[ P ] Hell is empty, because she is here

Out of the ash, i rise with my red hair—
and i eat men like air

Unease rarely seeps into her bones, she is not one to step with trepidation following her so boldy but everything about this has her clinging to any shadows she may have just a little tighter tonight, as if they too will flee in fear of what may come.

Even cloaked by the night sky, the field she stalks is dressed in red, abundantly so and it draws her reflecting light coat of the moon out effortlessly. True cover is for and few between,if anything at all. Since the bridges of land revealed new territory, Aely was ever eager to seek out new business, until whispers of both the unknown and the veiled darkness that lurks made way to her ears. She's promised herself not to stray too far inland, stick to the coasts she assumes will be here and nothing more. She's also arranged for a well paid messenger to send notice from the rookery to her children, instructing them with sending the birds only if she doesnt return to cancel her message at a certain time, giving herself only two days worth of said time to see what she's able to discover.

There's a single thought that comes to her mind as she goes over the instructions she gave the messenger: its dangerous, really—to have something worth losing. Her daughters became that something the moment she heard each of draw their first breaths, saw it the day they were able to open their eyes, and feel it when they were tucked into her close at night. She felt something similar when she had Vikari; she was, for once, not concerned with the consequences of losing her own life, but his—and she was so concerned that in the end, her choosing him over herself is what would lead to his inevitable end. She doesnt think about it anymore, not unless shes truly alone and its something she has to let her own guard down in order for it to creep into her thoughts. She's painted an image of Vikari and his accomplishments, his drive and passions and has reminded the girls time and time again of their reflections that mimic him so well.

But Aely was so used to falling asleep with the sight of his blood on another's coat, watching it spill to the floor beneath. She even remembers finally stopping, nothing she'd must've ran through his blood as she escaped, because it was caked over her paws. After that, She didnt do much other than keep her bloodied paws from touching dirt for atleast three days, or maybe it was a week? Regardless, she resented the idea of washing Vikari's blood from her paws—until she realized she didnt need his blood to be reminded of her role in his death. The sounds she heard of him gasping for his final breaths, the way hks eyes pleaded with her to run, was blood on her soul and mind until she chose to stop existing. These poppies were just another reminder of that night—red, everywhere.

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A lone figure stood on the edge of the meadow, muzzle tilted skyward and icy eyes narrowed in thought. He hummed, the sound vibrating in the depths of his broad chest, before lowering his gaze and moving on. The starry night sky was clear tonight, the moon cast its white light down upon bloodied poppies and giving them an eerie look. He was meandering tonight, he knew, but what better place to do it than here? Baptiste's imposing figure stalked through the flowers, unhindered, until he caught a scent upon the breeze. He stopped, lashes fluttering with minor recognition before he changed course and picked up the pace.

After a short time, he spotted another figure among the poppies. He was coming up from behind, but he could already see the smaller woman's creamy hues in the lowlight. A growl threatened to weasel it's way out of him before it was time but he clamped his muzzle shut and lowered himself slightly, creeping forward on long legs and remaining as silent as possible. He had to be sure before he struck.

Once he was close enough, he rose to his full height and a sinister smile spread across his thick muzzle. This time, he could not stop the growl from his chest as the heathens name danced upon his tongue. "Aely..." he rumbled in a deep voice.

His eyes glinted with malice, so clear she would see it should she turn to face him. "My little heathen has been returned to me..." he purred as his nails flexed into the soil beneath his paws. He was not so far now that he might be able to catch her if he sprinted but she was faster than he and so he did not charge her immediately like he wanted to. He tried to provoke her into standing her ground, into not moving despite the fear she might feel from his proximity.

"Baptiste Speaks."

Out of the ash, i rise with my red hair—
and i eat men like air

She has never once considered herself prey, but she has always made sure to often live and breathe as her prey might—thats where she discovered their vulnerabilities, therefore giving herself the upper paw at anticipating their next move. So, she doesnt panic like one might, doesn't take a few extra steps to send herself into a sprint for her life. Instead, she slows even further, ears flicking. She can hear him, feel the shift in the air near her before she sees him.

Its her name that drips from his tongue like its owed to him, like he took what was never his to take and now uses it as his own, for his own satisfaction—it's what has her grasping for restraint, so she doesnt choose recklessness over her own life, just for the sake of ripping his tongue from his head.

He seemed deliberate in his approach, intentional in the way he spoke, as if trying to coax her into him. Already, they were locked into warfare via their mind games, and Aely was ever the competitive type. Her tongue clicks before a soft hum greets him and his delusional mind. Her crown curls over her shoulder towards him.

"I was never yours to begin with, did your stars not tell you that?" her chords are cold and low, but every word is filled with an intoxicating malice that she uses to get him hooked, to get him lost on his delusion rather than focused on solely getting to her. She was caught between the bitter resentment for the man, and the determination to make it back home, to the sole purpose she lived for now. She was keeping herself close, while maintaining a few steps ahead of him, playing the game of cat and mouse until she could either poison the cat or trap him.

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As she looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes smoldered with emotion. He could see the hatred in their depths but it only brought him more excitement. He would see those eyes cloud over with fear and a dark realization that tonight would be her last. "Oh but you are," he said, his deep chords rumbling in his chest with another growl. "The Father has long since cast his judgment upon you and you are not worthy. You taint these sacred grounds with your savage presence. You are mine to judge. Mine to destroy."

He took a step closer, the fur along his nape bristling as he looked over her slender body. If only she had been more receptive to his words; his will, that he might find her worthy of life. And yet what a waste it would be to destroy such a pretty thing. Could she not, perhaps, be molded to his design? Baptiste pondered this for a moment, allowing her seconds reprieve from his haunting stare as he glanced towards the night sky in question.

"Perhaps..." he muttered to himself thoughtfully.

Then his stare was upon her again, his icy blue eyes narrowing as his mind worked. He could save her, instead, but was she worth it?

"Baptiste Speaks."

Out of the ash, i rise with my red hair—
and i eat men like air

She let's out a hum of contemplation, of oure mockery as he speaks. Her brows barrow slightly in response before a small smile creeps on to her lips unashamedly. She stops walking infront of him, her pace quickens only long enough to redirect her path. She's started to circle him, stepping further out of his reach as she moves slowly through the poppies.

"Are you the exception to The Father's Judgment? You, the zealot? Blinded by a delusion that keeps truths shrouded in a false, blinding light?" It is laughable, his hypocrisy, his misguided and construed beliefs. She wonders—how far from his glorified Star's does he stray, and to what point is he simply yet unknowingly operating for his own agenda? She moves effortlessly around him, watching him, studying him—perhaps even admiring him and the way the moonlight illuminates his almost handsome, imposing self over her.

" Destroy me?" In a way, he already has—the night he took it upon himself to banish Vikari's beautifully dark soul from her world. She gives an incredulous laugh. "How... pathetic—you cannot create, you lack ability to create," Create his believers. "so you resort to destruction. Quite the lack in effort to your Stars, no? She pokes and prods, throws her darts, aims true, and waits as she walks a steady pace around him.

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