01-16-2019, 08:57 AM
/ 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.
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.