#her tongue is like a spectrometer for poison LMAO

[wistrea]

it would be easier to voice her apologies later, as the raven brings the chalice to her lips and drinks before the king does, taking a long sip of wine poured from the same flagon and swallows without a sliver of hesitance. her nose scrunches up slightly in distaste, though not from the sting of alcohol. the best poisons would taste indistinguishable from the red, while the ones brewed with a lack of precision tasted vile. this was the latter, a crude display of work that she had unfortunately been the witness of many times before, and yet she had drunk as though it was any other wine. she drinks from poison cups easily, now; once, her father had to instruct her to do so. she will ponder cursing or thanking the man's grave.

❛    forgive me, your grace.     ❜ words leave her in a rush as she had stood, taking his chalice in her stride [ the cup that had been poured first ] before making her way to the cupbearer who had poured it, swiping the ceramic still full. would snatching a flagon of wine warrant execution, or was it a court disruption that would have done it? either way, she would have to ask the plant in the corner of the room forgives her for what she was about to do with it.

crimson spills from the pitcher as she pours it into the soil of the pot [ ... ] and then, the leaves once green begin to wilt, for poision should never be used to water one's garden. ❛    hm. perhaps another cup would serve you better, your grace.  ❜ kira speaks again as she sets the flagon down on the corner of the table. and yet despite her words and her demonstration, she brings the chalice to her lips and takes another sip, as though she needs to confirm her thoughts.  ❛    arsenic is not often a favorable trait in one's brew.    ❜ 

@aeghon , ♡'d