and everywhere in-between.

It's a new kind of liberation.

Suddenly, she is pressing into his kiss, all things teeth and tongue and want. A single hand reaches upward, seeking to take advantage of their half-feral state and shove him back against the frost. She's driven by instinct and desperation, but even she cannot hide the naivety in her movements, the trembling hands of someone who truly has never done this before.

You don't love me, she whispers against his lips, but does not give him the chance to reply before she reignites the kiss.

Not even the Gods loved her. How can one mortal man attempt such a feat?

He loves the idea of her, of what she once was.

The delightful little curl in her belly continues to grow, writhing and warm and wanting. Her heart thunders against her chest in pace with the rain, and even the howling cacophony of thunder echoes her blissful cries. Her hips press flush against his, as her claws tangle in the endless furls of his mane.

Fuck me anyway, she continues, the sudden dip in her purr on the edge of heated desperation. Take me before Cassius does, so he cannot claim he was the first.

Each fervent kiss was a flex of control, each breathy sigh a little freedom.

Art by rabbit, table by cala

TRIGGER WARNING!
This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of [ adult themes, sexual themes ]
She struggles and his hold only strengthens. Despite the fever, despite the pain - he would endure, if only to continue holding her for longer. As she pulls from their kiss to speak, his mouth would temporarily find her neck. Teeth drag along her flesh - tasting, teasing her. Doing what came to him by instinct alone. A need to have every inch of her, to know every inch. His breath is ragged, hot against her fur.

He foolishly pushed aside any logical thought - any reservations as her mouth suddenly meets his again and their kiss reignites - explodes into something that makes his entire body come alive. A ragged groan within her mouth as he loses himself in this closeness. Within seconds she quietly whispers a proclamation - a lie. Who was she trying to convince?

Before he can respond he's on his back - his body sprawling out with her atop him. The rain is lighter now, but still falling like a curtain of privacy around them. Through the falling drops he gazes up at her with his good eye, finding himself once more breathless. Let the Gods disappoint her, but he would endeavor never to. Whatever she was, whatever she had become - Dominic knew he'd accept her.

But deep in his soul, it resonated, crying that this was not who she was. It was a farse, a way to protect herself from the cruel injustices of the world. And oh, who could blame her? Cruelty could truly only meet with cruelty.

His body thrums, he moves to obtain a grasp against the back of her head, talons tugging at her her scruff as he leans up, moving to bite into her neck - growling roughly - a guttural, primal sound. Dominic would pull her head back if he can, so very hungry for her. "I'll fuck you because I love you, do you hear me?" He snarls near her ear before nipping at it harshly - perhaps even drawing blood. His other paw lowers, traveling down her spine to fully and finally bring their bodies together in heated passion.

He would spend the rest of the night;
the rest of his life proving this to her.

What a foolish, foolish beast.

/fade

s

o forget theories of sorrow / & hellfire & brimstone at the final circle of the earth: / if I must believe in anything, I choose this

---

He matches her pace for pace. Her breath takes a fervent pitch as his teeth find her throat, and her lips, and her ears. A familiar wet warmth coalesces at the base of her ear, before following the slender curve of her cheek. His words betray the heady snarl in her ear, the sentiment of a man in love spoken the way a man would a common whore—carnal and lascivious and needy. And Gods, how she needs it.

I'll fuck you because I love you, do you hear me?

She does, but she doesn't want to. She wants to hear no more of devotion and love and grief. She wants only to lose herself in this moment, to curl into the warmth blossoming deep within her belly and drive it to its edge. Melusina's reply is lost in the chorus of breathy moans and pleads, and not long after @Dominic gives her the final mercy of deliverance.

---

Fade to black.

---

The aftermath that follows is heeded by a heavy silence. Melusina rests her head on his chest in rapt contemplation, enjoying the last fleeting remains of the quiet after before she is reminded of the cold, and the north, and the rain. What pleasures he'd wrought on her dispersed, but it is not regret or guilt that creeps from behind it. She is not saddened by this innate loss of herself; instead, she finds liberation in it. She has cut off another unwanted limb, she has destroyed another shackle.

And she has taken from Cassius what he may now never have.

She would play the whore.

Her fingers idly tangle in the furls of his mane, slick against his chest from rain and sweat and snow. There is a pleasant soreness that accompanies the rekindling warmth near her thighs, and Melusina half-ponders taking him again. Yet, despite every instinct begging her otherwise, she slowly lifts herself free of him, before slumping to her rump in the snow beside him.

That's his name. Cassius.

She would play the manipulator.

Cassius deserves no less, after all, and she has become strong and cunning enough to orchestrate its design. And Melusina would burn anything—anyone—that stood in her way.

Even him? Even him.

She turns her head away, sickened by the mere thought of it. But the ire of feeling wronged is louder, and the wrath of being used and discarded for so long burns brighter. Her shoulders pull back, trembling; melancholy green eyes flutter under raindrop-laden eyelashes. She is the perfect picture of feigned bitterness.

He'll kill me.

She would play the antagonist.

She would watch as men ate their own kind.

Art by rabbit, table by cala

He comes down from that tumultuous cloud of pleasure slowly, and for a time he doesn't notice the silence that seems to suddenly envelope them. It is ugly, it is loud and when it becomes obvious, Dominic finds his stomach twisting into knots.

The realization that she hadn't spoken the words back in return hit him hard; his throat tightens and he swallows the humiliation like a pack of razor blades. What could be going through her mind, he couldn't even fathom - @Melusina was a mystery unto herself. It became more and more obvious that despite thinking he knew her - he didn't.

Her touch drives him from his thoughts, the thick of his mane tangled within her digits. The snow around them had long since melted, a steam surrounding them from the sheer body heat their union had created. For a moment he allows himself this comfort, this singular moment of beauty and peace. It helped him forget that the world was cruel and nothing...nothing was as it should be.

Cassius.

She spills his name so easily, as if they hadn't just been making love. As if she hadn't already spewed it moments before they had come together. A reminder.

Dominic winces, jaw clenching tightly as he sits up; his muscles aching and his head throbbing. He wants to be angry, to promise that he would seek revenge on her behalf. Yet something unfurls within his stomach and makes him feel sick, as if his body knew her intentions even if his head did not. Somewhere deep within, the heart he laid bare to her cracked.

That crack grew, and grew -

He'll kill me.

Instead of anger there is sadness. Why was she telling him this? Had she not been proclaiming herself strong, capable; her entire life she'd been fighting to prove to others who she was. Yet in this moment she seemed so weak, and fragile. Was this who she was, or who she was pretending to be? Dominic never knew anymore. His gaze rises to meet hers - searching; for what? Answers?

He didn't know.

"You don't care about me at all, do you?" He murmurs finally, a heavy realization crashing down on his perfect image of her. Their moment lasted mere seconds before she tainted it with his name, her hatred.