He has not… seen her in some time. Weeks, maybe months now - Donatien cannot recall exactly. It is not unlike her - them - to go such a time without crossing paths, yet the longer it passes without an instance, the more he finds his thoughts drawing back toward her. How strange. How irritating.

Donatien doesn’t realise where he is until the ground turns slick and deadly, when water pools in deep, dark holes around him. The red prince leaps up onto a low, thick branch and huffs. Of course he’s all the way down here, near enough the Mire that he can smell the -

It does not smell like it usually does. In fact, the air stinks of a stranger - nothing like the scent normally on Ianthe’s coat. Donatien frowns, heaving himself up to walk along the branch - getting closer, but not too close. Not until he knows what’s going on.

@Ianthe

coded by flea + image by rabbit

Though the land itself had not changed from the home Ianthe grew up in, it now feels different. The wide, winding mangroves where she and her sisters played hide and seek, the dark overhead of the swamp which had once felt comforting, they were now an oppressive weight reminding Ianthe that she is trapped. Turning her home into a prison, and her siblings into pawns.

She's never wished to be anything other than what she is, after-all, her sisters are perfect and she is made in their image. Still, she can't help the blasphemous thought that if she were bigger, stronger she could rip the crown from her greedy brother, and take his head with it.

Discontent rumbles in the small lioness like the mounting thunder. She's hoping the miserable weather will prevent her brother's lackeys from looking too hard for her. A little peace to clear her head, without the tightening of the leash around her neck.

The sound of a calling huff breaks Ianthe out of her thoughts. She creeps towards the sound before a flash of lightening illuminates the familiar maroon figure of her ghost.

What are you doing here? She whispers, eyes drinking in his drenched, handsome face. Her heart thumps anxiously, happily, confusedly. This is the first joy she's felt since her imprisonment, but it's tainted with the sour fear of her brother's wrath.

@Donatien

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She seems to materialise, summoned by his thoughts, in the blink of an eye - or a flash of brilliant lightning. Ianthe is before him, her eyes reflecting his surprise. But unlike him, she voices her questions.

Donatien makes a low, indifferent noise. Just as he'd suspected, Ianthe's scent is different. Yet it isn't just her scent that feels wrong. She, herself, lacks that fire that a thunderstorm should not dampen. There's very near fear in her soft words. If he didn't know better, he'd think it was concern for himself as much as her own safety.

Emerald eyes flash a quick, narrowed look over the princess's shoulder and into the depths of the Mire, and a single brow arches. A question, played delicately over his face, before annoyance clouds his sharp features.

@Ianthe

coded by flea + image by rabbit

Though not physically near, Luther still casts a long shadow. Ianthe is breathless at the thought of him finding her here, and turning his greedy gaze to the lion that belongs to her.
I'm happy to see you, she says, but you shouldn't be here, neither of us should. She watches as his gaze moves past her, and Ianthe can read the silent question in his bright eyes.

My brother, Luther, took the Mire, and us as prisoners. A long story short, I have to go back soon, before he comes looking for me. Ianthe pauses, worrying her lower lip. She wants to continue, take me with you, I've missed you, but these thoughts are selfish. He doesn't need to take on her burdens, not when the consequences of doing so could be his life. Ianthe wouldn't risk that for anything.

@Donatien

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