un: starburst, toward the end of this arc.

[valeas]

( Emilia di Carlo has seen better days, by the look of her. Her battle leathers are torn, soot and cuts still on her face — but she doesn't give in to the exhaustion just yet, nor the bile in her throat. First, she addresses the people of Alem, dignified and resolute. )

Prince Haiva sacrificed himself and leaves his sister, the young Cle-Florens, spared.

I was witness.

( A pause, then, as she allows that to sink in. )

Hell is sealed.

You fought with valor so others might live. I'm glad to have fought beside you, and will remember your fallen just the same.

If you've yet to evacuate, the time is now. Hassir awaits.

Comments

[action]

[valeas]

( Emilia'd anticipated his acceptance of her caveat.

Many of the decisions he has made, ruthless and generous alike, have been in the hopes of preserving her ability to make choices freely. He understands better than most the need to cherish that, to fight for it at whatever cost.

His fondness, however, does manage to surprise her.

She eyes him with a bit of skepticism, though she's not entirely sure it's earned. She once thought he despised mortals, but she once thought a lot of things, having grown up hearing all sorts of twisted tales about him.

If they were true, his closest friend and right-hand man would not be Anir. He would not devour every cannoli in sight. Assumptions are the death of truth, he once told her, and she would do well to remember that in the pursuit of her own. )

You are?

[action]

[inferus]

( Wrath sees her skepticism. If he had been told this earlier, he would not have believed it himself, but it is true. Granted he has never hated mortals like many believe, like many are told. The stories of him have been so twisted over the years like the story of his horns - wings and not horns at all.

There is a softness to his expression in this rare openness, but she is his wife, and she does remember more - bits and pieces that he knows she is wrestling with, how they fit with who she once was, who that makes her now. )

I am.

( There is confirmation in the spoken word given without hesitation, with a strength to his tone of voice. His hand remains against her face but falls to find hers, linking their fingers together. )

Before the spell-lock, you weren’t interested in cooking. You seem relaxed when you’re creating, peaceful. Your mortal family did a lot wrong, but I feel like murdering them a little less when I see you looking at roasted garlic like it’s the most wondrous thing in our universe.

( Direct, shameless quote from the book above. )

[action]

[valeas]

( Emilia had assumed as much, even before Wrath confirmed it: what use would Fury have for something as nurturing as cooking? She'd been driven almost exclusively by her reason for being, to mete out punishment as the avenging goddess she was.

She recalls now it was a cold and lonely existence, with only her twin for company. Despite what she just told Wrath, Emilia does know that part of her is still very much alive and inside of her. The fire, the rage, the brutality. It was Fury Haiva last saw before he died. )

Roasted garlic is rather wondrous.

( A smile fights its way through, past any exhaustion and worries.

She looks down at their linked fingers, and uses that hold to tug him lightly toward the bed. The sky is as starless and dark as it was when he first stepped through, and she's getting nowhere just staring, expecting something to change. )

You cannot simply murder people when they upset me, you realize. ( She says it fondly though, barbarian that he is. )

[action]

[inferus]

( Wrath follows Emilia easily into the bed, away from the door, away from the window, away from the rest of the world. He was certain to do a spell over their room so sounds could not leave it (and also dampened outside noise) like they are truly the only two individuals on the entire train - as if such a thing could be possible. In this moment, it nearly feels it.

Like so much can be shared in a moment. )

I cannot? I make no promises.

( He frowns, and given Wrath rarely reveals an emotion or expression, it is likely an amusing sight. There is a fondness in the gold of his eyes that is reserved solely for his wife though. )

What about maiming, torture? I should hope that is not out of the question.

( This is spoken against her lips before his mouth covers her own as they settle back on to the mattress. Naturally, the king and queen of the Underworld would truly have the most beautiful sentiment toward one another - full of violence and bite and fire and ice. )