IT COMES BACK TO YOU — ORPHEUS

[skullcrow]

The night was not dark and stormy, but in Atropos's opinion, it might as well have been. Clear skies couldn't disperse the thunder roiling in her breast, nor the lightning bolts spidering across the walls of her heart. No, this stormcloud had been brewing for half a year, red and cold with Alastar's blood and her sister's tears. For six months, she'd watched and waited, biding her time even as her talons ached to rend flesh. Every tie he formed was a victory for her. Every smile on his face, every laugh, every peaceful moment—they fueled the tempest.

The blackened bark of her roost crumbled beneath her. She loosened her grip, shutting her eyes as she breathed in the brisk air. It wouldn't do to fall to her death, now, would it? Who would avenge Eirene's grief? She craned her neck upward. The skeletal oak on which she perched stood among the tallest of the trees at the border of copse and field. Here, she could spot a lone figure approaching a mile away from inside The Ascendants territory. She could see the stars, in all their glittering array. Beautiful. They would all be witnesses to her act of justice.

Ah. She inhales deeply, zeroing in on movement below. The feathers at her nape shuddered with a rush of exhilaration. A few minutes more of careful observation confirmed his identity. I see you. Atropos had been patient long enough. It was time for the rain.

She dived—a missile locked on target. Her talons stretched out to rake a line down his back. With a mighty flap of her wings, she launched back into the sky, catching an air current. "Little boys shouldn't wander too far on their own," Atropos called, tracing lazy circles overhead. "Daddy might not be there to protect them."

[ORPHEUS]

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]Orpheus didn't carry hate well. Where Atropos saw a thunderstorm rolling from her heart, the sunny day suited him just fine. He felt quiet and calm most days, like blue skies and gentle clouds. Atropos wanted to see his attachments as a victory for her cause, and that was fine — but in reality they were his own victories, his own accomplishments. Learning how to care without running away was one of the first steps he'd taken towards letting himself heal. Now it was going to be torn from him. Everything was, however pessimistic that sounded. His biological parents fucked up on their own, throwing him to the wolves. His dad died, his friends died. Lovers died. The only part of his life that had been consistent in any way was himself.

Nothing here felt like it would stay forever either, though he tries to get himself accustomed to the idea of that. His explorations gave him time to think, to settle. Maybe he seems like the sort of person to desire contact, and he is, but solitude allows him some semblance of peace. His focus lies solely on the way the grass parts with every step, oddly harsh blades sometimes even reaching to scrape along his shoulders or under his chin. Still, it's peaceful. The tall grass fades the closer he gets to the treeline, and the harsh winds break into tinny, harmless whistles against the branches.

But the approaching cover also means that he misses the shadow overhead — just for a moment, though that's all it takes. Orpheus had always been perceptive. He had to be, leading a life such as his own. He's ducking as soon as he hears the whistling of wind through feathers. It's not enough to fully dodge Atropos, her claws slicing shallowly into the lion's black and berry striped back. Only a hiss betrays any sort of pain, his teeth gritting and nipping at his own tongue to choke down anything else. He's twisting quickly, paw reaching up to bat at a figure that's already out of reach. Vultures. A part of nature's cleanup crew, and if he's right with where his mind takes him in connection to the bird, that's fitting. Orpheus's soft growl carries through the air as he crouches defensively, long, tufted tail lashing behind him.

"You're a few years late," he calls back up at her. "Daddy taught me how to take care of myself." His wounds are already stinging, but the scars already on his back say he's experienced worse and the way he bares his teeth says try me.

[skullcrow]

/ THIS IS SHORT RIP

Vengeance never could sink its teeth into her. Each and every assignment that Mother gave was completed with ruthless efficiency. No mess, no fuss: nothing to cloud her judgment in carrying out a clean, simple task. It was why Atropos was heir out of all her sisters. She was always the one behind the trigger, not the bullet.

Except where Orpheus was involved.

She clucked her tongue. "Did he teach you to follow in his footsteps?" She feinted a dive, corkscrewing skyward at the last second. "Will you die like him, too?" Moonlight glinted off blood-red feathers.

If it had been anyone else, anyone at all—Lachesis, Clotho, Eunomia, Dike, or even Mother—she might have hated him less. She might have gone into this with the steel-trap repose that her mother loved. Oh, but he had to aim for her dearest baby sister's heart. That tender little thing like an open wound—Atropos watched it break. She was going to bury every last shard into Orpheus's chest.

She cast an eye over his form, huddled as it was among the grass. "Though I suppose you wouldn't make as loud of a thud." The words had barely left her beak when she plunged a third time. Her talons reached for his tail—then she twisted sharply in midair and aimed for his eyes. And her wings take her up, up, up, again to circle.