Sweet as Sugar // Agathe

[agathe.]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 11px; color;"]It was this child that stirred some long-dormant emotion within Agathe, willpower and willpower alone the only thing keeping the assassin from displaying her newest revelation upon her already carefully composed expression. See, guilt was a fickle thing and an emotion that her clan loathed. They did not feel bad for the sins they committed nor did they dwell upon the past. The only time a second's more of thought was given to anyone was when their blood ran blue, not red. And yet, standing here, staring at Clementine, caused a surge of remorse to wash over her, past actions suddenly vividly alive within her mind.

The witchling had belonged to the seventh sister, a darling little thing with a quick mind and a heart already too soft. But her body was weak and she was ill all the time, a cool breeze even capable of leaving her bed-ridden for days. After some pleading from her sister, her grandmother agreed to give her three more months to recover, grow strong, and begin to train, but those three months never even came to pass. The illness that seized her was strong, too strong, and the poor thing lived in agony day in and day out. A quick death delivered by Agathe had been her only solace, even as her mother screamed in protest. She hadn't been able to understand, had been too fragile to understand, only staining her own paws blue as she cradled her daughter. Agathe had buried the memory in the recesses of her mind and continued playing the role of the perfect heir, even when her seventh sister stole away into the night, was pronounced a traitor, and then presented to her for execution after she had been captured.

Was Clementine to serve a brutal reminder of the monster she was from her Goddess? Was this child delivered to her as a message? Or maybe a wake up call? Agathe, quite frankly, didn't care to find out. She had abandoned that life, abandoned her clan, and abandoned her title. She wasn't the Red Death anymore, just the quiet enigma of a woman who spent her days handling the many newcomers (who were, much to her chagrin, children and ensuring that she blended in seamlessly with her new clanmates. She didn't care for a life riddled with executions and, though she missed the thrill of the battlefield and the way that flesh felt under her paws, was comforted by the idea of this much more domesticated lifestyle. It kept her safe and, as stubborn as she was to admit it, safety was what she needed.

But that didn't change the fact that she was still obligated to respond to Clem- especially after seeing how flustered the child seemed to get when faced with a simple inquiry.

"It isn't ideal," Agathe finally offered in response, her golden gaze sweeping the area around them as if to check for invisible predators, "You strike me as a smart girl, surely you've heard about the murders we've been facing." Why should she sugarcoat the Ascendants' current ailment? It wasn't necessarily to scare the other girl, just leave her more aware. "But..." The Lunar Lieutenant trailed off, facial features contorting as she contemplated her next words and what they might entail. She hardly felt comfortable offering her company so that this Clementine could get a taste of the outdoors, but maybe it was time to atone for what she did to that little girl. For what she did to her mother. "I can accompany you if you'd like. Don't expect a conversation partner though."

Blunt. Cool. To the point. Though Agathe would admit, she enjoyed watching her squirm about being called a 'witchling'. If only she knew what an honor it was to be considered one of her blue-blooded kin. "And I'm Agathe Ashyver. At least you aren't uncouth like the rest of these children. So unruly; I feel like I'm babysitting sometimes." Her teeth flashed, smile not warm or welcoming but a smile regardless. "And calm down," She continued in that soft voice of hers, head shaking, "I don't bite." Anymore.