stained glass windows in my mind

@András

Ghyslaine wasn't sure what to think about the bedding that they had shared, except that... she didn't want to think about it. She had felt something- a stirring within her, his body, her own... she had felt something.

Now, in the swamp, she moved along the narrow paths- choosing a place that anyone who had known Ghyslaine... would never go to look for her. She stared down at the mud, and her nose wrinkled in irritation, as she spoke aloud- hoping that he'd caught up and could hear her.

"I despise mud, but I truly cannot think of a better way to disguise oneself." She said aloud with a frown, before she would take in a deep breath and wade into the mud. She would wade, until her fur was well covered, and then emerge, only to look at herself with disgust that faded into a small grin.

All in, right?

It would cover her scent, and her markings and should render her rather unrecognizable, right?

In the slight lull, thunder rumbled in the distance, and she wondered... if it rained, would it was the scent away? Would they have to continually roll in it?

Perhaps she could use some berries to paint new markings on her body, to hide the ones she'd had... to maybe make herself look different.

i regret you all the time

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They hadn't talked about it. Instead, they fell into a strange and comfortable silence, as if they'd known what all it had meant and had washed themselves clean. It felt as natural as breathing, in a way, but András wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject. @Ghyslaine had still been intent on their plan, had not relented and had not shown hesitation, and neither had András. They had set off in the early morning hours and had committed their journey to the swamp; carefully, slowly, weaving their way through Amaryllis without drawing any attention.

Strange, how careful they must now be. András had grown used to the life of a heretic. It felt different, weightier now that he had dragged Ghyslaine into it. With his scent written all over her body she had no choice in returning to Illyria now. He had sealed her fate as much as he had his.

He watched in quiet contemplation as she slipped into the pools of mud, the dim light casting a matte sheen on the wet mud now caked in her pale fur. He relented, knowing he would come to miss the way they once looked, the once they once were; but perhaps rebirth gave a chance for him to appreciate all the new that came with it. Perhaps there are some plants good at staining fur, he suggested with a lifted brow, before he, too, waded into the mud.

It clung to him more than he'd like, weighed heavy in his mane, until the once-alabaster locks now dragged between his feet, dripping with the cumbersome muck globbed into each lock. By the time he emerged from the swamp, his head was nearly dragged down to the level of his shoulders. It were almost laughable.

Surely, too, the mane would need to be cut.

Art by Kite, table by cala

stained glass windows in my mind

Mentally and emotionally she felt a bit lighter. She found solace in @ András, the evening prior and she had- within those moments shoved all her problems in a tiny box in the back of her mind. She instead focused on the now, the mud and the stench of it as it clung to her, and then watched him wade inside as well.

“Maybe I’ll look for some.” She mused and as he emerged- a mud lion she couldn’t help the dry chuckle that left her. "This is definitely your best look." She teased him in a cheeky tone. Determined to find some lightness in all of this. She would find some lightness.

She aimed to pad closer to him, to study the mud clinging to him before her gaze slipped down to her own legs. Gross, disgusting way to cover themselves.

"Starting over shouldn’t be too hard, I was awake and alive in this land for months before I found them again.” Them, because to call them anything else would bring those emotions forth again and she didn’t want those emotions and that pain anymore. No, she had chosen this- him. The future.

i regret you all the time

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Mud wouldn't last, he knew; but it worked for now, and it was effective. He looked like an entirely different lion with the mud sloshed against his frame, sticking to his ribs and pinning his mane back and down. The only thing left spared was the pale of his face, where mud had long turned the fringes of his cheeks brown but did not stretch further than that. He had kept it purposefully uncovered, desperate to keep the drying and cracking mud from his eyes and mouth. Keeping it caked on would eventually stain their pale fur darker, covering them with a layer or dust and dirt that would leave them nearly unrecognizable, but their dirtiness wouldn't go unnoticed; not by strangers, and more importantly, not by them.

Yet, when she teased him, he smiled.

Is it now, liebling? I feel as if I've gained a few pounds.

It was a rare thing to see, but with their transformation into new lions, he would need to let some things go; to change with it. As she moved closer, he found himself recoiling; but not out of fear for her touch, but instead fear that she would smell the dirt and grime that emanated from him in waves. Sure, she had smelled the same; but it was noxious enough just on himself to make his eyes water.

We can live as rogues, explore Amaryllis' farthest reaches, he mused softly, his gaze spanning out across the swamp, before landing once more on her. She, the constant in his ever-shifting world. Or perhaps there is a pride out there who knows nothing of us. Though, the chance of that was thin; despite @Ghyslaine's resounding success in her previous missing-persons attempt, she had eventually been found, and they had both left marks upon this country that had been witnessed by many. Perhaps they would eventually need those fur-staining berries.

Either sounded appealing. He would be content to spend the rest of his days in the shadow of irrecognition with her, as much as he would spending his days idling away in a pride that did not look over their shoulders at him.

Art by Kite, table by cala

stained glass windows in my mind

The mud had seeped into her skin, and she was absolutely sure that the smell would never be be cleansed from her fur. She was also sure it made her ten pounds heavier than she normally was which would offend most females, but Ghyslaine was not that vain. okay, yes she was. .

Yet then he smiles, and the teasing and joking is worth it for that. When he speaks, she cocks her head and considers his words. "Liebling?" She questions before smirking. "I wasn’t gonna say anything." She said about his weight gain with a look to his figure. Easy, light teasing.

"I… don’t know what prides don’t know me. I haven’t been paying attention." She admitted. "I know should I ever want it I could have a place in the Mire or Lagoon." She said as an almost afterthought. At least she was convinced that Tiamat would let her stay.

"Rouges could be…. Fun" She said after a moment, but she wondered… did he need more than that. "Other than the Summit, any enemies to watch out for?" She wondered aloud. Ghyslaine didn’t think she had any, not really but turning her back on the Summit definitely wouldn’t allow most of her friendships with those lions to remain. Not that she minded. As long as they were forging a new path- together.

i regret you all the time

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He'd spoken it without thinking.

The word passed his lips with such ease that he'd not given it a second consideration, but now that she had pried on it, he is taken aback. At first he is silent, unsure if she had spoken his same language back at him or not; but when it finally clicks, an embarrassed sigh rolls through his lips, brows knitting. Sorry, he says, clearing his throat. I didn't mean to call you that. It had been as natural as breathing; as natural as it had been with Magdalene, and with Fernweh. But it would be far too cruel to themselves to dwell on what happened the night before, what all had unfolded in that sacred and raw moment. Would @Ghyslaine want him pressing any further? What even were they, now, what were they going to become?

It was easier simply to not think about it. The simplicity of their running away hinged on just that—it being simple, uncomplicated by their past and fervent feelings. And yet, András found himself not quite regretting the way in which he addressed her, or the stammering of his heart in his chest.

He latches onto the distraction of the topic change, content to think more on what was to become of them rather than the feeling that dwelled just beneath the surface. The Mire and the Lagoon were certainly options, but both held Rike and Rikes allies that would too recognize András. Safe, perhaps, as a final option. If things were to all fall apart ( a morbid, cruel thought, but one he had to consider nonetheless, for he had ruined everything with Fernweh ). Rogues for now, then, he agreed, attempting a sort of toothy smile in hopes it may bring her some comfort. Vermeda, most likely, given the family. And certainly, it's Sigrun King would be just as pleased to see András' head on a spike as much as Morrigan would. Anyone attached to the Greyflood or Sigrun.

Including your own family, he thinks, then looks toward Ghyslaine, including hers.

Art by Kite, table by cala

stained glass windows in my mind

There is a tilting of her mud splattered head, as he dismiss the word he’d said and she racks her brain trying to remember if it’s something she has ever heard before. Yet, as a heartbeat or two passes, she merely blinks in acceptance. She’s curious but she opts not to push him, to enjoy the moment, the easy feelings between them despite the topics of the night prior. She has chosen this and she wants to blindly just focus on the now.

She nods in acceptance of the title of rouge, and when he mentions Vermeda and the Sigrun as enemies she feels a bemused grin to her lips. "When I lived in the Mire it was Alaric that told me of their rituals- then another former member of their family." Yet, she has loved Nero regardless of that and still did on some level.

She cannot remember if she told him before. "I drowned once. Not as a ritual. I was angry- the sea cares not why you stride into it. I was careless and the tide is unforgiving." She had been so angry with her husband. The one you’re so okay with abandoning now?

"I’ve never agreed with the rituals of the Sigrun, despite the friends I’ve held in the family." A simple statement, as she stares across the swamp. She had chosen her side then, and now it seemed.

"Rouges. I like it." She said after a moment. No responsibility. Nothing tying them down. Just… freedom.

i regret you all the time

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He had always known she walked that neutral ground, that sliver of space that existed between two opposing sides that only the most cunning of them could navigate. András had always been envious of those able to grapple with neutrality in the face of such evils, and though he were not so dogged after the Sigrun like many of his feral (and markedly dead) companions were, he still could not deny the fear and ferocity on that day he'd learned of the Drownings, and all the evil spit forth into the world by some false prophet. András had never been particularly religious, but even he were a fool to thing this world carved be a kind God; but unlike his enemies, he would not seek to bow to Them.

Thus, @Ghyslaine's next words are a mercy, of sorts. He had once tried to frighten her away from the Sigrun and would have cautioned the same now as he would have then (though perhaps more tenderly, perhaps more grieving). The only thing András had ever known was that the same fate would not befall his children; the noble efforts of saving Sigrun cubs from the same fate felt a pointless, distant dream. But then—to hear that Ghyslaine had drowned. He pauses for a moment, his gaze leveling with her own. You drowned? He asked, bewildered; he was no fool to think the sea safe, but never had he quite experienced the white-hot pain that is gasping for air and finding nothing but water.

He had imagined it once, but it was too much to bear. He had always been content with it being the monster he never quite understood, the one he feared from afar. Perhaps it were that that gave Vellen some semblance of being corporeal.

Suddenly, he felt sick to his stomach. He struggled to imagine the pale lioness struggling against the sea, whirled about by the waves with abandon. He noticeably stiffens, his brows knit with concern and barely visible amidst the mud drying to his fur.

Did you see Him? Their God?

Art by Kite, table by cala

stained glass windows in my mind

Sometimes she had nightmares about the drowning.

When she'd been floating in the blissful oblivion of life and death, there had been moments that she felt her lungs were filling with water again- that she was to be dragged, down, down, down to the depths of the sea- never to emerge again. When he speaks, a question really, as he asks her- 'You drowned?'

There's a subtle freeze, a moment where her gaze drifts to something a bit far away and unreachable as she remembers. The water, the crack of her skull against a rock- the oblivion.

Waking up, on the sand beside Nero and realizing that she couldn't even walk home that night. It had taken a couple of days for her to travel, and even then... she'd been off for a while.

"I did." She confirms, giving herself a little shake as if her mind was something that could be erased with such a movement.

And about their god? She scoffs softly, her brow furrowing a bit.

"There was nothing." She said flatly. "There is no god of the Sea. No Vellen." She growls out, a bit of temper flaring in her eyes. "I will never understand such foolish devotion when there is nothing there." A small pause. "And to risk yearlings?!" She snaps. "My children are yearlings- and if anyone dared." A flash of teeth as she broke off. She may be willing to chase the freedom and peace that Andras offered... but they would, forever and always be her children. And if anyone dared to suggest they should be drowned? She'd kill them all.

She had heard the voice of Kivuli and Maua... but that was a thought for another time- one thing was certain, she had not seen this god. He was not there.

And the second time she had embraced oblivion- it had been cold and empty, and she had been utterly alone.

i regret you all the time

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He is suddenly acutely aware of her movements. The way she stiffened, the tense of her jaws, the hold of her breath, the still of her flank as her lungs expanded with air she would not let out. The gravity of her I did causes his shoulders to tighten, his eyes to narrow; suddenly, he was also aware of his every breath, his every blink, his every shudder. They had raged against the brutal crime of drownings for so long without ever having quite understood the sheer gravity of it all. The pain, the terror, that loss of control.

It was hard to imagine her swept to sea, into the claws of some God he had never truly believed in, but his presence was made alive by his people, and even András quaked at the idea of @Ghyslaine at the mercy of their cruel deity. Thankfully, mercifully, she had found no such entity. The throne of the sea was left empty, and the Sigrun sacrificed their children to a myth. Slowly, his lips curved into a grin; until, he was laughing. Callous, bellowing. He was not laughing at her rage, nor her concern. His laugh burst from the weight of it all, all the sacrifices they had made over generations to a God who turned out to have never existed.

For so long they had preached blasphemy upon Vellen's name. But there was something almost sacred hearing it from her; she, who had been so unattached from the Rike's beliefs, she, who had been swept into the sea and had emerged Godless still.

But then his laughter subsided, and his expression softened. Mud-caked and almost dried to the point of being stuck in place, András reached his paw out and attempted to rest it onto her shoulder. The more he looked upon her, the more he felt his anger begin to subside; and each movement he made caused the mud to crack and fall away, in its place leaving fur that was dirtied and darkened, almost unrecognizable. Meira, he says, wanting so desperately to say her true name, but trying so hard not to let himself break the ties that bound them now to their shared secrecy. We will make sure nothing ever happens to your children. Or mine.

We, he said; for whatever they were, they were together.

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