poisonxpotentate-blog

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                            Pre-established Relationship Meme !

 –  Send a 💙 and the type of relationship you’re interested in  (platonic, romantic, hate, etc), and I’ll make a random small starter for us, smack dab in the middle of said relationship (especially if our muses haven’t interacted yet) & we can go from there. Let’s see where it takes us!

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“HEY!” Eve cries out, chasing after the young exorcist on wheels. “That’s mine!” She squeaks, her hand flying out in front of her, trying and failing, to grab the boy by the back of his uniform. Her bare feet pounded against the cold floor of the Order while her long blonde hair billowed behind her like a golden cape. 

“Please!” She yells after him. The farther he got, the brighter Eve’s cheeks got. He had skated into her room while she had been putting away laundry. With a crude remark, the boy had pilfered a pair of her bloomers. How embarrassing! “Give that back to me, exorcist!” 

There was a part of her--albeit a small part--that wanted to poison the boy for his crime. After all, Eve wasn’t a murderess by her own will. 

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LIKE for a short starter

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romantic comedy sentence starters/meme

“It’s so nice when you can sit with someone and not have to talk.”

“I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night.”

“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

“You’re high maintenance but you think you’re low maintenance.”

“You say things like that, and you make it impossible for me to hate you.”

“You look like a normal person but actually you are the angel of death.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and the thing is, I love you.”

“We were friends for a long time.”

“You know, you may be the first attractive woman I’ve not wanted to sleep with in my entire life.”

“When I buy a new book, I read the last page first. That way, in case I die before I finish, I know how it ends. That, my friend, is a dark side.”

“I am not your consolation prize.”

“No one has ever quoted me back to me before.”

“I’ll have what she’s having.”

“Are those sad tissues or happy tissues?”

“Nice boys don’t kiss like that.” 

“I like you very much. Just as you are.”

“I realized that I had forgotten to kiss you goodbye.”

“Come on, we belong together - you, me, poor little skirt.”

“If I can’t make it with you, I can’t make it with anyone.”

“I realize that when I met you at the turkey curry buffet, I was unforgivably rude, and wearing a reindeer jumper.”

“Did I really run around on your lawn naked?”

“Aren’t you a bit young to be in love?”

“You can’t lose something you never had.”

“You’re already falling in love with me.”

“I’m gonna make you wish you were dead.”

“I love you, but I don’t have to like you right now.”

“Get down on one knee, it’s more romantic!”

“I’ll never let anybody put me in a cage.”

“I don’t want to put you in a cage, I want to love you.”

“I’d marry you for your money in a minute.”

“I just want somebody I can have a decent conversation with over dinner.”

“When you’re attracted to someone, it just means that your subconscious is attracted to their subconscious, subconsciously.”

“Gentleman… I had forgotten what you fellas looked like.”

“I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so badly.”

“But I just want to say that all this nothing has meant more to me than so many somethings.”

“Isn’t everything we do in life a way to be loved a little more?”

“I like to feel his eyes on me when I look away.”

“People always talk about how love is this totally unselfish, giving thing, but if you think about it, there’s nothing more selfish.”

“Do you know anyone who’s in a happy relationship?”

“Listen, if somebody gave me the choice right now to never see you again or to marry you, I would marry you, alright? And maybe that’s a lot of romantic bullshit, but people have gotten married for a lot less.”

“I’m gonna take your picture. So I never forget you or all of this.”

“It’s amazing the clarity that comes with psychotic jealousy.”

“People put you down enough, you start to believe it… the bad stuff is easier to believe, you ever notice that?”

“I’m gonna treat you so nice, you’re never gonna let me go.”

“I appreciate this whole seduction thing you’ve got going on here, but let me give you a tip: I’m a sure thing.

“I love you. And not in a friendly way, although I think we’re great friends.”

“I love you. Very, very simple, very truly.”

“You are the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being.”

“If this is a crush, I don’t think I could take it if the real thing ever happened.”

“You are lovelier this morning than you have ever been.”

“That sex was the most fun I’ve ever had without laughing.”

“You’ve got an old fashioned idea divorce is something that lasts forever.”

“You’re wonderful, in a loathsome sort of way.”

“How long is it since we’ve last seen each other?”

“I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

[poisonxpotentate-blog]

insult someone my muse cares about on anon

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What does your muse, think of mine? Pick a colour & tell them!

BLACK = I would date you.

GREEN = I think you’re cute.

BLUE= You are my crush.

GREY = I wish you would notice me.

PURPLE = I don’t talk to you but I’m a huge fan!

TEAL= We have a lot in common.

YELLOW = I don’t know you at all.

ORANGE = I don’t like you.

BROWN= I never was a fan.

PINK = I think you’re ugly.

RED = I hate you with a burning passion.

WHITE = You scare me.

RAINBOW = I want to fuck you.

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“Hey.... Elia, please.... Don’t make those faces,” Eve frowns, taking his hands. She gives them a few good squeezes before adding, “We can talk about something else....” She snuggles closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. 

“Sometimes, I want to just be another person, you know? I don’t want to be the daughter of the mafia boss. I want to be out and doing things. Not sitting around, like some weak princess....” Eve sits up and moves her seat to Elia’s lap. Her fingers draw shapes on his black turtleneck. 

“You look so good in black. Have I ever told you that?” She smiles, reaching upward to pat his cheeks affectionately. 

Eve’s high squeaking giggles puncture the darker mood quite effectively. Elia can only laugh as she kicks and pushes at him, though neither have much effect. He would never think of Eve as weak, or even fragile, but she’s no fighter. She is a dainty young woman who prefers stuffed animals to knives. Elia likes it that way–he likes her being bright and clean. In his darkest moment he can cling to the memory of her kiss or her voice. He can remember that not everything in hi life has blood stains. 

But Eve isn’t so meek as to be dissuaded by a bit of ticking. Elia laughs himself while she catches her breath, but the moment she can speak again she’s back on the same topic. Elia’s smile falters, his eyes shift up to the ceiling–he doesn’t like to think of these things while he’s with Eve. Here he can pretend he’s clean, like her. 

And maybe, as long as he pretends, maybe she won’t be tainted by his hands. She pinches his nose and he laughs quietly, even tries to smile. It falls quickly away.

“…I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes on the ceiling still. And he really is. “You’re right, it’s not fair, but…I could’t risk something happening to you because I brought you into darker things.” He fumbles around the blankets until he finds her hand and squeezes it. “And….you would look very differently at me.”

He knows she would.  

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Eve barely has time to respond to her boyfriend’s kiss when he tickles the soft skin above her skirt causing her to burst out in laughter. She kicks her legs, suffering from the onslaught of the tickles. “Hey, hey--stop!” Eve shrieks, pushing him hard with all her might. 

Catching her breath, she watches Elia carefully, listening to his somber words. “I want to know the bad. I know the good, but not the bad.... I feel as though I only half know you....” Eve pouts, reaching over to pinch his nose hard. “It’s just not fair. You know all of me....” 

It has always amused Elia, for as long as he’s known Eve, that the daughter of a man who’s career is based in blood and drug should be so in love with frills and the color pink. Lying in her room is like getting trapped inside a decorative cupcake and twice as sweet. Kissing Eve is a very similar experience and leaves Elia feeling rather out of place, with his black t-shirt, dark jeans, and blood stains in his ledger. 

it’s not a bad feeling, though. Rather like being a cup of coffee at a lady’s tea party. 

Surrounded by pastels and ruffles in abundance, with Eve warm and comfortable at his side, Elia can feel himself close to drifting off–until Eve’s quiet voice pulls him back to the world of pink.l

And that same voice leaves him a little less comfortable than he was a few seconds ago. 

“Eve…” With a small frown Elia turn onto his side and props himself up on one elbow, reaching out to brush back the pale strands of hair Eve’s twirling had pulled away from the rest. 

“If it helps at all, I certainly don’t think you’re all that innocent,” he says, a small smile playing at his lips. He kisses her mouth and brushes the bottom of her shirt up, just enough that he can tickle the soft skin above her skirt hem. He knows she isn’t the fragile little flower, liable to wilt in a gentle sun, that her father thinks she is.

That doesn’t mean he wants her to know know what Elia does on the darkest nights. 

“Just…trust me when I say, you’re happier not knowing.” He smiles in a way he hops is reassuring, or at least trustworthy, and leaves a quick kiss on the end of her nose. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t know–it’s a much cleaner and kinder way to live.” 

He doesn’t want her to look at his hands and see a killer instead of a lover.

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@fierceheartedfamiglia

“Sometimes I feel like you’re so mysterious....” Eve says, lying on her bed with Elia. She sighs, twinning hair around her fingertips. “I know you... and yet I don’t know you.... You work for my father, so I know your line of work is not a usual trade....” 

Eve, daughter of the mafia leader, lounges in her high-class, white-and-pink bedroom with her boyfriend--secret boyfriend, as far as anyone else is concerned. With her whole life being so high profile, Eve tries to seek out some privacy. 

“But you never tell me anything about it.... No one does...” Eve pouts. “Not even Daddy.... Everyone thinks I’m too innocent...” 

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💖 fierceheartedfamiglia !!!!!!!

A faint blush settles across her cheeks at the mention of Elia. Smiling brightly, the lovestruck young woman clasps her hands together before answering. “His smile... when he looks at me.” She exhales dramatically, just like a young woman in love, bespelled by the ways of the heart. 

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Send “💖” and my muse will admit something they find cute about yours.

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fierceheartedfamiglia:

Elia hovers in the rafters of the hall–the one which holds the large wooden door that leads down into the dungeons. Perched on a beam and hidden in shadow, he waits, careful not to drop the bag strapped to his shoulders, heavy with various supplies. He waits until Dante has left the dungeon and turned into the next hall before he drops down and slips down the cold, stone stairs. 

It’s not as though Elia is forbidden to enter the dungeons, or banned from Dante’s demonstrations of information retrieval (Elia calls it torture). He’s made it clear, many times before, that he isn’t particularly fond of Dante’s exceptionally cruel methods. They are the enemy, and Elia’s sympathy for them because of that is sparse, but the screaming and pleading is just a little more than he can happily stomach. He prefers clean, instant deaths. He’s not interested in the suffering of others. He keeps his nose out of Dante’s business, because of this, and chooses blissful ignorance, and to focus on his own duties.

That is why he practices such secrecy for this visit. Two weeks, and he’s heard no news of the Sun Elf they captured. If she has lived, if she is dead…he knows only that no new information has come from her, because he would hear about that. He’s never bothered himself with Dante’s prisoners before. If Dante knew he was now, he would ask questions.

And Elia wouldn’t have any good answers. He certainly wouldn’t be able to tell Dante that her screams, though he’s never heard them, have been haunting his dreams–just as those crimson eyes have. He’s just curious. That’s all. Maybe sad that someone so pretty has to be the enemy. Maybe he just wants to see, again, the wicked elf who  took away his eye. Two weeks of healing have allowed the skin to mend, and the villages best healers, now at his brother’s disposal, helped to avoid much disfigurement. They could not, however, repair the damage inside. Bright silver has been reduced, in it’s healing, to a dull, unseeing gray in that one eye.

Elia slides through the shadows, to a secluded cell at the very back of the dungeon. He picks the lock on the door before he even glances inside, though his nose already wrinkles at the heady smell of blood. It’s not until he closes the door behind him that he turns and swallows a gasp. 

He knew his brothers enjoyed causing pain…but this is just disgusting. Feeling a little sick, a little guilty, and very sad that the beautiful elf he had seen two weeks ago now looks like this, Elia stands on tiptoe by her side to loosen the chains from their wall hooks. Just enough that she can let her arms fall to her side. Once that is done, he crouches in front of her, settling hi bag down on the filty stone floor. From inside, he pulls a flask, filled with spring water. He holds it out to the Sun Elf, frowning.

“Drink. I know my brother isn’t giving you enough. It’s one of his ‘tactics’.” He pauses, and looks the Sun Elf over again. His movements are overly careful–precise, but cautious. He is still getting used to judging space and distance with his….new vision. “But I suppose it isn’t working. You haven’t broken yet.” He can’t decide if that is good or bad. On the one hand, she is strong. On the other…even the enemy suffering like this, makes him squirms with discomfort. Especially this particular enemy. 

Eve glares at him, frowning hard. She didn’t trust the elf whom she fought with just days before, the one she almost killed. “How do I know that your drink is not poison? An easy way out for me to die, moon elf?” She hisses at him, hatred dripping from her words.

“And if you’re being sympathetic,” she spits at his face, “I don’t want your sympathy. If you’re trying to gain my favor.... for ulterior motives, I won’t have it. I’d rather experience torture than you fake kindness to ravage my body. If you’d like your way with me, just do it. Don’t try to deceive me, you beast.” Eve growls, turning her head away from Elia. 

Sun and Moon

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Complete this in my inbox "I love your character because ________."

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fierceheartedfamiglia:

From his throne, Sanjay oversees the rising clamor of celebration. And yes, you heard right. His throne. Around the Victorian era, Sanjay had been inspired by the gaudy showcasing of the humans–though he already had plenty of that himself–and decided, on a very large whim, that sitting at the head of a long dining table or standing in the center of a party simply wasn’t enough. He used several small fortunes, which he had, and has, in spades, and had constructed, for himself, a throne chair of gold, jewels, silk–all things gaudy and expensive. It had been Iris’s idea to perch a bushel of peacock feathers on the top of it, and Sanjay had exuberantly agreed, unaware of her less than subtle humor. The throne, of course, is just an example of his taste and wealth. The ballroom his clan is currently dancing in is evidence enough of that.

The high vaulted ceilings are painted with scenes of magic and myth–including, yes, an unsurprisingly apotheosic portrait of he and his wife, lounging among faeries, unicorns, and gods. The art truly is  masterful, though, done hundreds of years ago fixed or added to as his desire sees fit every decade or so. Chandeliers glow beneath the ceiling mural, and the decorations below are no less dazzling. Sanjay absently swills his crimson filled wine glass, scanning over the crowd, pleased by another, successful banquet. 

Ah, but not fully successful. His eyes land on one of his older clan members, and one he particularly favors for her lucky good looks. She is something of a little sister–or maybe it’s more like she’s a doll. He has a certain pride in knowing that such a pretty, petite vampire was made by him–the pride of a sire. 

And Eve, tonight, is alone by the wall. Not a single boy has asked her to dance? It’s an insult to his creation. Sanjay sweeps off his throne and across the room, until he is leaning down to catch Eve’s attention.

“Why are you sitting here all alone? Has no one yet asked you to dance?” With his hands on his hip he looks around, frowning at the many partners dancing. “Wait–you have declined all the men who asked you to dance because they are inferior, right? Of course–that must be it.” He’s certain of it. That’s the same reason she doesn’t have a husband yet–he’s doubly certain of that. 

A ways across the hall, though, another vampire is holding a wall instead of the dance floor. Elia frowns gently and scans the crowd, crossing his arms over his chest. it is unusual in truth, for him to attend the Johar ball–as an actual guest, at least. His sire is a powerful vampire–and one who’s personality has earned him many enemies among other creatures, though Mr. Johar isn’t one of them. For him, Elia is a bodyguard. Most often, that is what he’s doing. 

He’s a little miffed that Apostol forced him to actually attend the ball tonight. He chews his lip, restless in this setting. He wasn’t even allowed to bring any of his weapons–though he had snuck in a knife by wrapping it under his dress pants. He does not excel here, this is not what he wants to be doing–

How long as he been staring at the doll-like vampire sipping from her china cup of blood? She’s one of the few not dancing or talking, though she’s pretty enough that she should be busy doing both. She’s very gorgeous, really…and Elia watches her still, unaware of his staring.

“Sire Sanjay,” Eve squeaks, surprised by his sudden presence. His aura was so large, so powerful and bright, she had to step back a bit, her legs trembling slightly under her ball dress of pink and lace. “It is nothing of the sort. I am just enjoying a good drink for now. I danced earlier.” She lies.

Eve catches the eyes of an unfamiliar vampire, who looked a tad bit too tensed. Blushing, her eyes attempt to discretely scan his features. He was petite, with sharp, handsome features, and commanded an air of caution. She smiles into her cup, wondering just who he was. He didn’t seem as though he were part of Sanjay’s clan, her clan. 

Gently resting the cup onto one of the buffet tables, Eve excuses herself from Sanjay as Iris walks over to him with Alanna, the wife of Master Vampire Apostol. He was much more intimidating and older than her sire. She’d not want to be too near him. Moving from the growing crowd of powerful vampires, Eve walks over to the stranger vampire. 

“Hello,” She greets him, her voice soft but melodic. 

Meanwhile, Iris takes Sanjay’s hand. “Are you trying to play matchmaker? You’re terrible at that. Leave Eve to herself. She’s never been too extroverted.” She shakes her head, smirking. “Alanna tells me that Apostol is on his way here. They arrived separately due to work reasons.” Iris flourishes a hand to Alanna, who gave a fanged smile. 

“Yes. We had a little trouble lately. It seems as though some humans have decided to play the game of humanity’s saviors by brandishing stakes and going after our kind.” Alanna sighs, crossing her arms. “Apostol got caught up by teaching one of them a lesson... Work reasons, we’re calling it, as to not cause too much panic amongst our clans.” 

Undead and Unwed

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fierceheartedfamiglia:

Elia isn’t breathing right as the Sun Elf lunges in for him–and still has trouble drawing in breath when she sinks to her knees. He stares, gaze following the blood as it trickles down her pale skin. It takes his brother’s voice to drag Elia back into the forest and out of the burning caves he had been so certain he would be heading towards tonight. 

“….Dante.” Of course Dante would have been sent out on the same hunt. Elia sways a bit where he stands but refuses to fall; bad enough that his brother had to save him. No need to look even weaker than he already does tonight. He presses a hand to his eye and winces, crouching down to examine the unconscious, bleeding Sun Elf. She looks…almost peaceful like this. Hardly at all like a killer–oh, but how he knows that isn’t true. 

“I wasn’t scared. Death doesn’t scare me–for the sake of the village, I would have died tonight, if the Moon so planned it.” But then again, she would have killed him–and fled, unharmed. So it would have only been a loss.

But that doesn’t mean he was afraid. Elia sighs as his vision swims again, and reaches out to push the Sun Elf’s long hair from her face. 

Dante’s words jerk his attention back up, again and Elia gasps. “You are to be the new leader?” He can see it in Dante’s eyes–he’s very pleased by this development. Elia can feel only shock in his chest. His brother has entertained the thought, before, of coming into power…but Elia never thought it would actually come to pass. Aside from surprise…he’s not quite sure how he feels about his brother, who he loves but does not, always, understand, being the village’s leader. 

“That’s…You’ve always wanted that.” Elia busies himself, very hurriedly, as if to change the topic, with the bandages he keeps in a pouch at his hip. His own hands are covered in blood and his eyes is still bleeding, but he snaps the arrow in Eve’s stomach, nimble fingers moving quickly to stop her bleeding. She is a prisoner of war, after all. Not a corpse to carry back home. 

That is the only reason he hastens to wrap her injury. Nothing else…

“We should be quick. If she loses too much blood, she’ll get sick or worse. She needs better bandages than what I can manage.” 

Eve is forced back to her cell, her legs weak and her back lacerated by whip marks. The flesh of her back is half in ribbons and half in oozing sores that reopen from lashes. She has been here a prisoner for two weeks. 

“Maybe if you let us in one some secrets, the lashes won’t be as brutal,” laughs Dante, who watches her be chained back up to the wall of her cell. “You might as well just crack. You’re never breaking free, so why not make your stay more pleasant?” He shakes his head, hands laced behind his back, before leaving the dungeon, seeking out the comforts of his new, lavish home. 

Eve hangs off the chains weakly. Blood runs down her back in rivulets; she can feel their journey down the broken skin, warm and sticky. Day in and day out, she was whipped or beaten, barely fed, and left to stew in pain. Many times, countless times, Eve regretted not watching her surroundings better during her fight with that petite Moon Elf. At least she had robbed him of his eye--though her fate is now much worse. 

Sun and Moon

[poisonxpotentate-blog]

Undead and Unwed

fierceheartedfamiglia

Eve stands amongst the crowd, frowning. The party was beautiful and big--as always. The annual vampire bash was always a big hit for everyone, but after living for so long, at least for Eve, she was bored. The banquet was blood, and that sickened her. Eve had a secret. She couldn’t feed from humans. Human blood made her absolutely sick. So, she secretly consumed vampire’s blood--specifically from her brother, Jaime. 

Playing pretend, she held a cup in her hands at all times, taking invisible sips every so often. Eve had been accompanied by her brother until he had politely accepted some young vampire girl’s invitation to dance. With him whisked away, Eve hid by the large windows of the ballroom, watching the party instead of being among it. 

Her sire, the vampire throwing the party, was Sanjay Johar, the richest Master Vampire she knew. Powerful in wealth and abilities, him and his wife, Iris, were hauntingly gorgeous vampires, commanding their line of family swiftly and efficiently. There hasn’t really been any problems--until with other sires and their own kin. 

Thinking of Sanjay and Iris only reminded Eve that she was an old vampire, and an old vampire that was still without a husband. Most old and fairly powerful vampires bonded for life with another. It definitely made immortality easier, less lonely. Even her brother was being flirted and danced with this evening. 

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fierceheartedfamiglia:

Despite a complete lack of sophistication, the headbutt does work. Eve stumbles back and he can slip away, catching his breath, steadying his stance, and preparing for another duel. He watches the Sun Elf carefully–his blow has drawn out her anger. Just as well. Elia has learned that enemies are more dangerous, but easier to fell, when emotionally compromised. 

Elia breathes deeply as he lunges at him. For another few minutes they exchange attacks, the tip of their blades barely missing skin, or nicking just a the surface. His gaze hunts for an opening, the smallest of spaces, anywhere that he can gain the upper hand–he hunts too hard, and doesn’t realize she’s caught him until the forest explodes in pain.

He doesn’t scream. Silence has been trained into his very bones, and pain tolerance was taught with the actual experience. In his mind, though, as Elia staggers backwards, he can hear his own pain like a shrill cry. He can see it like a blinding light–like staring too long at the sun. The Sun Elf stands at the other edge of the clearing, waiting. Perhaps admiring her handiwork. Hatred for this girl of the sun, for her whole kind, surges up inside his chest, as cold as the ocean tide. Hot blood gushes down his cheek and neck, soaking into his collar, but Elia straightens and holds a knife up to the Sun Elf’s now skewed figure. 

He spits out as rude a phrase as he can think of, and wipes his own blood off on his tunic. 

“Kill me,” he snarls. “Kill me here tonight, but know–I will drag you down to the burning caves with me. You can take any part of my body or life that you please, but you will not harm another one of my kin!” 

The forest swims for a second–the clearing tilts. Elia blinks hard and swallows a shudder of pain. The injury is bad but not mortal, should he take care of it soon–but he clearly can’t do that. No, this wound will slow him down, alter his aim. She, unharmed, will take advantage of that–just as he would have, if their places had been switched. With each drop of blood he feel on his shoulder, Elia can’t help but feel as though thee fates are talking to him. Slowly, the certainty of his own death tonight settles in to his soul. It sharpens the eye he has left, and hardens his expression, and he throws himself at the Sun Elf with the chilly desire to take her down with him. 

His swings are wild–fierce, but his skewed vision pushes his usual precision off by mere breaths. He catches her on the side, twice on her arm–once on her shoulder, and with great satisfaction he feels his thin blade hit bone before he pulls away. He puts distance between them, and swears when he almost stumbles.

No. Stay upright, keep fighting. Take her down before the gods of the plains come to collect his soul. 

It’s such a shame, a small voice whispers in the back of his head. She’s beautiful, talented, strong. Were she of night and moon, his own kin, he probably would have acquired, after their first meeting, a great interest in courting her. A sad fact, that she is born of that which he and his kin hate…In his desperation to end this Sun Elf, he shouts over that voice, and dives for her neck.

His knife only catches long,silver blonde hair, and Elia knows he missed his chance. 

She laughs at his stupid words. He’d be the only one burning. As if she could be caught or killed! Eve thought highly of her skills and methods. Someone would be hard-pressed to stop her heart with all her training and techniques over the long years. “You’ll burn for the both of us.” Eve chuckles, shaking her head. She was a bit prideful. 

As he comes after her so desperately, she almost felt bad for taking out his eye--almost. “Who taught you to fight? Someone with little skill and lacking much thought, I see.” Eve teases the bleeding Moon Elf. “Just lie there and die. Let me ease that suffering for you.” She grins wickedly as she chases after him, cutting him as much as he did her. They were both decorated in surface cuts, blood dancing along their skin. 

He misses her neck, and she howls with laughter. Eve licks her lips, murder in her eyes. Her daggers’ blades glinted from the moonlight catching the steel and jewels. “Goodbye, Moon Elf!--” 

Eve never makes her finally deathblow. Blood trickles from her mouth and she coughs, red eyes wide with surprise. An arrow stuck through her middle, embedded into her flesh. The world spins before her as her knees give way. As soon as she sinks to the ground, her consciousness flickers and dies out, like a candle caught to the wind. 

Stepping from the trees is Elia’s brother, Dante. He grins wide, a predator smile gracing his lips. Raising his bow, he laughs, “She almost had you, Elia. Were you pissing yourself scared? No worries now. We better bring her back before she wakes. Finally our village has a prisoner of war. And by the look of it, she’s prize-worthy.” 

He gestures into the direction of the village. “Come. Let’s bandage up that eye, too. Our kin have buried the High Family, and have chosen the next. It is us. I am to be in charge.” Dante’s eyes glint with excitement at the prospect. 

Sun and Moon