WHAT STARVING POETS MEANT & future readings

[agathe.]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 12px; color;"]Fate and fortune, though often intertwined, were both forces who seemed to hate Agathe nearly as much as they favored her. She would not deny the fact that she had been immensely lucky to have walked away from her matron relatively unscathed (if you call the life-threatening wounds she had showed up to the Ascendants with 'unscathed'), but had lost everything in the process. It was as if she could have no great moment in her life without an equally terrible tragedy to balance it out. Sofiya, freedom. Her sisters' execution, the Ascendants. The Ironbeaks, immortality. She would forever be equalized by the events that transpired within her life, doing everything in her power to not tip the scale in favor of one or the other. It was as bizarre as it was exhausting.

But she did not believe in the legitimacy of things such as 'future readings'. She had seen her future written in the stars once and then dismantled it with nothing but one sweep of her claws. She was the architect of her own future and would continue to be until her last breath had been drawn. That didn't mean she wasn't curious though. In fact, Sybil's little set up was cause enough for Agathe to push past the satin curtains and sit before the other girl without a second thought. "I have divine witchling blood," She informed curtly, golden eyes meeting clouded ones, "Is that enough to appease the gods if I spill it? Or would they rather you do it?"  A challenge. Almost. A single brow would rise wryly, the hints of a rare smile curving her lips. Though she had killed others for merely brushing past her, she quite enjoyed the idea of making this quiet oracle take her sacrifice. There was something wickedly delightful about it. About her. "I'll warn you, I have a... strange relationship with the Gods."