the brooding shadowsinger of the night court meets the feisty blood witch from places unknown, what could possibly go wrong?
Azriel x OC
ACOWAR - post ACOWAR
Slow updates
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A hiss escaped Ruelle's lips as a dagger sliced across her palm; blood dripping down her porcelain skin onto the map that laid flat on the floor in front of her. She sat cross legged on the hardwood floor of her assigned bedroom; her posture horrible as she bent herself forward to not drip blood onto the floor itself. A detailed map of Pyrthian sat in front of her, one she had requested the Shadowsinger to bring to her after returning back to the House of Wind yesterday.
He did so without question.
As her blood pooled within the center of the parchment, most definitely ruining its ability to be used again in the future, words of the Old Language of the Witches poured from her lips. "My lost darling, where are you?" Softly the words entered the world, but her concentration was hard. Summoning as much power she could muster; she watched her blood on the map intently. It did not move. "I call to you, you that shares my blood," she tried again. Her breath caught in her throat as the blood slowly began to trickle across the page; hope flushed her cheeks. But as her eyes trailed the flow of the blood, she realized it wasn't working. Something was actively working against her power. The blood formed a circle around the outer edge of the parchment, within its middle laid the entirety of Pyrthian. A frustrated sighed escaped her, she knew it would not work. But she had hoped. She had tried many times before. Years ago, when her diadem was first taken from her, she had spent hours trying this same exact location spell. Then hours, pouring over her family grimoires trying to find an alternative spell that might work.
They never did.
Pushing herself off the ground, she pulled the map off the floor and walked towards the center of the room to toss it into the fireplace. The flames engulfed the parchment quickly turning it to nothing but ash. The crackling of the embers entrancing her for a moment as she thought through the next step of her plan to find her diadem. Rhysand had promised he would allocate resources to assist her search; it may be time to call in that favor. It had only been a few days, but war was coming. Ruelle was prepared to fight, eager even. The desire to feel the amount of power that ripples through her as her diadem sits across her brow has left reeling.
With a turn of her head, she was pulled from her thoughts. Her eyes casted across her room, the sun was at its apex in the sky. The brightness of the day contrasted her foul mood greatly. Her hands, one still covered in blood, came up to her head. Her fingers running across her scalp and gripping her hair tightly as she resisted the urge to scream. As she held onto herself, trying to force her feelings from her body, her mind recalled seeing a sparring ring a top the House of Wind. On the balcony that she arrived on. If she could not calm herself, she knew that burning her rage through swings of her sword and punches of her fist would do the trick.
With a quick change of her clothes into black leggings and an emerald, green tank top, she unhooked her father's blade from the mount she had placed it on above her bed. The signature sheath that accompanied her blade was slung across her shoulders by the time her feet carried her out of her room. The feeling of the blade across her back brought a comfort that was indescribable.
