it’s still quite early when magdalena departs from the lagoon. in fact, she’s almost certain that she is the only one within the pride awake so far, greeted by navy brushstrokes melting away into the soft yellows and pinks of morning. perhaps a month ago this walk would have had her heart hammering in her throat with excitement, each step jubilant as she all but bounded into her sister’s arms.

instead magdalena stalks towards illyria, each step cutting into the ground with unsheathed claws, breath coming in harsh puffs as the air thins up the mountain. when autumn’s chill is added to the mix, it makes her lungs burn and squeeze with each inhale. by the time magdalena makes it to the borders, she is all but wheezing with the effort.

still she continues on. each painful twinge of her lungs ignored in favor of the stabbing sense of betrayal that lingers in her heart. the woman’s maw drops open, tasting the air as she searches for her sister within the summit. she had seen melusina stalk off in the direction of illyria, at least, and hopes her father had been thorough enough to make sure she had made it here in one piece. though magdalena doesn’t know how upset she’d be if her sister had simply disappeared again.

eventually, @Melusina's scent mingles in with the others on the edge of the summit borders and the young woman sets off behind it with nothing more than an anticipatory shudder down her spine. her claws scrape against the icy illyrian rocks, frosted over from the chillier temperatures overnight. despite almost losing her footing twice, magdalena makes it at last, standing just outside where melusina’s scent seems the most concentrated with a deeply furrowed brow and pinched lips. “sister.” the noise is sharp, just as much an exhale of breath as it is a word. what does magdalena want? well, she’s not entirely sure.

nonetheless, she comes prepared for a tidal wave of emotion, body tense as she waits for melusina to respond. or not.

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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 sits, and she waits—and it is that, that is most agonizing.

She should be doing something, she should be learning their patrols, memorizing their territory, planning some sort of escape. But she has done so little of that, and the time drawls ever-closer to the early seize of winter. She has not been mistreated in the Summit. She has been fed and washed and left to rest as any other Illyrian might. Few curious, brave souls dare even attempt to approach, but her silence is rigid, and her glare is icy, and they are often frightened off long before they say a single word.

But the longer she lingers, the more her anger breeds more anger. And the violent, white-hot fury of her anger is addictive. It was control where she had none. Alaric may have forced her here, but Melusina's anger had power, and he could not force her to speak. He could not force her to eat, to sleep, to wake.

In the quiet of her den, she hears everything. She hears the telltale sound of footfalls as they approach her den—too light to be Alaric's, too purposeful to be a mere passerby. The wind shifts, and along with the mountain air accompanies the unmistakable smell of salt, and Melusina knows who it is long before @Magdalena calls out to her.

Sister.

Melusina braces her back against the wall of the den, just within its mouth, just within sight. Her face remains shielded by the shadows, the creeping light of dawn just too much for her sleepless, tired eyes. Her expression was twisted into one of indifference, though the tension is her jaw was palpable.

Don't let them catch you mingling with the turncoat, she croons, enunciating the last word with a jarring click of her teeth. Did you have to fight your Queen for the royal den, or did she let you keep it out of pity?

She remembers the smell of milk and herbs and salt, the sound of cackling of fire and the laughter and the bedtime stories. She remembers eyes of doting green looking fondly upon the cubs they fought so desperately for, that they loved so desperately much.

Then she remembers rattling lungs and skinned knees, and arguments deep into the night about the welfare of children split between two prides. She remembers being denied out of the den, being forced into lessons that hardly held her interest. She remembers the praise their mother would shower upon her because she was so brilliant, but Tinuviel never bothered to notice the disinterest in her daughter's eyes.

Suddenly, Melusina's stomach twists with nausea.

She rests the back of her head against the wall, and sighs.

Why have you come here, Magdalena? To gloat?

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her sister has seen better days, though magdalena is certain the same can be said for her. for alaric. for rohan too. this is no happy reunion, for @Melusina seems just as tense as magdalena is. seems twice as haggard.

in the seconds before she is acknowledged, magdalena cannot help but feel like this might have been a mistake - but then her sister speaks. melusina’s question doesn’t surprise her, nor does the near-sneer that she says it with. “she can have it.” magdalena replies simply. she’d burn that den to the ground before she stepped foot in it again, and the same likely went for the den they had briefly shared in the mire. too many memories, too much baggage. the lagoon doesn’t bring back the happy memories that magdalena might have hoped when she had first joined, instead the sea air tastes bitter and tainted, especially now. she stays anyway - where else was she to go? there is an opportunity here, to truly lash out and fulfill that dark part of her that wants her sister to hurt too - to have a partner in misery.

it is the second question that truly stokes those flames within her, so familiar and somehow always within magdalena’s reach. “yeah, i came all the way here to fucking gloat.” she starts, bi-colored eyes narrowed as they fixate on her sister in the shadows. “should i start now or would you rather i wait until after breakfast?” the answer is sharp, sarcastic, with a barb dipped in acid. on some level, it hurts to be speaking to her sister like this. the one person that magdalena had always thought she would walk through life with arm-in-arm. perhaps the only one who understood what it meant to fight tooth and claw to escape childhood whole, both too stubborn to let those shuddering breaths and wracking coughs take them in the night.

is it guilt that flickers across her face then, or grief? perhaps a mix of them both, but gone before she can think much more about it. “how long have you been back in amaryllis?” she questions finally, watching as melusina’s head bows against the side of her den. there are so many accusations lying on the very tip of magdalena’s tongue. you didn’t look for us, you joined some random woman, you left us. for now, the woman leashes it all back, the floodgates that close everything in deeply cracked and ramshackle at best. for the sake of their dwindling family, she half-hopes they will not burst.

coding by daanyen | art by rabbit

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 can have it.

There is no biting resentment, no impulsive remark. She half-expects @Magdalena to fling into a frenzy, but when it doesn't come, a scathing disappointment sinks in her belly. She wants to be mad at her sister, to find every reason to fuel their feud instead of mending the bridges that might not be completely burnt.

She lifts her gaze, and catches Magdalena's silhouette as it lingers outside the den. Her lips half-part, and for a sliver of a second she nearly breaks and begs forgiveness. She could run back into her sister's arms, and return with her to Scilla; beg their forgiveness, earn their keep. She would have Magdalena and Rohan and Alaric, and she would never have to know fear, or strife, or grief. And she would be so, so very unhappy.

But before she can say anything at all—yeah, I came all the way here to fucking gloat. Should I start now or would you rather I wait until after breakfast?

Melusina struggles not to let show just how much it stings. She has earned such ire from Rohan before but never from Magdalena. Their bond had always been close, but the wedge that had been driven between them by time and distance was a wound that could not be mended. Melusina would never admit that she was envious of her sister, but it had been she who had walked into fate's cruel design the day Aeistrios was in that meadow, and when Melusina had endured and clawed herself free from it, it had been Magdalena who had become stronger.

It was her turn to become strong.

Even if it cost everything.

How long have you been back in Amaryllis?

It doesn't matter, she answers a little faster, a little sharper, a little harder. You're upset because I didn't try to look for you.

Slowly, she pries herself from the wall. The sun has long begun to claw its way into the sky, and its harsh light causes Melusina to squint as she meets Magdalena face-to-face at the mouth of her den. Her mouth is twisted into a pointed frown, her face contorted into a scowl.

Magdalena wanted answers? Fine.

I didn't want to, she begins with icy indifference, This family is fucking cursed. Mom's dead—good riddance. Dad's dead—except he's not. How on earth does he think I'll simply be okay with that?

By now her hackles are raised, her eyes wide and wild.

Rohan will treat me as if I'm made of porcelain, but won't fucking bother consoling Arion whenever he's looked at wrong. And I'll go back to living in sweet Magdalena's shadow as she gets to conquer the world, and I'm trapped in the healer's den with enough pity to drown in it. Inhale. Exhale. She's panting. I don't want anyone's pity. I want their awe.

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


it doesn't matter, you're upset because i didn't try to look for you.

she says it so easily, like magdalena should have taken her sister in stride. @Melusina's deep scowl is met with one of her own. "i looked for you until my feet bled," you bitch. she is more angry at herself for wasting so much time, than she is at melusina. her eyes flash, turning back towards her sister. "i suppose," she starts, chest heaving. does magdalena want to go there? does she truly want to tip over the edge of this cliff? "it is easy to turn your back on a family you have never tried to be a part of." once upon a time, magdalena had thought her lost. perhaps instead, melusina had been purposefully sailing away.

"so you are angry... because our father lives?" she is incredulous, unsure of how such a thing could be bad. at least alaric had been there, though far away in the summit, at least he wasn't a living shell. "and you think rohan never tried to coddle me? that he doesn't still?" he always had, and it had gotten infinitely worse in the wake of their siblings' disappearance. it was all suffocating. a hand forever pushing down on her chest. "if you live in my shadow it is only because you've put yourself there." her voice is accusatory - melusina could have been there, could have trained alongside her, could have shed that weakness like a ratty child's blanket. instead, magdalena had done it all alone. alone, alone alone.

but if this is the path we shall go down, sister, then i shall keep you there.

though what shadow has she cast so far, anyway? magdalena has not done anything of note yet, and how that stings. "so then put aside the herbs, as i have." she urges, stepping forward with furrowed brows and that ever-present frown. her hand reaches out one more time - one last time. "i will teach you myself," a promise, a vow for melusina to take within her hands. let them put aside brothers that undermined them, mothers that failed them, the enemies that had dug their claws in so deep - too deep. "let us conquer together, sister." they would raze this valley to the ground between them. "we can bring them all to their knees." fuck vermeda and scilla and their petty wars - fuck those who had wronged them - let all of their heads rot on spikes. they would put the valley on it's knees and there they would be forced to look up at them with awe, with fear.

and if melusina refused?

magdalena's body is lined with tension, fur bristling as if standing on the edge of the most dangerous precipice - standing on the cusp of a war. her sights have been set, always, on luther and aeistrios. she knows not of the hatred that festers in her sister's heart - knows too that her sister has no clue of magdalena's own hatred which sings to her like a fresh-drawn blade. it is a path that she has long since gone sprinting down. will continue down whether melusina came with her or not. and should her siblings become roadblocks, then there was a burning question - aching to be answered for longer than she can remember.

what if there is other stärke blood to be shed on the warpath? if she must be the one to shed it?

for so long the answer had evaded her. she has walked with a foot between both worlds. one where it is unthinkable to throw aside her siblings, her father, in search of her own absolution. the other where the taste of firmly grasped vengeance, of finally cooling hatred is enough - the burnt corpses of her family be damned. it is perhaps the only thing that has held her back in this life, the strings of love have led only to her own weakness. but was she willing to do anything to get what she wanted? if her sister stood against her, would magdalena fell her too? would she so easily tear those threads asunder?

"you will find my pity in short supply."

magdalena finds the answer now, in this moment, as her blazing amber eyes fixate on her sister. there is no porcelain girl there - only a woman who could be friend as easily as she could be enemy.

so be it, it shall be done.

coding by daanyen | art by rabbit

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 patricide.

She doesn't know how long she waits for @Magdalena to speak. It feels like ages. It feels too soon. Melusina does not enjoy the the verbal lashing she receives; she finds that her heart still stutters with anxiety, her breath still catches in her throat. A pit sinks deeper into her belly with each grating word, and it takes everything she has to keep it from showing in her otherwise steeled, icy expression.

Getting angry and lashing out felt so good, but Melusina was wholly unprepared for the aftermath—hello, consequences.

For a moment, she feels doubt. Regret. Guilt.

Too late to turn back?—Too late to turn back.

She's already come so far on the backing of revenge.

So she lets her sister's words cut deeper.

I suppose it is easy to turn your back on a family you have never tried to be a part of.

As easy as breathing, schwester.

Thinking of father, of Rohan, made her stomach twist with rage. Try as they both might to say they were making her stronger, they never pulled their punches. They were always hovering; Rohan for the moment they were born, and Alaric from the moment she'd shown back up on his borders, bedraggled and half-starved and just barely free.

Magdalena and Melusina were one in the same, once. Two sides of the same coin.

But it had been Melusina wandering in the forest alone that day; and it had been Magdalena who had first picked up the sword.

How could she ever escape a shadow so impossibly wide?

Mother never let me train, she seethes, remembering the well-intentioned tutting and grabby hands pulling her back into the den, shoving her nose in herbs and medicines and hours-long lessons about things that never interested her. Tinúviel could not stand the idea of not having at least one daughter completely under control.

Safe. Protected. Chained.

She could not bear the idea of losing both of us.

So then put aside the herbs, as I have.

I already have, she wants to say. Through no one's help but my own.

I will teach you myself. Let us conquer together, sister.

She laughs—instinctual, guttural. But there is no humor in her steely gaze, only the briefest glimpse of surprise.

You don't—you don't know how deep this goes, she pants between laughs, but her tone is hushed, almost serious. She has gone far beyond any point of return. Her desire for revenge goes far beyond just Aeistrios and Luther. What would you do if father put you in these chains?

She takes a breath, and levels her gaze with Magdalena's.

What do you think I am going to do?

She remembers that moment. Cold, shuddering in the rain.

I am going to kill him. I will kill him.

Was Alaric any better than Aeistrios, or Luther, when he had done the very same thing to her that they had? Was it not equally deserving of justice? Twisted as the idea of patricide was, Melusina's warped view of justice suddenly seemed so achingly simple, so achingly absolute: No man was safe from her deliverance.

Is that something you can live with?

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this silence seems to hang between them like a guillotine. an executioner all too willing to snip that frayed thread that bound the two girls together. it is not that this anger feels good to her - in fact, there are few things that do these days - but it is comfortable and familiar in a way that her sister’s love has never been.

it will suffice. it must suffice.

as easy as breathing, schwester

don’t call me that - how the acid hits the back of her teeth, clenched together to keep the barbed words from spewing. hoping, however foolishly, that the cinders and rubble which lie between them can still be salvaged. their eyes meet again and where @melusina’s gaze is frost and ice, magdalena’s is billowing fire. once again, they are two girls forged by the same metal.

the excuse melusina gives has magdalena flashing those sharp teeth in annoyance. “excuses,” magdalena accuses, amber eyes narrowed as they gaze upon her. “mother was gone for long after that day we met at the pond.” it wouldn’t be for quite some time after that magdalena would trail alaric to the oasis for that unintentional yet finishing blow on their mother. “that woman failed us in many ways, but do not blame her for the teachings you failed to seek out.” there is no love in magdalena’s heart for her dead mother, but at least in this she will defend tinúviel.

melusina’s breathy laugh crashes against her and for a fleeting moment, magdalena thinks that she’ll be told to get lost. that whatever honey icefang has poured into melusina’s ears has dug its dark tendrils too far, much too far. then she speaks again, the words almost lost between each laugh.

magdalena leans forward to catch each word, breath mingling with melusina’s, though she doesn’t share the humor. “what would you have done in his situation?” her brows furrow. “you would willingly let an enemy march your child to war against you and your own?” she steps back, creating crucial space between them. finally, a breath. “he cannot push you away so easily, melusina.” but her sister’s anger is an untamable beast, wild in the space between them. the implication thinly veiled behind melusina’s words has magdalena’s breath catching in the back of her throat.

what do you think i am going to do? she knew. now stood barely on the edge of a crumbling cliff. a choice had to be made - sister or father?

magdalena nods, as if understanding. as she backs away from the opening of melusina’s den, magdalena’s expression swims with so many emotions that it’s almost unreadable. finally, just as she’s about to turn from her den to head towards the border, magdalena’s eyes snap up trying to meet melusina’s. “i will find you soon.” is all she says before departing.

an unmade decision still hanging in the mountain air.

exit magdalena

coding by daanyen | art by rabbit