Drip, drip, drip. The shallow, rhythmic patter of the rain fell across the heathen’s back as she moved through the jungle, her head hung low and her ears peeled back along the contour of her crown in diligent fashion. She sought refuge, tonight, from the northern territories and from the shadows that seemed to follow her there, descending into the darkness of the canopy in search of something – anything – that would rid her of her own thoughts and of her solitude. She was alone too often lately, she feared, and it was beginning to press weights down upon those small, slender shoulders. She was but a girl amongst the army of a kingdom; she was but one face amongst many. What could she possibly do to alter destiny?

Lazare had promised her change, however, and that sliver of devotion – of kinship, she thought – branded itself deeply across Delphine’s mind, even after the day had come and went and the two drifted back into their respective places within the bluffs. Delphine knew that she would wait, and watch, however – and so perhaps it was hope that spurred in her breast at the memory of Lazare’s wide eyes, sharp teeth, and honeyed words. Only time would tell what would become of them; they were just girls apart, but perhaps would be something more together. She could not say – but, yes, she would hope.

Lost in the myriad of thoughts, it was abruptly that Delphine found herself rearing to a stop – having almost thrown herself unintentionally into the banks of the river, her claws were forced to find purchase in the earth, halting her movements and sending her lurching, slightly, at the sudden loss of momentum. The banshee’s chest heaved as she noted the feeling of fatigue that had etched across her bones from the journey, realizing only then how far she had gone from home. The drumming of the rain was the only other sound that engulfed her now, however, solitude seeming unavoidable – and so it was with curious, through narrowed, eyes, that she would tilt her chin towards her chest, peering down at her reflection in the river and the raindrops that sent ripples tearing across her complexion.

She had not looked at herself in some time. What an odd feeling it was.

@Ludivine

code by squid, art by ryuu

“Es-tu venu hanter les morts?”
Have you come to haunt the dead?
The trickle of rain from above splashes against the pristine surface of the slow moving river — and when it stills once more, it brings forth a mirrored reflection of the haunting spectre. She stands just behind @Delphine, the mirror reflection looking as though she were a true demon perched upon the shoulder of the young cannibal, whispering into her ear. Her body appears as solid as the young lioness before her, but an ethereal glow flickers like soft flames across the ridge of her silhouette, giving away the fact she is no mere mortal now.

Her brow twists into something ghastly, a reflection of the hate that has now burrowed deep into her very essence. While there is no true malice or contempt held for the one that stands before her now, it's to no surprise from the way she left the mortal plane that there is still a disquiet about her now. She was slaughtered violently by those that were supposed to be her ally — by those that were supposed to be her family. For that evil, she will forever remain tethered to this world, no matter how much she may long to rest in peace.

For that betrayal, they will forever feel her cold breath upon their napes, wishing them a slow and brutal death.
“Est-ce que ces cicatrices que je vois marquent votre chair?” Are those scars I see marking your flesh? A soft murmur of her voice, drawing back to their first meeting with one another, upon which she had criticized Delphine for not being marked like the rest of her kin. But perhaps the youngster truly has learned since then — a soft fondness in her words, even if twisted by death.

”Have you come to haunt the dead?”

In one moment, Delphine saw only herself – and the next, as her eyes blinked and the water stilled, there was @Ludivine, looming over her shoulder and making it quite clear that she was no longer alone. A wintery flash found itself slipping down her spine, confusion contorting across her features as the yearling reeled – I-impossible, She sputtered, peeling back and away from the ethereal shape with wide eyes, furrowed brows, and gaped lips. Only, it wasn’t impossible – she knew it wasn’t, because she had seen Lazare forcibly pull her father back from the dead, almost too easily. She had denied him death, even when the forces of the world surged against him; and so who was to say that Ludivine could not tether herself to this world as a victim or purgatory, albeit not as lucky (or luckier, depending on who you asked) as Apollinaire had been?

And even as shock thrummed poignantly in her breast, Delphine could not tear her gaze away from the matriarch’s ghost, nor the way in which she looked exactly how she remembered her, all those months ago. Somehow, she was even more domineering in death – and, should she have been of a softer nature, Delphine would not have known whether to feel anger or grief renewed. It was a poignant reminder, after all, of the cruelties of fate, as the memory of Ludivine’s tattered corpse flashed briefly across the younger Dieudonne’s mind. I saw you die, and now you’re here. Comment? How? The question that had been asked of her by the spectre, rhetorical or otherwise, fell on mostly-deaf ears, now, as Delphine grappled with her confusion, as well as her confliction. Why here, why now? Why her?

You haunt me, not the other way around.

code by squid, art by ryuu

So surprised the youngster is — but did she not see Apollinaire rise from the dead? Was the wraith of one long passed so much more surprising, than a corpse rising from its own grave? The matriarch's face is kept void of emotion now as she watches the other, curiously, gaping wide at the sight of her spectral form floating amongst the graveyard of trees that surrounds them. Perhaps at one time she too would have had such a visceral reaction. She had heard Gauthier's stories of their dead becoming gods, and while she had respected him for his beliefs, she had never put much thought into it of her own.

Perhaps she, too, was a God now?

A flick of her tongue against the back of her teeth now as she scents the air — how amusing it is, that she still harbours such mortal abilities — tasting the scent of her kin on @Delphine's flesh. The scent of Wolfbron. Disgusting. It fuels the fire that rages in her breast, even as the french lilt of curiosity flows from the youngster's tongue.

How?
“This world doesn't seem to be finished with me yet,” Ludivine laughs, the lash of her words like a whip in the air — a crackle of electricity, borne from hate. “Or perhaps... Cela ne me laissera pas de repos jusqu'à ce que je puisse me venger.” It will not let me rest until I can have my vengeance. A pointed remark, coupled with the vicious twist of her lips into a sinister grin. The only question is — does she have any pawns left that she can use in her game of murder?

She knew, she knew it to be true – she knew that this, in all her death and glory, was @Ludivine. And so Delphine swallowed her shock, and her ego, after what felt like another long moment and began peering closer, still, at the glimmering figure that loomed before her now. The yearling’s tongue was pressed against the backs of her teeth as she came to register the madness of this, of all of this – because, apparently, the afterlife was not what childhood stories had projected it to be. It was not an end, but something else entirely. Which of the two options are scarier for a mere mortal, such as herself? She could not be too sure, not quite yet.

She predicted what was coming, however, for Delphine could only assume that rage (and likely much more) burned the once-matriarch's throat, bubbling up poignantly from beyond the veil in which she now existed. And so, Ludivine’s words were of no shock to her, but somehow remained frightful, still, even in her death – even when Delphine knew that she could not touch her, there was a poignancy there that she could not fully control. Her ears flattened instinctively at the clip of the other’s voice, but it was with the easing of the Dieudonne’s tremble bones that she found her voice, fire licking at the insides of her chest as she said: I wasn’t finished with you either. An apology did not seem fitting to give to a ghost, but the hardened glint in Delphine’s gaze was evident, and intentional – a look of both frustration and of contempt, still hanging heavy on her shoulders. She is a selfish creature, surely, but her words bolstered Ludivine’s sentiment all the same – she had been taken too soon, surely. She had unfinished business, surely.

And as the moments ticked on, Delphine would come to realize that seeing Ludivine’s ghost made the whole thing all the more real. it made things worse, too – because it meant that it, she, could not be escaped. It would not become a whisper in the wind or a swept-away memory, because Ludivine was still here. Alive and yet not.

et qu'est-ce que la vengeance pour toi ? And what is vengeance to you? She felt compelled to ask despite the way that the question felt like acid on her tongue; burning, burning, burning. But she knew that she did not need to whisper sweet sorrows to Ludivine, who knew better than anyone what had become of them. and for it, she had reaped the consequences of their fall, and of their failures, in the worst way. And while Delphine did not yet what exactly she was going to do about it yet, this – this would be a start.

code by squid, art by ryuu

The admission from the youth is sharp and full of clarity — clarity that even with the tainted and twisted blood that runs through her veins, @Delphine could still be so much more than those that came before her. One of very few that actually cared to learn about the truth of their heritage; one of very few that actually cared for Ludivine's teachings. It... Intrigues the cannibal Queen, for even in death, she is still a matriarch of the family.

Even in death, she has a right to dictate the family's future.
The question that drips lined honeyed poison from Delphine's tongue once more stokes the flame that burns so hot in the guardian's chest. She knows what's expected of her — she knows what words should be formed upon her tasteless tongue: kill them, kill them all. Get revenge. Slaughter. Death to she that broke the family's taboo. And yet... That would be easy, too easy. She's torn by an easy answer and one much more thrilling, surely — one that would be much greater than simple eye for an eye. Her death came at the paw of one who spat upon the family's heritage, and claimed it for her own as though she had any right to do so. No, the speckled one's death was not the vengeance she so craved.

She can feel the answer burning inside her now, a twisted flick of her mouth upwards into a cruel and conniving grin. Ah, what greatness lies in the young cannibal youth — Ludivine had seen it, even in life, that Delphine has what it takes to break from the shackles of her teachings.

All she needs is a little...

P U S H
“I will teach you,” she finally answers, tongue racing against the tips of her fangs in eager anticipation. “Our family's history, traditions, taboos — I will teach all of it to you. I will rid your mind of the broken truths thrust upon you by your wrongful bloodline, replacing it with the mindset of a true Dieudonné. One that can live and breathe the life our family is meant to have.” A step closer, and then two — close enough that, perhaps, if she closes her eyes, Delphine could feel the cold breath of death that escapes from between her jaws.

“Une fois que vous aurez compris ce que signifie être Dieudonné, vous prendrez possession de la famille,” a twist of her cruel lips once again, “et décide de ma vengeance.” Once you've embraced what it means to be Dieudonné, you will take the family as your own, and decide my vengeance for me.

Perhaps the result is the same in the end, no matter what. Should Delphine decide to follow through and take over the family as their new matriarch, it would result in the death of the previous one anyway. Sweet vengeance wrapped up in a bloody little present. Though Ludivine's mind wanders towards her children, she knows they would have no chance to enact such revenge upon the family; they will no doubt be seen as heretics simply for sharing her bloodline. For the Amaryllis Dieudonné's are blind to what true family loyalty means.

She watched, and waited, becoming poignantly aware of the buzzing that hummed in the back of the ears as she stood there before the fallen matriarch – vibrating, as that sense of electricity slipped across the air between mortal and ghost. She knew not what she had been expecting (aside from maybe the obvious) – but it was @Ludivine's cascade of words that brought Delphine to further pause, if only for the briefest of moments.

She had never wanted for that – for the title that they all seemed to grapple and gnaw and vye for. Delphine had always seen it as a responsibility and a burden that she would not care to carry – but this seemed, felt, different beneath the sprawling picture being painted now. It was not simply about power (she was not a creature of such ambitions), but about salvation for their kin. Their bloodline. Their legacy. Could she really give them that? Did Ludivine really believe that she possessed such power, such ability? This only went to show that, if they had had more time, they could have been something, perhaps, together. But alas, the world would never know now, one way or another.

And though the banshee mulled such thoughts around for a moment or two more, it was the specter’s ethereal stare that she was unable to break free from, truly. Equally jarring, and terrifying, and familiar – Delphine met it with glowering, bright eyes of her own, intensity thrumming beneath the surface and lacing across the words spewed between blood. Each word that fell from Ludivine’s lips were singed in that same, potent way – barreling against Delphine’s chest in angry, repeated fashion, as she is suddenly placed beneath the spotlight.

What an interesting place to be for a girl.

It would have been simpler, maybe, if she had simply come to heel like the rest. If she would have cast her gaze away and accepted the outcome of Ludivine and Leontine’s death for what it was.

But, alas. Her life was far from simple.

I am not the only one who has shown discontent. A bold statement broke the silence that had started to swell, a hardened glint finding its way into the corner of Delphine’s eyes as she said it. The yearling had seen and heard enough to know that she was not the only member of the family that had questions about their trajectory, or that had found discomfort in their actions – she could not know the depths of this current, but she maintained that glimmer of hope, of sweet prospect, that they were salvageable, still. She liked to believe that there was a future in which they did not burn themselves to the ground, coated in ash and ruin, even now. I want to know it all. A breathy acceptance, lips peeled back against the slick surface of her teeth, chest swelling, again, in a wave of fervour. And if there are others who want to learn, I would have them by my side, heeding your teachings, too. Confidants, pupils, wide-eyed and splayed-mouth wolves of hunger and desire – she wanted them close and she wanted them together, wrapped beneath the banner of what they could be when not forced apart by ego and contempt. She wanted better for them – oh, silly, valiant girl! – but she looked to the matriarch still, curious as to what she would think. Surely, Delphine could not be a revolutionary on her own. She needed more than a ghost at her side for a feat such as that.

code by squid, art by ryuu