luna-crow

[luna-crow]

Blood Pact: Event Para | Luna & Alekto

CW: murder, blood

Neve had known she was going to kill the russet haired halfling since she had spied him in the The Golden Lute an hour before. It had been three years since she'd seen that face, with that distinctive scar that ran from his chin to the corner of his right eye. He was a muscular but slight man, a mere few inches taller than Neve. Jaques Ortolan. He was a Fox Clan thief, known to those in the fae cities to buy valuable stolen items too risky to sell within city limits. The last time Neve had seen that face, he had stolen everything she had on her person at knifepoint - including her shoes. Since she had closed her hands around that cursed ring in the Night Market, the question of who to kill to summon the amount of blood magic needed for her permanent glamour spell had haunted her. It was as if the universe had gift wrapped it's answer. Neve had always been one to hold a grudge.

That is how she found herself in the dead of night, stalking through the camp after a stumbling, drugged halfling. She wore her own old tattered indigo cloak and an embroidered black velvet jerkin and breeches that Luna had likely worn to some costume party. It was unfortunately the most practical thing in the entirety of the court lady's vast closet. So, Neve had to make due. She could not understand how Luna had had such a penchant for choosing the most uncomfortable and impractical clothing, with all of those cumbersome layers of petticoats and poof.

Neve's twin daggers were warm and familiar in her hands. Her thumbs traced the ornately carved bone hilts of the daggers as she snuck through the dark camp, a nervous movement so often done that her fingers had worn grooves into the bone. They had been a particularly lucky bit of loot, found in a purse she had stealthily cut from the shoulder of a distracted court lady many years before. Despite the hefty price she could have fetched for them in The Night Market, Neve hadn't been able to bear to part with them. Since then they had proven more valuable than any amount of gold she could have traded them for. They felt like an extension of her limbs now.

She was growing impatient now. The powdered belladonna slipped into the halflings absinthe should've immobilized him by now - just enough of a dose to paralyze without stopping the heart. But, Jaques had charged for last 10 minutes like a drunken bull, seeming to want to push through the poisons effects out of pure stubbornness. It did not even seem he had the ability to locate his tent any longer. Just when Neve had begun to doubt she knew the proper dose of poison to incapacitate a halfling, he dropped to his knees.

With a triumphant hiss, Neve charged forward with near silent footsteps. She stood above Jaques for a moment with an impish grin. "Hello Jaques," she murmured, using her true voice and lifting her hood just enough for the halfling to see her real face before she allowed the glamour to conceal it again. Neve didn't wait for an answer before one of her daggers revealed itself from the depths of her cloak and drove into Jaques heart in a flash of white. Neve kneeled, still wild eyed as she murmured a spell that siphoned blood from Jaques still beating heart into a set of six small glass vials. A small smile remained on her lips, an unexpected peace settling over her at the realization that the hardest part was over.

@alektobone

#para #tffevent #the veiled threat

[luna-crow]

Natalie Dormer as Anne Boleyn in The Tudors (2007-2010)

#portrait

[luna-crow]

Royal Pains: Part 2 | The Veiled Threat

Despite the rather somber situation, Neve was at least relieved to find Luna's tent at camp private and spacious. It was enough to fit a spacious bed, a small round table with two chairs, and a few trunks of clothing and armor. In true Luna fashion, despite the the simplicity of the setup, each item was beautifully made and reeked of wealth. Even the chair and table set had ornate branches of a fig tree carved into it. But the grandeur did not astound Neve as it once would've. Being surrounded by beautiful things was merely a given now. Neve lay twisted in her spider silk sheets, anxiously fiddling with the ties of her heavy linen chemise as tears fell down her cheeks. Lavender scented incense wafted on a small side table next to her bed, the room dark besides the glow of the flame. She had laid in this state for hours now, sounds from the boisterous camp not abating even late into the night. But, Neve had not been able to bring herself to be in a socializing mood. In a mere two days magical training with the Magi would begin. With her well of magic nearly dried up due to the strains of glamour magic that kept her looking like Luna, she was sure to be outed as a fraud.

There had been many moments in Neve’s life where she had believed herself to be at rock bottom, yet she always seemed to find herself worse off each time. She had thought the winters after she left the orphanage had been the most brutal of them all, the feeling of the bitter cold and the hollowness of an empty belly still accompany those memories. So how was it that her new rock bottom found her draped in finery, with a full belly? She had been plenty of folk's enemy in the past. But, the lingering terror at becoming an enemy of King Oberon eclipsed all those past fears. Neve had seen what happened to those that displeased their fickle and tempestuous sovereign, wincing along with the rest of the courtiers at the displays of violence he so often flaunted at court. This was true desperation, like that she had so often seen in the panting animals she caught in crudely made traps to feed herself back when she was nobody. She remembered feeling little guilt in those moments, gutting those wriggling creatures without second thought. Now she could not help but think that it was likely Oberon would feel similarly nonchalant at gutting her if he were to find out what Neve had done to his beloved cousin. Had she not already emptied the contents of her stomach up hours earlier, she may have thrown up again from the fear of it all.

She slid a hand beneath her pillow, fingers connecting with the small gold ring that she always kept close and hidden from sight. In the months since she found the ring in The Night Market, she had reached for this little trinket nearly every night, mulling over the same choice on repeat. Every time it touched her skin it sent a jolt of energy to her deteriorating body, as if reminding her what it could offer her. It was strangely warm to the touch even on the coolest night. The magic that pulsated from it was like nothing she had ever felt, as though something alive and caged lurked beneath the surface of it. Even the scent of it was different from most magic, almost smoky instead of metallic. That was what scared her the most - not the killing. Neve had had to kill out of necessity before Luna Crow had crossed her path. But, she deeply feared the magic of the ring. A permanent glamour required an amount of magical energy no fae possessed. This was certainly powerful blood magic of some kind. But, past that Neve knew not what it was. What kind of deal was she making if she fed whatever dark force offered her this granted wish and what - or whom- was she making it with?

You will die if you don't use it.

Neve always pushed this thought from her head, her denial usually winning out. But, on this night, with very little but an animalistic terror running through her, she finally gave in to the realization that she had little other choice. And as she finally made the silent choice to kill instead of be killed, she could've sworn whatever was within in the ring stirred in something akin to pleasure.

#the veiled threat #royal pains #self para

[luna-crow]

Royal Pains: Pt 1 | Event Self Para

Neve had had many a nightmare that began with the Unseelie knights pounding on her door.

The sun had not yet fully risen in the sky, only the very beginnings of birdsong hinting at the approach of dawn when she was jolted awake by the sound of a fist pounding against the aging wood of her chamber door. It was the dark that frightened her first —the immediate realization that something was terribly wrong. After the particularly boisterous party King Oberon had thrown last night that had spilled into the early morning, the majority of the nobility had stumbled to their chambers two hours ago.

Whomever stood beyond her chamber door hesitated for a moment, allowing Neve to believe perhaps she had dreamt the whole thing before the second knock sounded. A terror gripped her unlike anything she had experienced in the year she had spent as Luna Crow, the adrenaline coursing through her body making it feel as though she were already wide awake. Was this it? Had her time finally come? And in Roheim of all places? It would be her luck to finally be caught in the very place that housed the most notorious dungeons in Midsummer.

"Lady Luna?" The voice that came from behind the door was gruff, but not necessarily unkind. But, Neve knew better than to let her guard down. She blinked away a tear that threatened to spill down her cheek, trying to think over the deafening pounding in her ears. She allowed herself a few calming breaths before squaring her shoulders and tipping her chin upward. The timid, terrified girl fell away to reveal someone haughty and proud -- annoyed even. Neve slid her feet into a pair of green slippers, checked her glamour and signature scowl in the mirror and threw a teal jacquard dressing gown over her chemise before bringing a trembling hand to the doorknob.

"Do you know what time it is?!" Luna's haughty voice came from Neve's mouth with a practiced ease as she flung open her door. She aimed a look of disgust at the uncomfortable looking group of five knights gathered outside her door. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that this is highly improper." Neve was pleased to some of the guards flinch at her tone, and could not help but wonder what they had endured at the hands of the real Luna to appear so unsettled by a woman half their size. The guard in front, a freckled faerie with hair the color and fineness of goose down, handed her a rolled scroll tied with a bottle green ribbon and a few mumbled apologies. Neve snatched it from his grasp and unfurled it with an irritated flourish. She read it silently, feeling self conscious of how long it took her to sound out each word. But, when she finally understood, her eyebrows shot upward.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

It seemed she would not die tonight, nor be dragged down to the dungeons. But, something nearly as terrifying lay ahead. King Oberon had commanded his most skilled spellcasters to The Wildlands, including the cousin he knew so well to be one of the magically gifted. But, Neve had not been able to do much magic past her glamoured face in months. She was eroding underneath this mask. Beneath the layer of magic her face was growing gaunt and angular, with dark circles settled under her eyes. Her figure, no matter how much rich food she devoured, was becoming bird-like and full of new angles in a way even her times of genuine starvation had not brought on. She was even beginning to move with a new stiffness. Despite how she tried to push the knowledge to the back of her mind, deep down she knew this magic was killing her. And she knew it wouldn't take long for others at this mysterous camp to notice something wrong when the famed Luna Crow could barely levitate a feather.

Neve accessed the space around her as though some exit would miraculously appear or a someone would come to ferry her away. But, when no miracle appeared. She, merely nodded and held up a single finger instructing the men to wait, before closing the door and beginning to access what she needed for the journey. When all her necessities had been thrown into her rucksack she hesitated, a single hand hovering over the drawer of her vanity. Neve stood in a moral quandary for a few seconds before opening the drawer and hastily tucking a small jeweled ring within the pocket of her traveling cloak. She could feel the dark magic of the ring the minute it touched her fingers, just as she had the night she had so desperately acquired it at the Night Market months before. She took one last look around her, wondering she would ever see Luna’s Roheim chambers again, before allowing the guards to escort her through the halls of the waking castle.

#tffevent #the veiled threat

[luna-crow]

Neve's Hallow's Eve look

#Hollows Eve

[luna-crow]

Deja Vu | Luna & August

Setting: Hallows Eve, The Fox Clan

Neve had no idea she was repeating history as she weaved her way through the crowd of solitary fae on Hollow's Eve. She was merely fulfilling a long-standing to desire to attend the Hallow's Eve parties in the Wildlands. There were wild tales of these nights passed around the Unseelie court, ones sounded too larger than life to be fully believed. Now she could believe just about every bit of gossip she'd been told. On the advice from another court lady with a penchant for misbehaving, The Fox Clan parties were the most unhinged and wild of all the festivities in the Wildlands. And with an endorsement like that, Neve certainly had to go.

Her nostrils filled with the smell of burning wood, musk and sweat. The massive bonfire in the center of the revelry shot up in long and smoky tendrils towards the night sky, crackling and splitting each time the partygoers fed the flames with branches, hunks of bark and bits of parchment. In the flickering light Neve could make out vignettes in the sea of writhing bodies:

There was the couple with their heads tipped upward, pouring a bottle of red wine into their open mouths even as it run down their chin and neck; a golden haired human man with eyes wide in terror, under some sort of spell that caused him to dance wildly for a throng of giggling Fox Clan youth; a pale, inky haired selkie girl who kicked mirthfully in the shallows of a nearby brook and beckoned a few uncertain drunks to come into the water and join her; and then a moss haired thief who gave Neve a mischievous wink when cutting a purse, before dipping back into the crowd. That last one made her smile a bit - an unspoken kinship between thieves. And to think this was all within the last two minutes of her wandering. Neve had always thought the Unseelie court to be liberated, but this level of hedonism was foreign even to her.

Had it been a year ago, Neve may have blushed at the sights. Despite how hardened and tough she had thought herself to be, she was still so new to the world. In the last year she had seen more in the world than she had for the hundreds of years before. Now she wasn't embarrassed, she was enticed. Her world had been so small, and suddenly it had expanded into something breathtakingly vast.

@king-of-thieves

#para #king of thieves #August Beedle

[luna-crow]

Natalie Dormer as Anne Boleyn in The Tudors (2007-2010)

#portrait

[luna-crow]

The Widow’s Web | Self Para

Character: The real Luna Crow

Time: 1 year ago

Thayne was dead.

The reality of it still felt distant and strange. Luna stared into the vanity mirror, reapplying blood red pigment to her lips where it had faded since the chaos of the morning. She had expected to feel more than this mere hours after watching the man she had once married die violently. There had been a moment when the splintered jousting stick had wedged into the thin gap where his helmet met his chest plate where Luna had thought she would be physically ill. She had wanted this, even begged the old gods for it. Yet, it’s arrival was momentarily gut-wrenching. Luna had not been prepared for the brutality of it. A keening wail that did not sound like her own had flown from her parted lips. 

She had not felt regret for her actions when she spiked Thayne’s cordial, nor when she had hallowed out the mind of the opposing knight and poured her own intentions into him with forbidden magic. But in that one moment a tinge of regret had marred her perfect plan. When that subsided like a crashing wave falling, Luna felt little else. She hadn’t felt much else since.

Luna tipped her head to the side, studying her expression for a moment before scrunching her face into some semblance of sadness. She frowned, trying it again over and over until she felt satisfied she looked the very picture of a grieving widow. She squeezed out two tears, and studied the shimmering trail it left on her cheek. A small smirk curled up one corner of her lips before she rose from her seat and smoothed the creases from her gown. She had chosen a bone white spider silk gown, the customary color of mourning. The fabric thinned at each wrist, the silk strands woven into a frothy lace. Her elaborate plaited raven locks, tightly pulled back from her face, was dotted with delicate pins studded with baroque pearls and bits of animal bone. It was an ensemble made to be gazed upon. She stood, pausing for one last approving glance. Turning her head to make sure the damp trail of tears were still visible when they hit the light. With a wave of her hand the tall double doors groaned open, and Luna strode out. 

Had one not known Luna Crow’s true nature, one may have believed her to be bereaved. She certainly looked the part, her face delicately contorted in grief. She dabbed at real tears with one of Thayne’s monogramed handkerchiefs, and relaxed the glamour that gave her such an unnatural pallor so that her cheeks had a flush of pink in them. Luna looked every bit the heroine at the end of a great theatrical tragedy.

But, the courtiers were no fools. 

Unseelie nobles smiled and nodded knowingly at her, signaling their approval at the violence and bloodshed. The Seelie nobles looked an even mix of sympathy, suspicious and downright angry. Luna swore she saw the Fox Clan Ambassador wink at her. Even the servants going by with trays and chamber pots seemed to give her a wide berth. But, nobody dared not openly accuse her. Despite all that had occured, she was part of the entourage King Oberon had brought with him on his visit to Anvali Castle and Queen Mab’s guest. Unless the Queen said otherwise, they were not to raise a hand to her. Like always, she had won with note a consequence in site.

Like I always will, she silently gloated.

#self para

[luna-crow]

Conversing With The Dead | Luna & August

Stupid. Stupid, Stupid.

Neve silently berated herself with each step.

Those first months of being Luna had felt triumphant. Embarrassing as it was now to recall, Neve had started to fancy herself as some sort of mastermind, a trickster capable of beguiling even the high fae of Midsummer. Sure, there had been missteps and nerves at times, but she had truly begun to believe she was doing well in her new role. But, the months had peeled back that confidence, each fumble seeming to trigger another series of disasters. But, this could end up being the most disastrous of all.

Neve had never seen the Fox Clan’s territory before. And, if not for the detailed directions, she may never have. The Fox Clan were known for their evasiveness, and their dwellings were no different. Getting into the caves alone was a trying task. But now, as she walked through the tunnels and farther down into the bowels of the earth, she could not help but look reluctantly back at the distant sunlight that shone from the entrance she had come from. Dripping candles lit the way down, the smell of tallow in the air. The way seemed intentionally tricky, at times forking and twisting at strange angles. But when Neve grew confused she squinted down at the piece of parchment in her hand, the way through the tunnels illustrated in tyrian purple ink with scratchy handwritten notes.

On what felt like the the hundreth twist in the candlelit path, a figure stepped from the shadows as though from thin air. Neve yelped, a small dagger with a mother of pearl handle flicking forward from her sleeve with a level of learned ease that would not be expected from a lady of the genty. The lanky, russet hair youth only grinned, exposing a set of yellowing, sharpened teeth. Neve held back a shudder. 

“Lady Crow.” His voice was unexpectedly low, the hint of a owain lilt just audible as he spoke the common tongue. “It has been a long time you’ve...graced our caves.” 

There was something in the youth’s tone, and the smug curve of his mouth that made Neve want to blush. She had very good idea how exactly Luna Crow had spent her time here, thanks to Luna’s uncomfortably detailed diary entries. Luna and August had admittedly been an unexpected match. But the more Neve learned of Luna, the more it made sense that the court lady could find kindred traits in someone known to be a manipulative criminal. 

“Follow me,” the boy added, turning brusquely without looking back. There was something feline in his gait, predatory even. It paired all too well with those horrible teeth. With one last regretful glance toward where she had come from, Neve followed.

@king-of-thieves

#conversing with the dead

[luna-crow]

cillianokeefe​:

Cillian shifted his weight back a bit as the other woman turned on him. Something was definitely wrong—it didn’t take a genius to see that. He was exceptionally out of his element in this situation. The Unseelie Court was hard enough to navigate as a Seelie, but add in the fact that he had lived in the human realm most of his life and it made the task feel monumentally impossible.

Even as he nodded along to her words, his sharp gaze darted down to her arm, writhing with spasms. Was that a trick of the moonlight, or did it look completely different to the way he’d seen it moments ago? It curled in pain under her other hand—still smooth and pale, a stark contrast to the older, larger, darker-tinted arm it clutched. A glamour? He had seen many of the sort during his time in Court, the Seelie nobles often fond of small (or not-so-small) touch-ups to their complexions. But none of them had ever seemed to work like this. Perhaps it was something more? The talisman around his neck thunked against his chest once more: she wasn’t the only one dabbling in magic that night.

“I see,” he responded flatly, wary eyes finally darting back up to her face. It was quite obvious that she was, in fact, not fine; but she didn’t seem to give it any mind, raising her chin in an almost defiant stance. Pride or not, why had she chosen to come out here for this? Why not head towards a more private room, hidden deeper in the building itself? No matter how drastic the transformation, she was still Unseelie nobility, was she not?

At her scream, he flinched slightly, casting a nervous glance back towards the ballroom as he moved closer to block her from view of the doors. Had he been in his own Court, he would’ve worried someone may have heard them and stepped out to check. But something told him that here, those rules and niceties would not apply. “Quite clearly something is wrong, and it seems I don’t have anything better to do at the moment, so is there anything I can do to help?”

Neve could barely think straight, her usually quickness slogged down with pain. In the darkness it was hard to see if anyone else was with them in the gardens, the lack of lighting implying the garden’s purpose was to not be seen in them. But surely even someone who wandered out would hear the screams that gurgled in her throat, try as she may to keep them abay. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth as she bit her tongue to muffle another yelp.  It felt like a matter of time until she was found out by someone far more dangerous than this strange wide-eyed boy. On top of that, with all the enemies King Oberon had made, there were never guards far from him. One un-muffled scream could call the entire brigade of Unseelie knights upon her. 

She wobbled, the pain beginning to spread down her legs.  How long before they gave beneath her, reducing her to writhing form in the dirt? She was far taller than Luna, and experience had shown her that sometimes the lengthened leg bones grew too fast for the skin to have time to stretch. It was a feeling that she could only assume was similar to one being ripped apart. 

Neve’s eye’s flitted about, desperately searching for any other solution, from the one that was forming in her mind. But, finally she sagged in defeat, most of the bravado leaving her. She looked into her un-welcomed visitor’s eyes, anger burning in them; anger at her own weakness.  “Okay,” she rasped. “Then help me.” Her tone still bore an edge to it, like a wounded animal trying not to betray just how injured they were under the gaze of a predator. But, from the way her body quivered and the whimpers now spilling from her lips, there was little intimidating about it.

 “I need to leave now. Nobody can see me like this.”

@cillianokeefe​

#fools bargain #cillian o'keefe #cillianokeefe

[luna-crow]

cillianokeefe​:

In a brief lapse of music, Cillian found himself wondering what in blazes he was even doing at this party. 

He’d first heard tell of the celebration lurking in the darker corners of the palace market, ears tuned to pick up any conversation that could lead him somewhere helpful. He had stayed, crouched over a stall to eavesdrop without being noticed. When the gossiping fae had dispersed, the decision hadn’t been difficult to make: he would make it to that party.

If there was anything Cillian had learned from his time in Midsummer, it was this: fae loved to talk. This, of course, worked in his favor; the constant gossip made it easy for his quiet self to hear all sorts of things, and he’d learned quite the amount of secrets in that way. When you fade into the background, people tend to forget you’re there—and Cillian’s case was no different. He had already heard tell of many of the nobles at the Seelie Court, but he didn’t know much about the Unseelie Court, or anyone in it. 

Of course, if Ciere was somewhere in the Unseelie Court then, well, his job would get significantly harder. Heading to the soiree tonight was more of a confirmation for him than a hope for information. The Seelie Court had given him neither hide nor trace of his relative, and while he hoped beyond all things that the young girl had not in fact ended up in the opposite court…he had to check. If only to set his own mind at ease.

He turned to avoid a dancing couple as he crossed the ballroom floor, standing to the side in order to keep out of the sharp gazes of the revelers. The medallion tucked under his shirt thunked against his chest as he moved (pounded, compared to the fae around him—he really needed to improve his gait) away, a constant reminder of the acts he’d committed; a reminder to stay on his toes and be aware of his surroundings.

Whatever it takes, he had told himself. And by the stars, he’d see it through.

As Cillian stood to the side of the room, watching the guests move around and mingle, he saw one that didn’t quite seem to fit—much like the way he knew he himself stood out…but not because she was Seelie. No, this woman was head-to-toe Unseelie, and yet she took quick steps across the floor, hurrying towards the nearby gardens with an urgency that seemed out of place at such a party.

Eyes narrowing, he slipped from his position against the wall, slowly pushing his way through the crowd after her. As he neared the door, Cillian could see it was dark out and hesitated, biting his lip as he made a split-second decision. Was it really worth following her out, in an unknown area, with unknown variables? Of course. Perhaps something truly was wrong, too, in which case he could help.

Cillian took a deep breath, carefully pushing his way out of the doors. His eyes scanned the moonlit landscape, trying to spot where the other fae had run off to. When his eyes adjusted, he blinked, slowly taking a step towards her. “…excuse me, miss. Are you alright?”

Neve doubled over, retching into a rose bush just as a tentative voice sounded from behind her. She whipped around, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes narrowed at the intruder, open hostility clear on her face. There was something off about the young man so politely enquiring about her health. He was irrefutably beautiful, like any faerie. His hair fell in raven curls, framing delicate features that looked almost out of place next to the sharp jut of his jaw. But something in the stance, and the sincere looking of nervous concern on his face was strange. Catching a member of the gentry in such an undignified manner was surely cause for some amusement, or worse - a green light to inflict cruelty on one in a weakened moment. Court for any fae was always a game of strategy, one in which you hid all your cards, and all weakness from the eyes of your peers. But, the Unseelie Court was particularly bloodthirsty. Had a courtier stabbed another in the middle of the dance floor, it was a toss up whether it would be punished or just served as the amusement for the night. Hell, it was highly likely most courtiers in the room had a blade hidden somewhere on them. Yet, here was this boy, looking almost apologetic of being there at all.

Was it a human? A human in the Unseelie court? How rare. She peered more closely in the dim light, trying to solve the puzzle of this strange man. Perhaps it was someone’s pet. 

“I’m fine, boy.” Neve snapped with impatience, mimicking Luna’s cool, sharp voice as Rye had taught her. It may have been believable, if not for the hiss of pain that escaped her throat right after. Neve clutched her spasming arm, which was now distinctly not Luna’s arm. Her jaw tightened as she fought back a moan of pain, shoulders squaring defensively. The arm Nefe clutched was longer than the other now and riddled with old scars and nails bitten to the skin, while Luna’s glamoured arm was unblemished and rounder, sporting sharp talon-like nails.  But, Neve refused to the acknowledge any of it, glaring at the boy as though he was the suspicious one. If it was a human, it was an annoyingly bold one. “I’m sure you have better things to do than -”

Neve broke off with a near feral scream, so quick to fly from her lips that she had no time to stop it. The magic was working on her ribcage now, each rib expanding in width under her skin in a way that gave her a lopsided appearance. She folded, holding her torso as a  single tear ran down her glamoured cheek.

@cillianokeefe

#fools bargain #para #cillian o'keefe #cillianokeefe #not too long at all! #we tend to write a LOT here haha

[luna-crow]

Fool’s Bargain | Luna & Cillain

Neve had feared this moment would come. But to have it occur at the biggest soiree of the new year, under the eyes of King Oberon and his menacing court brought a new type of terror. 

It had started with a single finger. Neve had reached for an oyster from a passing tray, mouth watering at the sight of the delicate pink of the meat sitting atop an iridescent shell the size of her fist. But, just as quickly her hand recoiled in horror. Her pinky finger was the color of teak with a nail bitten down to the point of bleeding, while the rest of her well-groomed hand was so pale each blue vein was visible through the skin. Neve’s eyes darted around her, paranoia flooding her senses. Curling her hand into a fist that hid her right pinky from view, she ducked into the crowd and headed towards the doors to the gardens. She tried her best to keep her breath steady and her steps light, even as she felt bile rising in her throat.

Did any part of her looking different? Had anyone noticed? Neve dared not make eye contact with any of the extravagantly dressed fae that packed the ballroom, for fear of drawing anyone’s gaze. This was only the beginning, she knew. These days just about every time she took Luna’s form, or reverted back to her own, it was agony. And each time it grew harder to keep it on all day. Every morning she felt as though she were being torn in two, muffling the sounds of her screams with a silk covered pillow. Nosebleeds came more and more frequently, and the dull ache in her bones never faded. Neve was dabbling in magic far out of her skillset. But, she knew a mere glamour to look like Luna would not fool the most skilled spellcasters in the room. Taking Luna’s form for long periods of time required true magic, the kind only the most talented of spellcasters could uphold. And it was probably killing her. 

It was surely on a matter of minutes before the bones beneath Neve’s skin began to ripple, break and reform as they did each day. She had little faith she could hold back the screams this time, even under this kind of duress. Neve could feel her hold on her magic reaching it’s limits, her control of it growing so taut that it threatened to snap. Could she make it to her chambers in the castle before she looked more Neve than Luna? Her heart sank at the thought of the maze of hallways it would take. It was too risky. Better to distance herself from the eyes of any passing courtier or servant. 

It was just as Luna reached the threshold of the door that she felt the first ripple. A whimper escaped her lips as the bones of her arm began to lengthen, unnaturally stretching the skin under the sleeve of her gown. Her steps hurried as she walked out into the mercifully dark royal gardens, nothing but the moon’s glow offering any scant light. This was the place that most nobles went at these sort of gatherings when they didn’t want to be seen. Sure, this was usually due to actions of a more carnal or blatantly illegal nature than this. But, it would have to do.

Had anyone followed her out, Neve would likely not have noticed. The pounding in her ears and eyes full of terrified tears obscured her sense. The many goblets of mead she had downed were likely of little help either. All she could think of was getting as far away from the revelry as possible.

@cillianokeefe

#fools bargain #para #cillian o'keefe #cillianokeefe

[luna-crow]

Luna praying at the altar in the Lilithian Church

Anne Boleyn in The Tudors, 2.08.

[luna-crow]

ryes-up​:

“A lifetime of practice,” Rye said, lips quirking up a little in amusement. “Hopefully it doesn’t take you so long to learn to speak and act like a Sidhe. Keep your hob curses and hearthling mutterings far from Roheim, even if you think you’re alone. The walls have ears ‘round here.”

His smile softened into something genuine and warm at her admission. He didn’t expect her to divulge anything that, at least on first hearing it, seemed important to her. He’d expected something of less consequence, but he would take it as a show of good faith. “No, I don’t believe she played the pan flute,” Rye said. “I suppose she could’ve learned, and I was just never aware, but I always knew Luna to not have much patience for anything she wasn’t immediately talented at.” He laughed a little at her next words and shook his head. 

“No dancing necessary, though you were quite willing a few moments ago.” He sighed, smile fading a little as his tone became more serious. “Be careful agreeing to anything around someone who you believe has grown suspicious of you. If they’re asking you to agree to some supposed past agreement, or to recall a shared memory, it’s likely a trap they set to make certain of their suspicions. It’s what I did.” 

At her question, he nodded towards the door Maerel guarded from the other side. “Now we go back inside, separately. If you’d like to keep your cover, you should avoid being seen with me. The bad blood between my cousin and I is the Court’s worst kept secret. We’re cordial when we’re required to be, but never friendly. You can rely on Maerel to cover for you if needed as well. Though of course, as he’s known to be close to me, if you’d like him to accompany you anywhere, he’ll use a glamour.” Rye’s smile tilted up to one side, almost teasing as he continued, “You may even find you like having him to keep your secret more than me. He won’t ask any secrets in exchange for helping you. He’ll do so just because I ask.” 

Rye paused, looking at her considering for a moment before he spoke again. “If you’d ever like to get away from the castle, play your pan flute or whatever you’d like, you’re welcome to hide out at my home away from the castle. There’s a path from the castle that heads out west, past the turn off to the main road through the Wildlands to Wisteria. It sits on the edge of Belladonna, bordering the Wolf Clan territory.” He didn’t think she’d take him up on it, but perhaps it would be seen as a show of good faith on his end as well. He held his hand out to her. “Now, Lu,” he smiled a little at the nickname he would never refer to his own cousin as, and wondered distantly if this woman would be as likely to try and stab him for it as Luna would’ve been. “May I have my dagger back?”

“A lifetime of practice” Neve muttered, mockingly accentuating Rye’s Sidhe-like diction. She was tempted to say a few choice words in hearthling, but uncharacteristically held her tongue. It annoyed her that he warned against speaking her mother language There would never be a language that she felt more at home with than Hearthling. It is the language she heard in her childhood memories and the language she used to describe her most intimate feelings. The thoughts inside of her head were in Hearthling. Even the Common Tongue, which she knew just about as well , felt limiting somehow. It was a hard thing to let go of. 

In response to his instructions, she merely nodded curtly, unwilling to reveal her innermost thoughts to the other faerie any more than she had. Even when Rye smiled, she merely stared back cooly. The invitation to his home was surprising to her, perhaps even intriguing. Like it had the last time they had met, Neve could not help but feel a yearning to have a true friend. But she pushed it away nearly as swiftly as the feeling had swelled within her. Rye had already shown himself to be clever and crafty. She would not make the mistake of forgetting that. 

“May I have my dagger back?”

Neve smirked, the closest thing to her true smile that she had allowed for the entirety of their conversation. “Hm. No, I don’t think you can. Consider it payment for the inconvenience of your company. I’m sure brother dearest’s gold can buy you plenty more.” She winked at Rye, clearly enjoying the small act of pettiness. It was a childish revenge for the discomfort and panic Rye had brought her.

#in wolf's clothing #para #ryes-up #Rye Hawthorne

[luna-crow]

ryes-up​:

Rye listened to her, but only held up his hands in silent concession. Her was right, he was certain of it. He had watched the woman carefully avoid being in the same room with Oberon more often than not. It was one of the things that tipped her hand. He’d always thought Luna had a sort of…. Not hero-worship, she wouldn’t believe in such a thing… Jealousy of power and a want to be near it, when it came to Oberon. This woman had nothing of the sort. But she was getting aggravated, and Rye didn’t want to upset her too much. Blind rage did nothing for his intended purpose. 

“I never disagreed with that particular assessment from my cousin,” Rye pointed out. He preferred careful, or tactful. But sure, weaselly was just as accurate, he supposed. It all came to the same end. Rye only smiled a little, listening to her rambling at him about all the heinous things she expected. “As you’ve already pointed out, I’m not a Sidhe. And you should by all the writings of my cousin, that against her better wishes, I’m likely the only one of the Court who wouldn’t have you hanged for denying my request. If you say, no, then you say no. You’re on your own, as you were before. With no one on your side, no one who cares if my brother finds you out and hangs you, and no one with any vested interest in making sure that doesn’t happen. Allies are a rarity here, friends more so. Luna had very few of either, as I’m sure you’ve discovered by now.”

He sighed looking up at her. “Would you believe me if I told you that us noble types get bored so easily, and this is for my own amusement?” He asked, then shook his head in answer to his own question. “You’ve been here too long, fooling too many people, though. You’re smarter than that, so sure, I’ll tell you the truth. I selfishly never want to see any version of my cousin traipse through these halls again. I know better than any you’ll meet in this castle what it’s like to wear a mask for so long that you begin to forget what’s beneath it. I don’t want to see that happen to you. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t particularly care. But you are not Luna Crow, and I will be damned if I watch you become her. So I ask you to tell me any little details of yourself, your real self, so that at least one person here knows, and so maybe you won’t forget.” 

Rye stood up, facing her fully and moving to stand within arm’s reach of her. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve told you?” He asked, not unkindly. His tone was one of genuine curiosity. “I don’t have a guard following me round for my own safety. I can put you on the ground faster than he can, I promise you. But by all means, if you’d like to take a shot.” He spread his arms out, still bent at the elbows, but palms open in silent invitation. The only hint that he was also poised for attack was the slight twitch of his fingers, like a mouse trap set to spring. 

“Yeah, well you certainly sound and look like a Sidhe to me,” Neve countered. But her tone was almost imperceptibly less sharp this time. She pressed her lips into a thin line, considering her options. As she had that first time she met Rye Hawthorne, she yearned for this guise of kindness to be real. But, experience told him that was still very unlikely. Perhaps his agenda was more mild than having her strung up. But, there was surely an agenda all the same. It was up to her whether she was willing to play into it. But, at the end of the day, what choice did she have. Resentment for this strangely calm man coursed through her. She was a rat backed into a corner. With a hiss of annoyance, she finally acquiesced.

“I can play the pan flute. Quite well, actually. But since I don’t know if Luna can, I haven’t dared play since I got here. And I miss it, I guess.”

The words were low, reluctant and angry. The way Neve glared at Rye, it was clear she blamed him for having to so uncomfortably bare her soul this way. “Are you satisfied? Would you like me to dance next?” she questioned. Her arms were beginning to ache from pointing the daggers so long. So she cautiously lowered them, knuckles still white with anticipation of a sudden movement. 

“Now what? What happens now?” she asked, her glare still boring into him. “Oh, and we’re not friends. This is just an arrangement. I get my information, and you get whatever little pat on the back you’re looking for.”

#in wolf's clothing #para #ryes-up #Rye Hawthorne

[luna-crow]

Born in Blood | Self Para

**An Anniversary Gift event para**

CW: Blood

The smell of magic was cloying here.

Neve nursed her bleeding hand, the wound now wrapped in a crude bandage fashioned from one of Luna’s old handkerchiefs. She had not expected the magic sigil needed to gain entry to The Night Market require so much blood. The cut was was not deep enough to make her unsteady on her feet. But, certainly enough to make her stomach turn at the sight of it the blood seeping through the white linen.

Knowledge of the Night Market was nothing new to Neve. She had practically been raised on stories of it. Though, admittedly, half were just cautionary tales. It was common knowledge among criminals, though even few of those types dared to seek it out. It was a place for the desperate or reckless. Neve reckoned she was a bit of both these days. But, after her unsuccessful run-in with Alecto, her options were running out.

Neve had long grown skilled at going unnoticed. It was in the nonchalance of one’s gait, and the mundaneness of one’s appearance. There were few things about her that would cause an eye to linger too long. Well, she corrected herself, that had at least been the been the case before she became Luna Crow. Everything about Luna screamed “look at me,” and the court lady’s diaries had made it perfectly clear this was by design. Luna required attention the way most required water or food. For this outing Neve had decided to wear her own face - albeit slightly shrouded beneath the hood of a dingy brown cloak

As Neve wandered the market she could not help but marvel over how strange it now felt to go so unnoticed again. She had grown used to being gazed upon. And she had perhaps come to like it. Every few minutes Neve would catch the sight of her face in a reflective surface and momentarily panic at the thought that her glamour had slipped, before recalling she had intended it this way. This market was a place Luna could never belong. Looking, walking or sounding like Luna here would be like placing a large target on her back. But, a orphaned pickpocket with a dagger up her sleeve, and badly concealed desperation fit right in here.

Neve adjusted her hood to fall farther over her face, her eyes downcast and unwilling to make contact with any others. There was an air of danger here that even the streets of Hemlock after dark did not possess. Neve’s criminal transgressions were child’s play in comparison to those around her. It was better for her to fly under the radar as best she could.

Strung lanterns hung on the cave ceiling, casting an eerie glow over the quiet crowd. Further candles, lanterns and magicked light orbs illuminated each vendor’s stall. Some merchants wore cloths tied around their noses and mouths to hide their faces, while the metallic smell of glamour hung heavily on others. Neve eyed the wares of each booth, gleaming what sorts of specialities each vendor fulfilled by the types of items displayed. There were weapons that never missed their mark, bottles of strange elixirs that seemed to swish within their bottles as though alive, and mundane looking items that hummed with a power anything but ordinary. She stopped at a booth with a midnight blue tattered silk canopy, drawn in by the cluttered selection of mirrors that filled the shallow makeshift room. 

Glamour magic.

The shopkeeper smiled as Neve paused in front of her shop, flashing an unnaturally white smile in Neve’s direction and beckoning her forward with slender fingers and sharpened nails. If not for the smell of glamour that hung thick in the air around the shopkeeper, Neve would have assumed the woman had selkie blood from the looks of her. She was beautiful even by fae standards, the rendering of her glamour executed with the precision and creativity of a master painter. Neve felt suddenly shy under the gaze of this breathtaking woman. She stepped forward, swallowing back her nerves.

“I’m looking for something that can change my appearance for an unlimited amount of time. Do you have something like this?” She whispered, as she had at a handful of stalls before. But instead of the usual rejection, the woman brightened.

“I have what you seek, pet.”

The shopkeepers voice poured from her lips like warm honey, the sound every bit as beautiful as her face. Despite that, something about it sent chills up Neve’s spine. The shopkeeper ducked her head for a moment, rummaging through a drawer in the narrow and weathered desk she sat at, before she let out a hum of pleasure and revealed a small ring studded with cloudy diamonds sitting in the palm of her hand. Never felt another pang of nerves. Whatever this thing was was was so illegal the shopkeeper had not dared put it on display. 

“This will give you what you desire. I only ask for 10 gold pieces, and two of your tears”

Neve eyed the ring with suspicion. “That’s it?” she questioned, eyebrows raising. “What’s the catch? What’s the real price?” Neve was no fool. Nothing of such power ever came so simply. The shopkeeper let out a short laugh. “Smart girl,” she purred, flashing those white teeth. “The ring has not been fed yet. It only works when the diamonds have turned to rubies.” In that moment Neve knew what was coming next, even as her mind scrambled to find any other meaning in the woman’s words. 

“Extinguish a life, let the blood fall on the ring, and it will work for a full year.”

There it was: the shoe drop Neve had been waiting for. Any sneaking discomfort she had felt for the woman in front of her had now turned to genuine terror. Neve had readied herself for many things. But, killing someone every year for the rest of her life surpassed even her deepest fears. She was suddenly conscious of the many rings on each of the shopkeeper’s fingers, a red jewel gleaming in each. The woman followed her gaze and merely flashed her another unsettling smile as though reading Neve’s mind. 

Despite herself, Neve imagined all the faces of those she had fantasized about killing in her life, and all the times she had wished for justice for the many wrongs inflicted on her. Being a good person was something she had abandoned years ago. But, was this that final step into true evil?

“I’ll take it.”

Even though the words were impulsive and breathless, she knew it was the right choice. This would only be temporary, right? It could tide her over for one year, and give her time to find something else. There was little doubt in her mind that someone out there deserved to be killed. She just had to find them.

#born in blood #self para #tffevent #fantasy rpg #lsrpg

[luna-crow]

ryes-up​:

luna-crow​:

“I can name a good number actually, who’d have no problem calling out Luna Crow for acting strangely,” Rye said. Admittedly, she was correct in some regard. It was a small number who would do so, but the number certainly wasn’t zero. “Oberon, for one, likely Hyacinth as well, and Archmage Bone,” he was careful to use her title, as he always was with anyone aside from Robin, Maerel and Freya. His loathing of Bone was better kept a secret to the majority of the Court. “That’s not even to take into account Luna’s relationships within the Seelie Court after her marriage. Lord Black will be the first to say something to you, I’d expect.” He expected she already knew this, but hoped the reminder would make her careful. 

“Who is the other that found you out?” Rye asked. He was careful to keep his tone light and curious. His dread was Bone being the one to find out. She would certainly be capable of convincing a stranger to the Court that she had the other’s best intentions at heart, but she could do a lot with this sort of information. 

As Rye listened to Luna’s written description of him, he couldn’t help the amused smile that tugged at his lips. Weaselly was an odd choice of words that he wouldn’t have expected Luna to use regarding him. Perhaps it was accurate, though. She’d always told him he didn’t belong in the Court, and was only there because of Oberon and because he could pretend to be royalty. Wear the right clothes, say the right words, flatter the right people… Perhaps her analysis of him wasn’t all that incorrect, actually. 

“I’ll admit, hearing any sort of complimentary words from my cousin’s mouth, even knowing you’re not her—it’s very disconcerting,” he said, laughing a little. “Luna and I had an understanding of sorts. Mutual hatred and forced pleasantries amongst the Court.” The more she spoke, the more at ease she seemed, or maybe he was projecting. It was always a relief for him to be able to drop thee mask, the Court facade when he was amongst friends, most often with Robin or Freya. “You have to know that diaries, written accounts alone, won’t be enough to get you by. Relationships, politics, memories and stories. It’s impossible to just step into someone’s life, especially someone as public a figure as Luna Crow, and be able to fake all of those things.”

“I can help, if you’d like. I’ll answer any question you have, explain any relationships, or identify anyone in those diaries you ask me to,” he said, then paused before continuing. He knew his request in return would be the thing that caused her to deny his offer if she chose to. “My only request is, for everything I tell you, you tell me something about you. The real you, not Luna Crow. It doesn’t have to be anything important, or anything identifying. It doesn’t even have to match the gravity of the information I give you. You can ask me to explain the entire twisted, convoluted Unseelie Court structure and major players, and in return you can tell me your favorite color, or what types of flowers you hate. I only ask that it is something true, and something about you. Deal?” 

Neve was openly annoyed at Rye’s correction, scowling as he listed all of those he thought she couldn’t fool. “Says you,” she grumbled. “I’ve done bloody well so far. Maybe you’ve just got nothing better to do than snoop. And it’s not your business who knows anything about me.”

Neve wrinkled her nose, regarding Rye with renewed bemusement at his proposition “You’re being strange again. Perhaps you’re weaselly afterall.” she replied, suspicion returning to her voice. What value did the details of her pitiful little life hold to him? Despite not being able to fathom what it could be, there was little doubt in Neve’s mind that whatever game this was would ultimately be to Rye’s benefit.

“And what if I say no?” Neve countered, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll have me dragged away by castle guards? Hung in the gallows with the rest of your family’s enemies? I’ve been around you people long enough to know what you are,” she spat in disgust. “I’ve seen thieves with better morals than the Sidhe. And nobody in this world is kind just for the sake of being kind,” she said with the certainty of one who had been shown very little kindness in her 396 years of life. “What exactly do you want from me, Rye Hawthorne? Don’t lie. I feel pretty confident in my ability to get at least one good stab in before your man takes me down.” She gestured towards the doors where Rye’s servant stood in waiting. “And, I’ll make it count.”

#ryes-up #Rye Hawthorne #in wolf's clothing