princess_of_ida | IC Inbox

[Something crawled up Ianthe's throat like vermin that had chewed into her gut and was desperately ripping and tearing up her esophagus in search of freedom. She realized at the last second that it was a sob threatening to escape and managed to bite its head off before that first breath of air. And though no sound beyond a weird stuttered intake of breath was heard, Gilia would keenly feel the swallowed expression with how she was being held. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, and Ianthe managed to give herself hiccups stifling herself for a couple embarrassing seconds before she told her diaphragm to cut the shit out.

There was so much in Gilia's words, her continual communion with the Sea-Father, that the tears slipped free, slipping down Ianthe's cheeks. To be named as she was made her chest tighten, but that prayer, beseeching safe passage for her idiot beloved twin sister... she thought she was going to explode. Or implode. Her chest felt like it was being squeezed and squeezed and no breath would come to her. She felt burning as the two souls inside rubbed viciously against each other though where one ended and the the other began, she didn't know.

This prayer wouldn't help Corona. She knew it was pointless, but Gilia believed so much, had such faith, that she wasted a part if that. It was so unexpected that it soothed her cavalier soul in ways that bled into the necromancer, for if there was one thing the two would always agree on, it was the importance of Coronabeth.

Ianthe closed her eyes, tightened her arms around Gilia, and buried her face in her.]

Thank you.

[ She nuzzles her briefly, warmly, knowing, knowing and not needing to say how much it could mean, how simple a thing it could be, and yet how - how to look at a painting and feel even falsely, that rattle of hope. Misplaced and misguided, but sorely needed.

She does not stop her from hiding in her hair, she just keeps her touch light on Ianthe's bone wrist, breathing out for the last of her prayers. ]

Holy-Father, Lover of Land-Mother, Born of the Time's march - tell my mother - I long for her wisdom and I wish every day to bear her strength to credit out people. Tell my Fathers, I am glad they never one of their children not know one seed from another. Tell... Tell Elspeth that I hope she finds the peace she deserves and the adventure she longed for, unbound at last, and that I am sorry - and tell Farfalee and Leif to neither get into too much mischief, or spend too much time in books. Father-Salvric worries for their eyes, to spend so much time in them.

[ She lets it go at last, that last fear. ] And may Godfinn find the peace his heart would not give him in life. [ All the things she wished to tell them, all the things she thought about and worried about. Gnawing in her belly that she put down, and away. ] This, I pray in hope, from your Daughter-Sea, She Who Sings the Ocean to Prosperity. Whisper to them, that I love them, so they do not forget that, even if they forget me.

[ The prayer finished, she lifts her hands from Ianthe's and in an easy, yet simple brutality, she fishes for her belt knife she kept for loose threads in sewing - and sliced down her thumb.

The cut is only shallow, bleeding in a red well just as anyone else would - but the scent of the sea grows stronger. Then presses her first two fingers from her other hand into it, and swipes it across her lips and then down her throat.

Then she turns, blood marked in sacred lines, in Ianthe's arms, and offers those two bloodied fingers to her, though it had dried already, and the cut stopped bleeding.

A simple request. ]

Kiss them, so they may go to Coronabeth's brow and know it is you.

Edited 2023-12-08 15:53 (UTC)

[Ianthe sensed the blood before she smelled the sea, lifting her head to observe in that moment. Such a thing wasn't uncommon in the Third House, sacraments and ablution and prayers baked into the Empire's culture even if some Houses were more about lip-service than actual faith.

Her hand was already reaching for those bloodied fingers when Gilia spoke, bringing them to her lips to kiss them. Sacredly. Gently.

And then she took the fingers into her mouth to taste the blood, savor it, discover if it tasted of the sea as much as it smelled of it. Tongue gently cleansing the fingers, it wasn't intended to be sensual but it wasn't not by its very nature.]

[ Her eyes stay lowered to the touch, first of the kiss to send it away, then how she closes her mouth around her fingers, sucking the taste of it.

That yes, it does. The mingling as she always was, that it is blood, and that briney water taste below it, enough that it almost feels like if she ground it between her teeth she would grit on sand. There isn't, but the holiness of it in her body, lingers even there. To lend that belief truth, that maybe, just maybe, if this is real, the rest of it is too, and it would all be answered. ]

He will find her. I know He will.

[ Quite, gentle, she withdraws her fingers, to cup her face in a gentle sweep of her thumbs to smear way the tears, tend her as carefully as she would an altar, as precious, as beloved, as her own faith.

That offers her kiss, soft to Ianthe's, not for desire, but for that just as holy relationship Ianthe had herself, of blood and flesh, that perhaps Gilia did not know in whole, but did not need to, just the same way Ianthe accepted her and hers. That holy blood on her lips she lays in blessing to Ianthe's own. ]

[Another tear slipped from her eye, bidden by the certainty in Gilia's voice, in her faith, even if Ianthe knew how limited terrestrial things were. Unless the spirit she prayed to could reach and touch the sea of the stars, distant systems and perhaps even another galaxy away, it would not find Coronabeth. But Ianthe needed that certainty, just as she needed the taste of blood on her tongue and ambition in her heart. But there were parts of her heart that weren't blackened, that could still beat and be more. Want more. Feel more.

And though Ianthe couldn't say it - not now, not when it was so freshly born and vulnerable - her lips, this kiss, for the first time said back to Gilia what so many times had been said to the necromancer with word and deed. Her arms held Gilia close as soft kisses that made hearts flutter under the blazing warmth of the sacred and the distant crashing waves were given.]

Edited (forgot to finish the sentence) 2023-12-09 16:25 (UTC)

[ It's not a kiss of desire, or heat, to seduce her, it's to hold that hope, that prayer, that love against her lips, so that she does not lose it. Hope is easier for her, than it was for Ianthe, she knew. Ianthe's world was of brittle bone and unforgiving decisions and the cold eye of the world.

She cups her cheek and kisses her with all that love that spills like blood. Warm and drowning. Letting it pin her to the wall, to that bright and beautiful mural that soothed her own aching heart to just see, for one second, the sea she missed so much.

For one moment, she feels safe. Safe and whole and loved. ]

[They kissed and kissed and kissed some more. Soft and open, vulnerable and filled with everything. Ianthe had never expressed such before except with her sister, and even the was different than this. Was it Babs that made the difference? That didn't make sense considering how much he loved Coronabeth. Why would this--

Ianthe drowned her stray thoughts then, holding Gilia close as she enveloped her in the bleeding wound that was where Gilia's love had struck with the precision of an assassin. She wasn't sure how long the stood there kissing by the painted sea before Ianthe pulled back.]

I take it you like the painting. Let's sit down?

[ There isn't really any answer to that, that had not been said in a way far more profound than a simple yes. So giggling a little, she nods. Then she rises up when Ianthe pulls away to let her speak.

Her hands slip into Ianthe's, letting her lead her on. ]

By all means.

[To the couch Ianthe took them, sitting down in the corner with her leg stretched out along the back, Gilia pulled down to sit in the v formed with the freedom to face her. She brought Gilia's hands up to kiss before letting them go, her bone hand dipping down into a pouch tied to her hip, searching for something.]

I want to give you something... if you want it, that is. And you're willing to give me blood to store, but that's just for the wards.

[Finding what she agreed in the pouch, Ianthe took Gilia's hand and held it palm up. A key was pressed to her palm, Ianthe's eyes flickering up to find the sea queen's. She didn't say what the key belonged to, thinking it obvious.]

[ Like the day she vowed her acceptance of the Sea that lived within in Gilia, she felt the world go so very quiet, so very still, with a faint ringing of a far off bell that chimed something sweet and high.

She blinked widely, in shock - and selfish happiness as she looked at the key Ianthe offered. Yes, yes she can guess quite rightly, that the key is not to any chest or door, but to Ianthe's own house. Her property, shared, for Gilia to pass into as others could not.

Do not think it - she does not mean it that way. She does not. She does not. ]

Truly? I - [ her heart hammering, she wets her lips. ] - I am honored, my love. Are you sure?

[Ianthe knew not what it meant to Gilia, what such an act, an offer, was in her culture. That was true. The sentiment, though, was real.

She curled Gilia's fingers over the key, holding it with both of her hands.]

I trust you. I want you to be able to be here without needing me to invite you in. I... want to be pleasantly surprised to come home and find you here, a balm to my souls. I want you to find solace here, away from the mess out there. Safety. Security.

[Her thumbs rubbed Gilia's hand gently.]

I want you to have the freedom to find warmth in my bed in the middle of the night without needing me to wake. To know you are welcome and wanted.

So yeah, Lia, I'm sure.

[the tears were still drying from her happiness to say that they are more or less wet than before. But they were there as she smiles, she smiles so hard her cheeks hurt. Like she is suddenly, ten years younger to the twenty something she ought to be, happy and bright.

So happy she glows in it. ]

It would make me so happy, Tuerintis. I would like that, so very much.

[ Her fingers curl back over the key, but more importantly over Ianthe's hand. She does not mean like that, she reminds her traitorous wretched, elated heart, but it does not listen. ]

I promise, I shall never neaten your notes and move the bone piles, and I will always make sure you never go a day hungry.

[Why was she crying? It was just a key. Ianthe didn't think she was offering Gilia anything more than she already gave her aside from free access. But there was something about having a key that did denote a deeper relationship ~~real deep apparently~~. That smile was certainly something, though.]

My research is really the only sticking point. Same with not bringing anyone here without my knowledge. [The wards wish let them in anyway.]

Oh, I've offered Quentin temporary sanctuary here behind the wards if needed. Should I not be present but you are and he seeks it, cut your palm and pull him with your bloody hand across the threshold.

[ Real, real deep.

Possibly irreversibly deep, from the first time Ianthe's sure, elegant fingers slipped against the cool waters of her soul. ]

Of course, yes.

[ She brings her hand up, wiping away her cheek with the inside of her wrist as that smile never leaves her lips, bright and sharp. ]

You need my blood, yes? For the - ah, wards? How much? If it is a lot I will need to sing to ensure my other nature is unresponsive.

No more than a pint. That will last a while. Everyday, I'll need to replenish it, but nothing more than a human body can easily give.

[Ianthe smiled and leaned in to kiss away those tears.]

We can see to that later. I'll redo the wards in the morning. Come here.

[Wrapping her arms around Gilia, Ianthe lagged back into the corner of the couch, looking to have the other woman snuggle against her.]

There's a spot in my wardrobe I cleared for you to use, if you want to leave some clothing here.

[ She tumbles in with her, eagerly settling her body close by Ianthe's side, draping against her soft and warm as a blanket, just for her. ]

Thank you. [ Though she laughs a little. ] Not that I will take up ever much space. I will bring my spare shifts, at the least, I cannot say I have more than the few garments all told.

[ Lacking Ianthe's vanity, she had settled for the few pieces to get her through. ] Who painted the sea?

[Pleased to have Gilia resting against her, Ianthe idly toyed with a loose curl and closed her eyes.]

That one's Iggy's work. The night sky behind us was painted by Wesley. The majestic stag in the field of flowers found in the bedroom was Alina's. The wall in the kitchen is yours to do with as you please.

[ She settled the same, her arm looping loosely over Ianthe's waist, head on her shoulder. Lulled by her heartbeat against her ears. ]

I do not know if I can make anything so beautiful... [ She rubs her cheek there, in thought. ] Flowers... perhaps skulls wreathed in flowers for you.

Anything you want. The kitchen is more your realm than mine anyway.

[Ianthe chuckled a little, wondering if she'd ever be allowed in there again.]

There's a lot of knucklebones available if you want to use some. Harrow loved her knucklebones.

[ That's a new name. ]

Who is Harrow?

Reverand Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus. She's also a lyctor from the Ninth House. An incomplete one, but a bone adept. Her grasp of osseogenesis is far beyond anyone I've ever seen. She's the one that crafted my arm.

[Ianthe sighed, eyes closed.]

We were dating for a while. I had plans to marry her some day, but she's in love with someone else. She was here for a while but has disappeared. [Along with Corona. With Gideon.]

I am sorry.

[ She smooths her hands against her side. ]

You must miss her too, very much.

Yeah. Shared a room with her in the boarding house along with Kiriona. [Oh.] Kiriona is John's daughter. She's dead. Or was. Before the Duchess gave her life here. I suppose she's probably dead again.

She's my closest friend back home. The other Tower Prince, Heir to the Empire. A fun lay. Big and beefy.

John had a daughter?

[ That was - not expected. ]

How awful, for both of you.

Yeah. He didn't know about her until like a year ago when she was already dead. It's a whole mess of a story, involving treason and murder and cavaliers and revenants.

[Ianthe's bone fingers slipped into golden curls.]

Ask me some other day about that. I don't want to get depressed.

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cw: mild-ish blood sacrifices

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Again, eventually, not everyday.

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