#셋 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀 / interactions.

[uroborosymphony]

She sees the man ( @terragro ) from miles away, a distant silhouette against the horizon, he seems at home, here, at the edge of this world. Each step she takes on the sands is slow, her black attire a stark contrast against her pale skin and the white of her hair until she reaches him, hands down her pockets. "So, the rumors were true, Earth." Her voice is tranquil, almost carried away by the cold wind. Her gaze never leaves the sea, as she now stands by his side. The sands beneath her feet hold the echoes of eons, of battles fought and gods fallen. The rumors she speaks of—whispers of a new god ascendant, and of the old one, now no more. Years have passed since his existnce has been acknowledged, five perhaps, but the Lamia had other matters demanding her attention. To slay a god— Has he managed the task? It is beyond her grasp, despite the countless attempts she made, despite the bloodshed. Calista, the Lamia, the snake monstress, the vampiristic daimoness, daughter of Nyx, a minor deity by name but feared in the tales spoken of her. The Traitor of the Night she is called, the Witch Exterminator, a grand war criminal in the underworld. She found an unexpected camaraderie with Gaia, the one who is now lost to the ages. This one is new. At last, she turns to him. The iris of eyes are golden, like a reptile. "I had to witness it with my mere eyes," she murmurs. "What shall we say, then? Welcome to godhood?" The words, though formal, carry a grief that only the divine can know.

[uroborosymphony]

Calista's lips curl into a smile. Dimitri's words always awaken something wild within her; it's the way he speaks them—the fire in his voice, the promise of bloodshed and glory—that truly stirs her. She adores the thought of standing beside him, proving her worth not just as his queen but as his equal, his partner in every sense of the word. Her fingers lightly trace the line of his jaw as she leans closer, her breath warm against his ear. "A midnight hunt it is," she murmurs, her voice a soft purr laced with fierce hunger. "When the land is drenched in the blood of our enemies, and their final breath escapes into the night, I want you to claim me under the moonlight. Make love to me. Devour me, my Dark Sovereign. Strip me to the bone until there is nothing left but the essence of us." The thrill of the chase, the scent of blood in the air, the way their hearts will race together, the way their bodies will make one—it sends a shiver of excitement down her spine. She feels his lips press gently against her jawline, each kiss sending sparks of pleasure through her. His touch is intoxicating, grounding her even as it sets her aflame. "My king," she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper as his fingers roam along the small of her back, pulling her closer. "My skin burns for you." Calista lets her hand slide from his jaw down to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She adores him in moments like these—the weight of their responsibilities ever-present, yet overshadowed by the bond that has only grown stronger with time. As he speaks of the day ahead, of meetings and trade negotiations, Calista’s smile widens, a flash of her fangs peeking out. She knows how to switch from lover to ruler in the blink of an eye. "As you wish, my love. I will stand by your side at the meeting. Will you watch me get dressed?" she replies, her voice laced with a seductive promise as she lightly nips at his ear, pride swelling within her for being by his side. She steals a kiss from his lips, slow and deep, savoring the taste of him. She lingers for a moment longer, fingers trailing down his arm before she finally stands, the silk of her gown flowing around her like water. Calista lets the gown slip from her shoulders, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Business has been flourishing with the neighboring kingdom, hasn't it, my Shadow King?" she muses, her skin now fully revealed to his gaze. "As long as they remain compliant and understand that an alliance with us is their salvation, we will continue to reap the rewards of their resources." She speaks and waltzes gracefully across the room, her porcelain skin glowing in the soft light as she opens the closet filled with her royal attires. "How do you love me in blue, my Lord?" she teases, turning to face him, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she holds up a gown of rich, deep blue fabric. The color contrasts beautifully with her pale skin and her white hair, and she knows it will please him.

[uroborosymphony]

               @ptternminds sent:

"There are eternal flames in Australia," Sarang twirls the wilted roses between her fingers. She'd picked them up somewhere hours ago, found an odd fascination with a bouquet thrown out for reaching what Sarang would describe only as another stage of another kind of beauty. "They say it's thousands of years old. I would have named it after you, had I discovered it first," the wilted roses, of course, are no match for the ancient beauty walking by her side. It's odd, how tranquil Sarang's soul becomes, when next to Calista, someone she met as enemy, as only equal opponent. But it's true. Her soul rests. "I suggest we visit," she introduces next, halting the Lamia in her step with a hand around her wrist. Her fingers tighten, an odd contrast in desperation, to the way she maintains her smile, trying to convince Calista, every day, to find a will to live in Sarang if nowhere else. "We could leave right now. Pretend to have never existed at all, and exist in peace there." ((😌💝))

Calista pauses her steps, feeling the warmth of Sarang's hand around her wrist. Her gaze drifts from Sarang's fingers to the wilted roses, their delicate petals curling in a final dance before they crumble to dust. There is a strong allure in Sarang's words, in the way she speaks of ancient yet eternal flames, forgotten places, and the offer of existing together forever. "You would have? Mm. I am not a thousand years old yet, Beloved," Calista speaks, her voice carrying the weight of time. Yet as the words leave her lips, she realizes... one day, she will be. This past January, she and Sarang marked her 600th year with a celebration in their cabin in the woodsd. If she does not find a way to die as she has long wished, a thousand years will come sooner than she dares imagine. Her eyes always soften when they meet Sarang's. Perhaps also, it is a way for Sarang to say she wishes Calista will reach her thousand years old, with her. "An eternal flame," she murmurs, her voice like the whisper of autumn leaves. "Now that I ponder it, after wandering the world and unraveling its secrets, it seems almost inconceivable that such a flame has escaped my notice." She gently laces her fingers with Sarang's, feeling the steady pulse of life beneath her touch. "To vanish, to dwell in peace in a foreign land... It is a dangerous temptation when speaking by you, Huntress," she says, a gentle smile playing upon her lips. "Could it truly be? To simply... exist there, unburdened by the shadows of our pasts?" Her gaze searches Sarang’s, as if seeking reassurance in those depths. "When my eyes meet yours, it is a siren’s call I find most difficult to resist." A silence falls between them, Calista’s thoughts swirling like the wind. How is it that in Sarang’s presence, the centuries seem less a burden. Never has she wished to live as she does now, standing beside this fierce, tender soul that is her lover's, hers, Sarang. Yet with that wish comes a fear—what is this yearning that stirs within her? This desire to cling to life, when for so long she simply wanted death? "If we go," she continues, her voice taking on the cadence of a time long past, each word carefully chosen, "if we forsake all that has come before, it can't be for a mere moment. It shall be for as long as the flames endure, for as long as your heart desires it." She hesitates, her gaze turning inward, questioning. "But I wonder... will I have the strength to embrace this newfound yearning? To live, truly live, when I never fully knew how to?"

[uroborosymphony]

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀, 𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆 & 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐒. with. @mythvoiced “Huntress. I will be turning 600 years old. I believe the only way to celebrate is in your presence. I have found a cabin in the woods, a perfect place for peace and a hunt. Would you come with me?

[uroborosymphony]

things said with the number of your choice please! xD surprise us!

#30 THINGS YOU SAID UNDER THE STARS. FROM THINGS YOU SAID ⬩ Still accepting.

"I for many centuries have believed Time has been the greatest enemy of mine, as I longed for a death no mortal, no creature, no god would grant me. All became a twisted embodiment of my immortality, a mirror I did not wish to look into the eyes of. And so I have killed. All. I have killed them all. Exterminated. Massacred. Desperately seeking release in the pleasure of punishment. I wished watching the blood flow, bathing in it, would have filled the cold of this void within me. I wanted to punish you too, Earl. Oh to slice your neck has haunted many of my nights. But I know. I do know now. As I am no longer a creature of denial and delusion, my true enemy has always been myself. It never was you." The night is silent. Her piercing golden eyes watching through the wide open from-ceiling-to-floor windows as the lights inside are turned off, only the moon dancing in a clear sky decorated of stars. She steps outside, on the balcony of marble and stones, the curtains singing in the wind. The view on the city appears unexpectedly soothing for the Lamia, empty of these little ants of mortals in the streets, only the lights and the constellations. It reminds her of the calm of the forest. Her hand holding a glass of sirens blood, bringing it to her lips as her eyes remain stuck on the horizon, her free fingertips resting down the cold railing. "You and I never been apart, I cannot quite understand how nor why." There is a smile on her usual expresionless features, her head, kept high in her white suit. "I first believed it would be my curse to remain alone and I wholehearly embraced it, my fate in all its glory, as desastrous as it is. To be alone is the cowards peace, to never connect my existence to any other in order for it to be easier to suppress. I remember you by my side ever since my first massacre in this little village, the witches of the sea. I remember you by my side as I was dripping of madness and blood of the Moonlake Knights, euphoric of my first battles. I shall remember you by my side right now, in these modern times. Will you still be here, then, when I never die, as you keep my rotting soul within the palms of your gloved hands?" Her eyes look down, sligthly, the white of her silken hair caressed by the moonlight. "This sirens blood is getting to me. I can hear their voices in my head." She whispers in a scoff, a slow shake of the head. "I should go and lay down."

[uroborosymphony]

FOR @ECLAVIGNE ⬩ 26 FEBRUARY 2023 ⬩  MIDNIGHT

In the heart of the night, the core of winter, the wind was cold, made of ice. The trees and leaves, dancing under the breeze as the lamia was standing still, only these white locks of hers floating around her frame like Medusa. Calixtus Orion. The Witch Killer, Traitor of the Night. Her name and her titles were on the lips and fangs of every single creature of the night in 19th century during the Great War against the Witches and the Order of the Knights. Fierce and feared, she was a conquerant. Two centuries have passed then, with its battles, its sorrows, its peaces and pains. Hasn't she lost her mind after the great defeat - cutting her own head, slicing her own flesh and limbs with her own sword she kept on pulling from her shadows, over and over, for a hundred nights of red moon say the tales. Desperate. Humiliated. Damned to live with the weight of her mere existence. It's just Calista now. Many would have thought the 12th daughter of Hecate did give up on her quests and journeys however, at the dawn of the 21st century, her thirst for new battles were now running under her skin. The unexpected have made its way to modern times. New powers she has witnessed from Sons and Daughters of the Gods who got reincarnated among the humans. It became part of a new plan of hers : to steal the said powers and use these them to fulfill her ultimate goal : her end. To achieve that, she was ready to open the doors of Hell again. Vine. She often thinks of the Ruler himself. Could he be an ally, again? Certain not. Her hatred for a man who enslaved her soul and made a fool out of her TWICE was still burning, even 200 years later. It wasn't his help she would ask for tonight, no, but something completely degrading : to finally work for him. Ugh. The vampiric creature she was had no choice, in order to carry on her new obsessions she had to reconnect with the World of the Night , the one she has rejected like her own skin. She needed to walk down the underworld realms again, to re open these doors, to be aware of what was happening among the creatures of fires and eveil, to see if the new generations of Witches have rebuilt themselves after the massacre she orchestred, to taste the waters and wonder if the ghouls and vampires were still oh so fond of her.. or Not. It did take her days and days before finally accepting that : yes she had to summon him, the King, and so she does, at the top of this hill she was standing on. A call the lamia knew he would answer. In her black attire, she feels him, in her back and a smirk is drawn on her lips, her fang showing, as nontchalently she looks above her shoulder.

"Vous, ici?"

All languages could be spoken in between the two hellish beings, languages from both the earthling realms and the underworld ones as they mastered all of them. Her choice was always inspired by one of their adventures. French, for the in 1845, from the Atlantic lands of the French coasts to the Eurasian mountains for the as a new race of Blood Witches was birthed among the humans - They, of course, exterminated the entire line to the womb. Have she changed? Her skin remained untouched, immaculate, undamageable. Her hair however, turning more and more white as she was becoming more and more powerful through her blood empowerment. And her eyes, these golden orbs of hers, telling a different story, heavier, darker. Vine met her when she was 400 years old only, the lamia freshly turned 600 this year.

"My My. Greedy for my presence, are we? Do not tell me you have missed my fangs and claws in such unbearable ways you would come and get me like this, Demon? How Scandalous."

It was one of her usual games, out of playfulness, to pretend she did not just summon him. Her signature smirk on her lips as the lamia slowly turned around, her sharp eyes examinating him, standing face to face. There were only two creatures Calista considered her equals in these realms, and well, Vine was one of them. That was the most infuriating part, to her, how despite his betrayals and her constant day dreams about killing him, they would always and constantly end up side by side. Which, in a anti logical and twisted Calista way, meant she respected him.

"I have thought of your offer, Earl. The one presented to me on our last encounter in the meadows near rivers of my own blood. The atmosphere in your offices must feel terribly monotonous without a presence as delightful as mine. It is about time I explore new playgrounds, don't you believe? I'm taking the job. Take me there. Show me what you have. "

[uroborosymphony]

POST - IT NOTE

"These days have been tender, Earl. Your world in these times stands far from what I have built in my imagination. A part of me, deep down perhaps, wished to have belonged in the dreams of a life you have offered and promised by taking my soul. My inner demons however, cannot remain silent in the night. I must pursue my journey, I must find my Graal. Until we see each other again. Calista."

   Note left by Calista on Vine's boat by the table she was always sitting by to watch the sea.

[uroborosymphony]

For the infamous Queen of the Night, Daughter of Hecate, Sovereign of the Ghouls, and Witch Killer to end in prison - How Ironic. The day of Calixtus Orion's arrestation made history in the world of the Night. Celebrations accross the material and immortal realms thrown, towns covens and villages brought back to life - while her Council, her Armies of vampires and other servitors have, just like her, been arrested, locked, damned. It took weeks for the Mothers of all Covens, the King of Hell and the Immortal Knights of the Moonlake Order to decide which establishment Calista should been locked in awaiting for her trial. An establishment where even the gods powers were magically cut, ineffective. "A mistake. Magically restrained is not enough for a criminal like of her calibre. We will all regret it, sooner or later." Spoke Mother Yokhulan, the Grand Priestess of Yatsugatake - yet a line the Moonlake Order's first knight decided to contest and still agree Calista should reside here, in this retreat for the time being. Wasn't the Mother Witch always right with her foreseeing? Perhaps they all should have listened to her. Her first days at the facility passed, slow, empty as Calista's head does nothing but spiraling into despair. Her war made history and became one of the biggest and most admired croisade one has lead in the eyes of her fanatics and followers who were still waiting for her on her outside., Yet in her eyes? An humiliation to have been stopped before reaching her goal : to find the power that could end her immortality and terminate herself. In the facility obviously the word spread that the war criminal would sit among the other minor deities being punished, just as well. Funny she thought, for them to be Oh so scandalised and fearful of her when truly, their powers are quite frankly on the same level. Calista is no Goddess but a Daimoness only, her real weapon is her intellect. If her reputation built from her manic laughters echoing from the hills of her battles, it is her mind one should be careful about. It's only a matter of time before she cracks the code of her way out, her escape, the only thought keeping the Lamia's head alive. As usual in the afternoons, she is sitting away from her group as they stand meters away in the grass. She is thinking. Watching. Observing. From an outside point of view there is nothing more sinister than the pale skinned blood manipulating creature, with her white immaculate hair and perfectly straight spine, staring in nothingness for hours without a bink, the palms of her hands on her knees. Every single peace of her brain is constantly running, going through all the possible scenarios until finding the perfect one to escape, her thin and sharp nails still, even though they haven't lacerated a neck in a very long time - she misses that. A presence is felt by her side, on that bench in the outside gardens, one that seems to take place right besides her. Perhaps the only other soul who ever addressed a word to Calista since her arrival : Love. The lamia clearly isn't the most social creature yet she appreciates the other's company, finding her smarter and more interesting than the rest of the convincted ones here. They have lunch together sometimes. Not that Calista can absorb anything besides blood and flesh, she simply watches Love eat in silence. Came conversations later down the road, of their tales, interesting ones. Their mutual wish to get out of here has been shared too, perhaps the birth of an alliance. "Have you been assigned to the displeasure of being my partner for the next grass sitting and emotional sing along? I should have tried killing myself a little harder." It is the Lamia's very own way of debasing and mocking the activities offered by the place. To "rehabilate" them, oh what a joke. As if exploring her inner bucolic self would stop her from remaining a mass murderer once out. "I must warn you though." Calista speaks, her head mechanically orientating to the side to catch the other's eyes, a cynical pinch to her lips. "I do not hold hands."

            for @dollypardonne

[uroborosymphony]

Their time, being endless, does feel suspended whenever Calista basks in Sarang's presence ; in Sarang's voice. Time is counted. Time is singular. Time is running out. Is it how it feels, to feel alive? To be alive? This silent fear is grabbing her by the throat, this rush, this need for a moment with her to never end, praying for it to remain inifite, one she wishes to exist in as long as she can. The lamia's pull towards the huntress was undeniable, the constant seek of her eyes to connect with, the silent dreams of her touch. Was it real? A reality anchoring Calista in ways she never thought she would be, her desire to die fading slowly. There was something running under her skin, electrifying, a state the Lamia hasn't felt in centuries, from before she turns into an apocalypse bringer from the seven hells. A smile lingers on Calista's lips as the other's words find their way to her soul. Her features that are usually so cold and stern and harsh, now wear a shy, demure, genuine smile - Calista's rare bliss and desire - as she wanted more and more even though she did not know how to fully express herself when it came to something as gentle and pure, as these pieces of intimacy shared with Sarang. Her wrists now in the other's fingers, the Lamia's skin in leaning into Sarang's touch, craving for it. Came a slow laughter from Calista's lips as her huntress does mention the place she hit her in. "Mmm have I?" Calista replies in a whisper - perhaps amused, fascinated by how grand violence from each other turned into such care now. And she listens, to every single word landing, her golden eyes following her hand guided through Sarang's skin. It felt almost innocent, the shivers under Calista's fingers tips, caressing the huntress' temple before leading to her throat, to her heart. Every single piece of her is a gift, wrapped with words that have never been adressed to the Lamia before. And at this words, of devotion, Calista's smile keeps on growing as her lips are pressed together. The creature's heartbeat was usually monotonously slow, dormant, like a serpent, even in moments of manic madness, there was a terrifying and cold calmness to her. It only was Sarang's words and touch that could make her entire heart and veins and soul race in this frantic way, only.

"All the places I have hit you made me feel you in ways no other soul has. I was possessive, in my violence, I did not want any other sword to cut your skin as deep if not mine. I did not want any other soldier I encountered to make me shiver the way you have." First answers Calista, her fangs digging into her bottom lip. "To penetrate your layers with my rage only lead to me, on this day, to adore every inch of your skin, my Renagade and Runaway." Calista's voice echoes timidly, her fingers then tightening over Sarang's chest, her desire for her building,on each spoken word that felt like a confession. Words she never imagined herself speaking as she closes the distance between their, even more than it already was, her body slightly pressed against hers.

"I think... I have for the first time, devoted myself too. I offered a piece of my dead soul to Life, as I saw Life through you. To the point of wanting to celebrate my day of birth with you... It must be." Her eyes are intense never leave Sarang's. "I will admit, I don't quite understand what it is that's taking over me, Huntress. " Calista adds, her fingers then moving down Sarang's side, cascading down her waist and hips to reach for her hand to hold. "I simply know that you offering me yourself, body and soul, only makes me want to explore you in ways the Gods wouldn't approve of." The lamia then states, her fingers lacing with Sarang's, the other now exploring Sarang's jaw to cheekbone, seizing the base of her neck, watching her still. "Let's take the road now? I wish to open on this earth the deepest hells, but before that, I don't want anything to disturb my heavens in the forest with you."

CONTINUTION FROM HERE. ft. @mythvoiced

[uroborosymphony]

5

5 - your bedroom at 5 am. Liminal Space - Still accepting.

1861. Sixty years have passed since the beginning of the Great War against the Witches. Across the realms, her armies of vampires and ghouls were casting nothing but death and desolation down this path of revenge and insanity. All orders were executed under Calista's rage. A rage that was endless and only grew deeper as more and more battles were won by her loyal creatures of terror. Her goal remained : to find a very specific bloodline of witches, the ones who were responsible of awakening the lamia inside of her back in the year 1456, and therefore, killing the human side within her. It was that power she was hungry for, a power she intended to steal and to own, a power she wanted to use to change the rules of the world of the night, to free its creeatures and by the end of her path, to end herself, to free her soul from immortality. On the field, at night, as her soldiers were resting and regenerating after a battle, the lamia who did not need any rest, usually enjoyed the calmness in her apartments. Her rooms were a guarded sanctuary for her to study every the field in order to think ahead for the next one, strategies she would discuss with her council tomorrow in the early morning. On that night, it was different however as her days of glory were little by little declining. Today's battle was another lost one. The palms of her hands were down the table of wood in the middle of her bedroom, eyes fixated on maps, plans and recollection of today's disaster. In her red gown of silk, she was far from the military apparel of Commandant she was wearing on the top of the hill, her sword in a hand. Rare were the presences authorized in her bedroom. Vine was one of them. As it has now been years he accepted her request for help, to remain by her side and offer support from the underworld, he became her closest ally, despite her not holding much trust in nothing but herself. The curtains were floating through the wide opened windows on the moon. The lamia looks above her shoulder, catching a glimpse of the man who joined her in her walls, her eyes then going back to the map. "This is the third battle I am losing, Earl." She speaks to him. "I have spent the night studying their attack, their defense, every single sword strike, every single HEAD choped down, every single drop of blood spilled on the soil. Something have changed, their behaviour of the battle field, their strategy. The bloody whitches were not supposed to defeat us, not Here in Khangai, not now. The mountains have always been the optimum, perfect envionment for our armies to hold advantage over these mediocre creatures, it has shown in our glorious past." A long sigh escapes from her lips, eyes closed, back bent. "If we carry on like this, I am going to lose the war." The lamia speaks, away from her usual confidence in her victories. "Hell." She let out of frustation, slamming down the palms of her hands, then bringing them to her face, her fingers running up, through her hair, holding a pressure against her skull, seizing her hair as she's on the verge of pulling out, a slow rage dancing under her skin. "Something have changed.

WHAT CHANGED?!

She shouts in anger. "I cannot see it. I can't FUCKING see it." In frustration, she pushes away the plans along with her chalice of blood off the table with the back of her hand, causing each element to hit the wodden floor in a violent sound.

[uroborosymphony]

THE GREAT WAR AGAINST THE WITCHES, THE BATTLE OF THE KHANGAI MOUNTAINS. For @MYTHVOICED ⬩ 07 OCTOBER 1845 

"Well, well, well. Isn't it She with her little bow."

Her tone is condescending, her eyes, inhabited with fires from a thousand hells. The lamia is standing, strong, proud, at the top of the Hill of Sihege in the Valley in the east in Mongolia. Miles down her hill, the battle was still exploding, the swords, the spells of her soul eating creatures, her army of vampires and ghouls destroying, eating, exterminating under her command, following her anger like a prayer, worshipping it. She is the heart of the war, the core of this rage, the mind behind this insanity that have spread across the realms for fifty years already. Calixtus Orion. A name that was spoken, whispered in fear and hate as the creature was decimating both the World of the mortals and the Underworld. She had to be stopped, put down, judged and executed in order for the Worlds not to reach that point of non return Calista was, step by step, approaching. It was the reason why the Order of the Knights was sent, to chain her down. And oh, how amusing it was to the undefeated Queen of the Night. The leaves of the trees were chanting in a sky that was darkened with blood and doors wide opened on Hell. And the screams, and the fires were only fulling Calita's passion and insanity. In front of her, that archer again, The Huntress. It was their second time facing each other in this canvas of terror. A wind made of desolation and ashes was blowing as Calista's white hair tainted with the blood of her enemies was floating under the rising moon."I cannot have One massacre for myself, now can I? You and your little troup of minnesingers have already lost against me and my ghouls. What do you want then, you Irrational Little Being? Another round of my blood spilled against your skin? Oh...? " Her head mechanically bend to the side, like a robotic doll from a cursed heaven on a background of flames, her pupils sparkling in madness in the anticipation of fighting the Knight again.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA.

IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? FOR ME TO DESTROY YOUR BODY AND SOUL BACK INTO MORTALITY HUH?"

The lamia shouts, her eyes widening in mania as her dark blood is pumping through her veins. If it was infuriating, for the Order to constantly come and ruin her battles, she however knew they would send their most talented soldier to face her, over and over, again and again until Calista teaches her the right lesson. Their first battle have been a revigoration for the lamia, one that however ended in a tie in between her and the Huntress, both immortals enable to die under each other's sword. An inconvenience Calista was willing to work on to change.

"You do have talent, Archer. A Wasted talent, being on the wrong side of History, don't you think? If your wish is to perish under my sword however, it's nothing I will ever go against. Mmmm I've never been so hungry Ohhh I will eat you alive." The lamia then adds, deranged eyes fixating her prey, her tongue sticking out, licking over her fangs like the beast she is.

Speed. The lamia was a beast indeed, of both cruelty and elegance, and speed was one of her many abilities. In two steps, she runs through the grass and the dirt, her frame like a sharp blade cutting through the air, the fabrics of her Commandant apparel made of black and red velvet is floating around her limbs. Like a manic dancer, her hand extends as she spread her fingers and her palms firmly wrap around the handle of a sword that takes shape out of her own shadow. Acerola. Her legendary blade made of gold and forged in Hephaestus fires that becomes the lamia's arm extension. And she slams it, at full force, at full speed against the Huntress's blade. Their faces, only separated by a inch now, the lamia's red and golden eyes linking with the other's, eyes of thirst for blood and power, eyes filled with unstability and yet fascination for the only being who made it far enough to get a taste of her blood. "Tell me you missed me." She whispers in a deranged tone, her teeth greeted, pressed into a wide grin before shouting.

"SHOW ME YOUR HUNGER!"

[uroborosymphony]

"Calista," Sarang breaths against the palm of the Lamia's hand, and it sounds like a prayer. It is, in a way. So rarely does she speak her name, avoiding the entirety of it all together, that whenever she allows the syllables to gather on her tongue, they spill over her lips like blood out of a wound finally liberated to heal... or kill her. Calista shows weakness by dancing around her Huntress. Sarang shows weakness by bowing before her executor, or the one who should have been an executor, but is now wielder of her heartstrings, the bow of her life energy. She nuzzles her cheek further into Calista's hand and smiles up, a vixen vowing allegiance to a dragon, sharp-toothed and with a glint in her eyes. "Do you speak a language that would grant me the words needed to describe how much I've missed you?" ((no context, just me choking about the immortal terrorist girlfriends, hope this is okay~))

"Yes?" The Lamia answers. It is rare for Sarang to voice out her name, it sounds like a prayer when she does, a prayer Calista answers to, religiously. She is sitting, while her huntress is laying down on that couch, her head into Calista's lap. Her fingers have been gently traveling through Sarang's dark locks, over her temples, sometimes resting down her shoulder as they have been reading, both holding a book. The atmosphere is silent, soothing on the soul for a sunday afternoon. Her attention is never divided when it comes to Sarang, and so, she places her read down, closing the pages meticulously, to listen to her. Sarang's cheek is nuzzled into Calista's hand as a fond facial expression draws on the lamia's usual harsh and severe features. A rare sight, of pure adoration from Calista as her eyes rest on her huntress, her fingertips caressing the apple of her delicate cheek, her eyes meeting hers when the other looks up. Naturally, the timid smile of the creature mirrors Sarang's while she listens to her words, carefully. "I do." Answers the Lamia on a tranquil tone. Being the erudit she is, after living 600 years there was no languages she did not master. Even the forgotten and forbidden ones. "My Own." She then adds, her fingertips now following the lines of Sarang's features, light, cautious, as if her skin is made of glass and secrets. "The Lamias, daughters of Hecate, communicate in their own language. A secret one. Yes, that is right, I do have sisters. Sisters I regularly crossed path with prior to the Great War. A sorority of eleven ; I am the twelfth. The Lamias aimed to chain me down for my disobedience, my refusal to bend to Hecate, the chaos they knew I was euphoric to cast on both the Immaterial and Material realms. I could not possibly let such obstacle stand on the way of a world I still am planning on reshaping. Hence why," Her eyes change colors, as they always do when her head wanders in territories only the creature is aware of, from golden to black, to bloody red. The tip of her index finger, tracing Sarang's jawline, then lifts the other's chin slightly and keep on diving into that undying, untouched, untainted beauty of hers. The creature's eyes switch back their nominal golden again, losing themselves into Sarang's even more. "I remain the only one left speaking the language and I want you, only you, to hear it." She whispers, leaning down, closing the distance between their faces.

She whispers, the depth of her voice on a light tone that seizes the air, with her mother tongue, like an untold secret, a pandora box. "It means : The skin off my bone, the blood out of my veins, until you return to be part of me again." Her smile never leave her lips. "Is what I have felt as well, in the years that separated us, through the loneliness of my tormented soul, my Huntress."

[uroborosymphony]

In the year 2023. Two centuries have passed since the Great War Against the Witches. Two centuries since Calista escaped from the Order, after her arrestation for her crimes against humanity.

Tales from the past live under the cold skin of The Lamia. Wars that never truly ended in her mind, raging their ever afters within her soul, wars she dreamed of reviving. Reaching her 600 years old of age has transformed her many times, from a royal of the Joseon dinasty, to a unhinged beast feeding on rage and desolation, to finally, a dormant menace. Since her defeat in the 20th century after the Great War against the Witches that started in the 19th century, Calita disappeared from the radar, being a wanted war criminal who escaped right before her trial - and yet she never stopped envisonning a way to finally get what she wanted : her Death, her liberation. An obsession that evolved and raised her plans to higher levels in the 21st century. Not only she wanted to terminate her existence, it was immortality all together she was aiming to take down. A grand scaled insanity nobody was aware of, as many thought the Monster defeated. The Lamia knew where her opposition would be when she starts moving : the Gods themselves. And The Moonlake Order, as well. The latter truly played a game in defeating her during the Great War - and was still looking for her, to this day. To have Sarang by her side was either a savior or a nail in the coffin for the both of them, two heads these clowns might come after, sooner or later. Calista traveled then, silenty, discreetly, to corners the world she knew members of the Order might be found. Was it risky? It was but since she has decimated her own council and her armies got defeated, the Lamia had no choice but to work alone, to do what it took to answer her interrogations : will the Order stand in the way? The creature is wearing her usuals in these modern times : a suit, of immaculate white, blending with the whiteness of her hair as well, thick and large black sunglasses on. The first on her list : Nae-Gil. The last member who crossed blades with her, the one that cealed the handcuffs of platinium around the Lamia's wrists the night she got arrested when the war was won, surrounded by both the Mother Witches from all the covers and the knights. Calista still remembers the helmet then, that was put on her head, one meant to block her hyponotic and manipulation powers, along with the restrains all over her body that were piercing through her flesh, to prevent her from using her hands and legs ; along with powerful spells casted by the legendary Yokhulan, the Grand Priestess of Sihege, to keep Calista in a lobotomized harmless state. The day of her arrestation was a day of celebration accross the material and immaterial realms - However, the Calista escaped not so long after - justice was never made for her crimes. Nae-Gil was a legend in the Order itself, the most talented Knifeman she had encountered. Calista was a prideful entity, but skill recognizes skill. Her observations lasted for days as she watched the man for afar, living a life she did not suspect he would. It all came to that little place in the heart of the city, where the sun was blocked by the shadows of the leaves above. A gentle wind in the trees. A waitress places down his order, he's sitting at a table for one even though two chairs are there, as if Nae Gil was expected her to meet him there. Calista's heels echo down the floor, one after the other, slow, mechanically royal and stern, as she always have been, while she makes her ways in between the customers tables to finally reach him. The lamia sits down the chair by his side as her attention remains on the surroundings.

"I have been observing you, Knight. I do know you do know that."

The Lamia wasn't so naive and knew perfectly a warrior of his calibre could feel when he was being circled. "It however was a surprise for my hands to remain free. No restrains as I walk this ground. I could only assume you have not made that call yet, for your comrades to come, seize and lock me again." The Lamia exposes,as her eyes then slowly drifting to him. "Wouldn't that be useless. I have escaped once, therefore I will always." It was important for her to notice that : even though Nae-Gil now knew she was still alive, he did not seem to have warn the rest of the Order. Why? "I'm curious, Knifeman. To what do I owe such a warm treatment?"

            for @theimpalpable

[uroborosymphony]

7 - calista (from tvsteoftrvgedy)

#7 THINGS YOU SAID WHEN OUR WORLD BEGAN TO CRUMBLE. FROM THINGS YOU SAID ⬩ Still accepting.

"You should not be here." Her words were cold. Colder than they ever were, as cold the tone of her carnation that has been mutating since the Witches curses have fallen upon. The kingdom was of blood and horrors, bodies piling up in front of the palace doors, a blood bath raging as every single living soul was losing their minds, killing each other, killing themselves due to an unbearable force, one that the freshly turned Lamia became. Slowly, she turned around to face the other, her dress of an immaculate luxurious white covered in reds of bloods, some fresh, some dried as if the soon-to-be-queen have spent days standing here, not cleaning herself from her sins. Her eyes were basking in an unstability and sorrow so deep, that the tears of rage have marked and deformed her features while the devil slowly crawled under. "I will kill you." Her lip and corner of her eye twitched into a sad, mad, ironic, desperate state, defeated by her own tragic destiny, her own punishment. "The monster under my skin, it is going to take the life out of the soul of yours, Jieun. In the way it has killed and tortured every single living soul that has come near me. It simply was a matter of time, was not it? That a heart as petrified and rotten as mine become the source of this kingdom's decline and fall. They tricked me, The Witches of the Moutains, their chaos magic penetrated inside of me, inside of my bone and blood, it turned me into this... creature... I wish to never pronounce the name of." Her pain was grand and her despair so deep tears started raising again, her eyes now staring down at her hands, wide open, perhaps still in shock. "I have simply asked them for the world to see me for who I truly am. I wanted my beauty inside to shine. How ridiculous. How ironic. That I fooled myself believing my inners were beautiful when truly, they were an abomination all along." Her hands were shaking, and so was her voice. "DO NOT. COME. NEAR ME." She shouted as from the corner of her she caught Jieun making one small step into her direction, her voice causing her friend's body to unconsciouly follow the order and instantly freeze. Frightened, the princess stumbled back until her back hit the window, petrified every time one of her powers manifested, taking control of minds and bodies around her, bending them until death follows. "Why would you even come here ? I have condamned you since the moment you have been by side. Gungnyeos were foolish, idiotic in their jealousy, in their envy. What was so envious about being attached to the malediction I was meant to become? Every single moment we have shared paved to this instant. The instant I would betray you out of my own monstrosity... - ." She paused, closing her eyes, focusing the hardest she could to release her friend's body from her hypnosis, not opening them just yet, perhaps scared to harm the only person who came back here, in this empty castle surrounded by death, to see her, to talk to her - the only friend she ever had. Her fists and jaw remained clenched and her eyes close, in frustration, in fear, in pain.

"Run. As far as you can, run. And never cross paths with me. Ever again. Please."

[uroborosymphony]

“Calista... ” Naeun sits across the Lamia and she stares hard at her customer who sits before her untouched lukewarm coffee. It's another day outside RLC, another mundane day for a barista like her, especially when there's a lack of mission and customer.. She's lucky, this person is here to entertain her. “I've been wondering.. is it true after all? That vampires are scared of garlic? Why is that?” That's a rather stupid question but she has loads of question in her head... some rooted from fictions she's read and now someone can thankfully confirm for her. (Just some random prompt as I pass by...)

If the Lamia is quite expressionless, specific words do raise sudden reactions to her pale and icy features, striking like a thunder of madness which give her that signature manic grimaces of hers. "A vampire?" Her brow raises as the corner of her lips as well, like a joker smiling on its way to call a death sentence, her eye twitching, believing Naeun would do her the disrespect to mix her with ... a mere vampire. However, her features ease as she watches the othe genuinely interested in Calista's nature, sitting down in front of her. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to exchange on the subjet - on her story, her habits, the urban legends. Knowledge was something Calista was passionate about after all, her, being a walking 600 years old encyclopedia. The lamia calmed down. "Disgusting. I am no brainless blood sucking hound like Vampires are." Calista answers witout losing her mind this time. "These creatures are beneath me. Animals. I am a Lamia, daughter of the Night." She adds while still comfortably resting down the chair. "I believe humans were not so bright themselves to come up with empty shams such as this one. Garlic is a powerful natural antibiotic with healing purposes for the mortals. In the earliest centuries they did believe it had the properties to cure a vampire bite. It obviously was not true - idiots - yet kept on spreading the misinformation to put the humans' mind at peace. It was better for these doomed creatures to live with the hope to survive the vampires. Alas." Spoke Calista, finding it surprisingly natural for her to explain and to share it with the other. "I ... Mm." A pause. " I can show you if you want?" It truly is a first, for her to offer to share an "activity together" . Was it the lamia trying to be... nice in return? "We can sacrifice a human to a vampire and as we perform a healing attempt with garlic, I will show you how unsuccessful it is." Her face then is animated with a grin, slightly deranged as usual, that however shows a certain excitation. "The human might then try to hunt and kill you But I have a stake or two for you to take it down. Oh now That should be fun!"

[uroborosymphony]

❝  a woman with a dress is a frightening and powerful thing.  ❞ - from Sarang? :3 HYELLO~

Natasha, pierre, & the great comet of 1812 lyrics starters.

The flutes of champagne were clicking one against another, under the dimmed lights of a sultry and golden atmosphere. The drums, trumpets and piano of classics of jazz, accompanying a duet of singers in the heart of the celebration. Calista's eyes were set on the room - cold, focused, dark eyes preying on each one of the souls gathered under the lights - in this warmth of elegant laughters and money basked exchanges between members of the high society. It was seven days ago that the lamia received the invite, an event among the humans clearly was not her favorite way to pass her eternal time, as the loner creature could only stand few minutes a week of interaction with the mortals. The inauguration of a a luxury hotel in the heart of the capital, one selective and highly covoted place owned by the famous duo of young entrepreneurs, the Lee brothers. Not that Calista ever cared of the achievement of such an empty and shallow species.

it could not get more boring. However, tied to the invite was joined a letter, one warning her that tonight, the presence of ancient magic has been expected, perhaps, witches. It wasn't rare for the night queen to receive such messages from intels, former soldiers who have survived the great war against the order and remained loyal to her in the shadows - however it has been oh many decades since she hasn't paid attention, nor answered, due to her giving up on her quests and journeys and eventually, isolating herself.

❝  a woman with a dress is a frightening and powerful thing.  ❞

The words got spoken from her side. That voice.

Calista was wearing a long dress, black, tight around her frame, the type of dress cascaling down her hips, her legs; suggestive of the harmony and elegance of her curves. Exposed shoulders where her blonde, almost turned white with the centuries, hair was adorning her thin collarbones. And her lips, nude, which was enhancing the purity of her skin and the natural of her beauty. The usual coldness and harshness of her intimidating features instantly vanished, she couldn't hold it : that smile. That timid Calista smile - timid because she knew she was not the type to smile so spontaneously. One that she tried to hold down by pinching her bottom lip with her fang, her eyes then unable to leave the sight of the other woman.

"I do know it is. I'm looking at you."

The lamia answered, still trying to control her expression even though she could not. Calista's eyes lingered on Sarang - the dark of her hair, the jewels around her neck, her frame in a dress, far from the armors of the past. Sarang was astonishingly beautiful as ever. The sight was eternal. Calista finally understood, there was no "ancient magic" nor witch in the area, the intel was no intel but Sarang's little trick, Sarang's way of bringing Calista out of her cave so they could meet again. The archer has done it before, it always came in an original way that was making Calista smile, an under the radar way - far from the eyes of the Order - or whatever was left of it. Calista knew how Sarang was involving in this world of humans of wealth, to con and whatnot : that was probably how she got two invites. The last time they saw each other was thirty years ago, by the end of the eighties where they did spend days together, weeks even, in the south of the country, in a city way smaller than this one. A year for the immortals equaled a minute, after all.

"Oh Sarang, Sarang, you tricked me."

There was no existence Calista was truly enjoying, not even her own - Sarang's however, felt different. The memories of them tearing each other up to shattered limbs and blood bathes were nothing but cherished.

"To think I've spent the past seven days dreading the very moment I would be stuck in between four walls with these digusting little humans, you have tortured me, Huntress." It is still a teasing tone as she was exaggerating the torment, a smile still adorning her nude lips. "If only you have signed that letter, I would have hurried to come and meet you." A few steps, for her to then stand right in front of Sarang. "I cannot endure another minute in their presence. But I would love more of yours. I have seen gardens in the outside," Calista spoke, making a step towards Sarang, closing the distance between them. "Let's get out of this room. How about that?"