TRIGGER WARNING!
This content might touch on topics that are sensitive or triggering for some readers. Trigger Warning for mentions of drowning/suicidal ideation by drowning

Pyrrha walks towards the waves- walks until they lap readily at her ankles and splash up to her belly. She draws her rear down, bobbed tail tucked close. Each wave slaps against her beat after beat. The pace is steady enough that it enables her thoughts to regularly wander. Her mind shifts to the horizon and the very very dark expanse of ocean out there beyond where she, where anyone really, could swim.

TW Content Start If she tried could she make it? Probably she could make it out but would there be energy enough to come back? No. She's certain of this. To swim out to the edge would drain her. She would have nothing to swim back and the only way out was down below the surface. How fast would it happen? She wondered to herself. Maybe... maybe for science she'd try it. Just until she's about to lose herself and then she could take it back. Pull herself to shore and above water. Or maybe... maybe she wouldn't do that at all. It would be lucky wouldn't it to fail at this. There's no consequences for this kind of failure after all. Just death. But that's easy. TW Content End

She hasn't realized how far out the tide has gone. When she had sat down in the waves the foam lapped up regularly around her paws and hips. Now it was feet down in front of her and nowhere near coming to touch her. Her pelt is dried slightly with salt clinging to her strawberry façade and there is a chill she didn't realize she was feeling until now. Pyrrha stares down at her own feet like they are alien- a tilt of her head to the left and soft hmmm of thought passes over her lips.

( open to anyone )

code by me & art by rabbit

He wondered if she felt the chill of his icy eyes upon her back. His sister had an irritating habit of knowing when he lurked behind her, watching for weakness. From his cover, he witnessed her walking to the waves — heralds of death as she well knew — and he could not help but be utterly bemused.

What was she doing, sitting in unforgiving water, allowing it to beat against her? Had she forgotten the danger? Had she forgotten all they hoped to accomplish Impossible. This must have been intentional and for that, there was only one response. His instincts screamed that he had found weakness in her and the urge to destroy it reared its ravenous head.

He did not refuse it.

Slowly, he crept forward, paws silently carrying him across the sand with a precision only those accustomed to it could manage. His lips curled back, revealing sharp teeth. Oh, he can already feel himself biting down on—

The urge vanished as soon as he noticed the ocean had retreated.

He stood tall then, certain she was more than aware of his presence. Irritating as it was, he no longer attempted to hide. What are you doing? It was a question as much as it was an accusation. Was she affected by the same sickness as their mother?

@Pyrrha

ART BY SCARF, CODE BY DEE

She is not going to give her brother the satisfaction of knowing exactly what Pyrrha was imagining. She knows Drauhir well enough that she knows she will not get any manner of comfort nor interesting conversation out of it. The older of the two does not even look his way when she responds, there's a flick of her folded ear his way. She's listening, she knows he's there. "Reminding myself what we're working towards." It's as close to Caladan as they can get- it makes sense to her that she'd be here trying to think and focus on the future. In all honesty it wasn't entirely a lie either. Just an omission of the more vulnerable thinking that she was doing.

"Have you been to the pit to train today?" She asks with a medium degree of interest. Her eyes, half of her focus, are pulled by the rolling of the waves before them. The sound a muffled sort- persistent and underlying in her brain like static.

@Drauhir ♔

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She refused to look at him as his ire was sparked soon after. How dare she act as though she were above him? For as rocky as their alliance was, he thought it was clear who was in charge. She spoke of reminding herself of what they were working toward and he could not help the sneer or disgust on his face.

He was busy training, throwing himself into beating after beating and yet here she was, sitting in the waves like a foolish cub, staring out into nothing.

Wasting time.

She made the mistake of asking him if he had visited the pit. Now, he thought it was better to show her both what he had learned as well as her place—

He was silent as he lunged, attempting to close his jaws around her neck and slam her into the ground where her face was just barely out of reach of the waves. He did not care of how she twisted, only that he drive her instinct into attempting to roll so that he could place his claws dangerously on her soft underbelly. He would remain there until she knew to remain still. To submit.

— beneath him.

@Pyrrha

ART BY SCARF, CODE BY DEE

Her question hangs in the air and she's met with silence. Was that a no? Is he slacking off already in their goals? Entitled brat - her brain begins to think just as there's a slight shift of the sand below her. Grains move as Drauhir's weight shift and in turn Pyrrha feels just the slightest bit of movement below her own weight. It's far too late to react in a way that will grant her a full escape from the situation at hand. His teeth end up around her lower neck, near her scruff where there is plenty to hold onto. From her lips come a startled gasp that turns into a deep snarl as their bodies pitch forwards.

Entitled brat. Her instincts do indeed cause her body to twist as she falls forwards. It is not an entire turn however and Pyrrha lands half on her side, her left hip is pressed into the sand but both forepaws still end up tucked half under her. Her face and muzzle become over whelmed with the smell of salt and sea as her face is forced towards the shore by Drauhir. She can feel the grit in her nose and up against her lips. Breathing grows a bit difficult as every movement and subtle inhale means fighting the sand.

A wave reaches up- the very edge of the foam seems only inches from her face. "Get off." She growls, muffled in the sand- trying to twist her shoulders and buck him off of her. What did he think he was doing?

code by me & art by rabbit

There was a time he considered mercy.

After all, Pyrrha had been an ally in more ways than he ever thought possible. It would not benefit him to drive away his supporters. But then, Pyrrha was not truly a supporter, was she? This alliance of theirs was predicated only on the fact that she had failed. Had she not tried to take his throne from the usurper? Was she not still deluded into thinking she had the right?

Suddenly, mercy was a distant memory.

There could be no mercy for a pretender to his throne, even if he wished to grant her the title of Queen. If she was allowed to continue to think there would ever be anything more than that for her in the Cove, then he would only encourage her rebellion. So, it seemed it was time to reeducate her and ensure this fantasy died.

It was almost funny, how easily he forced her face into the shore. How ever did she hope to best Miaran, the one she claimed had done the same to Father? He wanted to call her pathetic. Look at her. Beneath him. Needing him. He did not get the chance, however, because she started to resist.

She was wrong in this.

From now on, there could be only obedience to his perfect will. His claim to the throne of the Cove was eternal. It did not rest on her as her own claim rested on him. It was his father who had sat upon the throne, not hers. He could stand her lusting for his rightful place no longer.

It was time she learned to respect her betters.

You do not command me, nethig. Little girl. His words were growled as he attempted to keep her still, trying to dig his claws into a soft spot to discourage her struggle. I am your king. You will not deny me. You will obey me.

If she refused to accept the inevitable truth, if she refused to submit, he would use his teeth to take.

@Pyrrha

ART BY SCARF, CODE BY DEE

Sand is pressed upon her face. Thin grains were driven into her cheeks, into her lips eternally quivering with a snarl he earns more and more every second. She can feel one of his front legs curling down as they struggle in the sand. Claws are firmly driven into her pale arm pit, behind her shoulder blade. His hind leg on the same side easily has now found a way to wander in along the flesh on the inside of her upper hind limb and pin it down into the ground with weight and claw both.

"I am our mother's heir- honeg." Little brother. Lest he have forgotten his own place in the order of things. Before him there was her. Before King Kvare there was Princess Pyrrha. And everything he had grown up with was because of their mother. Everything he has now was because of her. It is her allies and spies they work. It is her body that is being used to gather new support. And she hates him for forgetting it. "I am Sunder's heir and you will release me." She snarls and tries to jerk her head forwards, intentionally trying to push herself further into the sand so that she can potentially yank herself free of him just enough to rock her head back and slam the back of her skull into his face.

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She sounded like a mewling cub. Mother this! Mother that! It irked him to no end. She acted as though Sunder’s word was above Tollaire law, as if their mother had not married into the family, had not accepted their customs in doing so. Whatever her position before he was born ceased to be the moment he came into existence. She was behind even the pitiful Saeros yet seemed determined to deny that truth.

No longer.

He would have tortured her if he could. Anything to strip her of the power she pretended to have. Anything to remind her that he was willing to do everything she was not. For a wise woman if her position would have ensured no sons could displace her. But she was weak and now he would force her to see it. A maddened grin pulled at his lips as he felt his claws dig into her flesh.

As it was destined to.

But before he could gloat in denying her release, her head came flying up towards his face. Some time ago, it would have connected with no penalty, but no longer was that fat cub who knew nothing but the luxury he was born into. Her head connected with his chin as he tried to pull out of the way but now, she had to be punished. Daring to raise a finger against her king?

Treason!

Snarling, he attempted to snap his teeth around her ear — Mother’s — and tear.

Punishment.

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She is familiar now with the feeling of violence. His claws haphazardly cut her, half from his movements and half from hers. Escape was more essential. Maybe she could twist them around and end up pinning him instead? She is familiar with the feeling of another's hot breath near her face and head. It is a harbinger for the teeth that come. She feels his teeth gather around her right ear and, in her expectation he will be holding on. To continue his game of holding and control just upon her ear now instead of her scruff. Her head pounds- her skin upon her ear stretches....

A section of it the price paid, what is left stand jagged and upright. Much more like a normal sort of lion ear than hers which flop over upon itself. Much more like a normal lion's ear than that Hallmark feature that she shared with Sunder, with Neeha. Her face feels a swath of warmth run down the side into the dark sand- the air becomes thick with an iron scent. Surely Drauhir could feel Pyrrha's breath begin to rapidly quicken. She cannot see what he has done but she can feel it, a twitch of her right ear yields a rush of pain and right away she can tell it feels different, it feels wrong.

Under him, besides that pounding of her breath and heart, Pyrrha begins to grow deathly still. This can't be happening. Mother. Mom...

code by me & art by rabbit

If he did not think his point was made, he would have torn her ear off all together. But she needed her beauty, he thought, to attract him allies through marriage. The feeling of her quicking breath beneath his paws is addicting. This was how he imagined his victory over her for the Cove would have been, before the usurper stole that from him.

There was a part of him that desired more of a fight. How weak she was, so easily cowed because her ear was stretched. He kept his teeth lodged in soft ear flesh as a warning — the rest would come off if she did not obey. Yet, it seemed she understood that, for she became as still as death. He released her ear but only that, refusing to relent pressure on her body until he was certain this was not a ploy.

He leaned down, pressing his lips against her bleeding ear.

I am your king. He growled, his tone final. It is by the blood of Kvare and Sunder Tollaire that the Cove is my inheritance and mine alone. I have been gracious to you because of our mother, but no longer. He attempted to dig his claws further into her flesh, simply because it pleased him.

You are under my command now and because I am nothing if not merciful, your position as my Sovereign is not yet forfeit. He pulled away from sneering in her ear, standing tall above her as any king should.

But defy me again and you will lose far more than this.

ART BY SCARF, CODE BY DEE