#absolutely no dialogue but I prommy that will change :prayinghands:

[ruinakete]

WITH REBIRTH CAME THE INTROSPECTION OF PURPOSE; though the romanticization of revival would always tilt the narrative and disregard the little coherency such an art━━━necromancy, dark magic, witchcraft━━━had. was it not beautiful to pull air back into the battered lungs you, once, could not use? death and the reversal of it, followed closely by the primitive urge of a mortal's grief, were poetry's greatest tools. and oh, truly, how zephia despised literature. her hatred for scholars and consumers of their mind, alike, was an instinctive one, buried deep into the grove of her heart. the reason? no, not even she could remember it, but it was there. somewhere in her chest.

similar to the ever - so - subtle interest she regarded the newest rumor of the monastery with; word passed from mouth to ear, again and again, of a sly, masked figure stalking the graveyard. their appearances were once rare to nigh, but as of late, suspicion had grown that they were becoming bolder, restless.

it was not zephia's place to worry over the dirt of these graves, for she cared not whether their corpse was torn from the ground or disrespected by an act of shame. where a hound's interest laid was the figure, themselves. what could be their intentions? rumors atop rumors whispered of disturbed graves with their tombs slanted and tributes swiped, but not of the actual corpses being victims of any unjust crime. and why not? why dishonor what they had no intention of taking for their own benefit? what was there to gain from a mutilated legacy if they simply threw it away?

peace was not on the mage dragon's side as she descended stone stairs; thus, any nonchalance was hardly able to bury the wicked delight spreading across her countenance. her heels roughly scraped against gravel, a constant noise that stuck obnoxiously in the silent air. she was not here to compromise with a fool, lest that fool had a mage hand unlike any she had ever known. if they were not using the graves for a profitable purpose, then she would make up her wasted time by tearing their heart from their chest.

but, until the fool was here to make their move, zephia would remain idle. sangria eyes roamed freely, from encrusted tomb to flickering lamplight. the silence that weighed the air was hardly comforting, but the human urge to let her eyelids flutter and her conscious slip into an improper slumber was strong here. unfortunate, since the feeble memory of lord sombron's defect was engrained shamelessly to the front of her mind.

even surrounded by the dead, the hound refused to close her eyes, if only for the fear that they would paste themselves shut and never open again; the reminder of how real this second chance was.

and how real the small ghost descending the staircase appeared.

partner tag ; @misericordel !

☽ ・ they've always come and gone —— zephia & veyle

MISSION BOARD: FRACTURE / graveyard prompt.