sanctifisol

[sanctifisol]

blood, blood, gallons of the stuff ! a collection of icky, bloody prompts for those who like to choose violence. actions are reversible. general warning for blood, violence, murder, death.

𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

" that's a lot of blood. "

" it isn't mine. "

" what did you do ? "

[ sigh ] " what did you do ? "

" come on. have a taste. "

" holy shit, are you okay ? "

" it looks worse than it feels. "

" you should see the other guy. "

" it's a good look on you. you should get covered in blood more often. "

" lean on me. "

" oh my god. oh my god, oh my god, what the fuck ? is that what i fucking think it is ? "

" . . . gross. "

[ standing over a body ] " oops. "

" is that a fucking body ? "

" look, i'm sorry, okay ? "

" what the hell happened ? "

" before you say anything, it wasn't me. "

" at least it wasn't me this time. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. "

" i'm not scared of you. "

" you don't scare me. "

" shut up and let me help you. "

" i got your shirt all bloody. "

" let's get you cleaned up. "

" that looks like it hurts. "

" i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "

" we are so fucked. "

" what the fuck is wrong with you ? "

" are you gonna help me clean it up or not ? "

" the fucker deserved it. "

" red looks good on you. "

" what the hell did you do ; tap - dance all over the body with ice - skates ? "

" what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "

" i. . . i didn't mean to. . . "

" sorry. fuck, i'm sorry. "

" this isn't what it looks like. "

" it was an accident. "

" motherfucker ran right into my knife, i swear. "

" people need to look both ways before crossing. . . bullets. "

" would you believe me if i said wrong place, wrong time ? "

" hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? "

" they deserved it, right ? please tell me they deserved it. "

" you're bleeding. "

" what the fuck happened to you ? "

" you're getting blood on the carpet. "

" sit down before you fall down. "

" that looks like a you problem. "

𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

sender spits out a mouthful of blood at receiver's feet

sender spits out a mouthful of blood on receiver

receiver finds sender covered in blood

sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding

sender helps receiver clean up after a kill

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with a washcloth

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb

sender licks receiver's blood off a knife

sender licks receiver's blood off their thumb

sender lights up a cigarette a foot away from someone they killed before offering one to receiver

receiver finds sender stood over a body

sender stitches up receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender digs their finger into receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender frantically checks receiver for injuries under all the blood

sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean

sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood

sender tilts receiver's head back to staunch a nosebleed

sender draws a smiley face out of the blood they spilled :)

receiver finds sender cleaning up a kill in a daze

sender looks receiver in the eye as they shoot / stab / kill someone

sender ruffles receiver's hair, getting blood all over their hand

sender gets some of receiver's blood on them and makes a face

sender flicks blood at receiver to annoy them

sender stomps in a pool of blood to splash it on receiver

sender slips in their victim's blood but receiver steadies them before they can fall

sender steadies receiver when they slip in the blood sender spilled

receiver comes home to sender covered in blood and waiting for them with all the lights off

sender spits out a tooth and it hits receiver

sender tries to wipe blood off receiver but the blood on their hands just makes it worse

sender takes an injury meant for receiver

sender shows up on receiver's doorstep covered in blood

sender sits down quietly next to receiver after receiver kills someone

sender punches receiver in the mouth

receiver watches sender lick the blood off their fingers like its cheeto dust

sender helps receiver bury a body

sender hugs receiver just to get their victim's blood all over them <3

sender hugs receiver just to get their blood all over them <3

sender leans on receiver for support

sender kills someone to protect receiver

receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it

sender kills someone and the blood spatters on receiver

receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself

sender kisses receiver to taste the blood on their busted lip

sender shoots / stabs receiver non - fatally as a warning

[sanctifisol]

sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean.

shock is such a strange thing , isn't it ?? comes at the most inopportune times. it was always one thing to fight against the fledglings that harkon was SACRIFICING their way. faceless. nameless. not unlike those she'd feed from on their travels together. bandits. thieves. none of them important. not to her.

as the ice begin to melt from the tightened grip of her fingers , all the registers to serana as she stares at malkus's body is the faint murmuring of @dovaeh and [ . . . ] were they looking for a priest ?? a moth priest , right. oceanic waves wash over her, pulling her down and down into a riptide of memories and emotions that the vampire hadn't been prepared for , threatening to fill her silent , screaming lungs in the way she'd thought would happen walking back in that castle's hollow , stoney walls. why now ?? why him ?? because he'd haunted her home's halls with her before she'd been put to sleep ?? she'd tell mae another day that the simple act of taking her hand into her own warm ones and gently guiding her to the small creek that flowed through the cave had lighthoused her back to shore. and maybe she could sense it in the way serana took a sharp breath in. blinked. gazed back to the dragonborn with eyes of bloodletting and forge coals with a crease between her brows that warranted the unspoken thought , could she do this ?? will familiar faces always cause her to freeze this way ?? if so [ . . . ] how were they supposed to stop someone like her father whose bond with her , while CRUMBLING , was as stately as the throat of the world ??

" i'm sorry. . . " is all she can manage at first , watching the simple act of mae cleaning her hands as if separated from her own body. as if these were someone else's hands and she were just a STRANGER standing off to the side. " you don't have to do that. " finally , some sense and autonomy returns. her hands begin to move of her own accord. enough so that they cup together and splash the crisp water onto her face. an act that not just cleaned the blood spattered there but helped shock her back to reality. " is he okay ?? the priest. " as if she needed to clarify. " we should get him back to isran. if only to prove that i have enough self restraint not to rip his throat out on the way back. "

[sanctifisol]

The Young Martyr (detail, 1856) Paul Delaroche

[sanctifisol]

🌺 send this to ten muns you think are wonderful 🌺

pam please i loveuloveuloveu !!!! throw this right back at yourself because you're so wonderful and i'm so happy we get to gush about vampires

[sanctifisol]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐓 ,.., 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐬 & 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 , few see her in these clothes, but despite what skyrim would have you believe, serana (and of course other vampires i'm sure) does have a preference to not wear day clothes when she sleeps. it doesn't matter whether it's a coffin (of which she doesn't sleep in much anymore considering her claustrophobia) or a bed. throughout the ages, serana tends to lean towards slips and chemises to wear to bed, only wandering the halls if she has a simple housecoat to cover them. they are typically either black or white, rarely including any other colors and it will be a very rare sight for them to be anything other than silks, satins and laces. she likes the soft feel and movement of the fabric.

the only time you'll ever see any embroidery would be on the occasional appliqué she may sport. these only come about during intimate moments with partners for a love of the beauty in the patterns that are usually floral or arabesque ornamentations. of course she's beautiful to look at during the act too, but isn't she just that much more ethereal strapped up in pretty flowers and detailing?

[sanctifisol]

" song and dance is not what i want from you , don't be dramatic. i want- " what ?? how'd you want him to see you ?? to look at you ?? the rest come fast , clipped , an avalanche loosening from a sheer cliff of restraint. " -you to treat this as if i know what i'm doing. to recognize that i take my precautions and that i'm not just a child who needs to be guided on something i've been doing for years. i want you to look at me without disgust despite how hard i try to clean up and keep this from you so that it doesn't offend your delicate faith because i care about what you think of me. " enough. reel it back. a breath. serana composes herself. they both look at each other head on. direct. UNWAVERING.

and he catches her off guard.

has this happened before ?? this type of proposal ?? a lamb bowing it's head to the wolf. offering a wrist , a neck , dribbling sweet cruor straight from tap with near promise to hold her head tenderly there until she's had her fill. drink , and i will hold you here until you’ve had you decide you're full. for a beat , serana's caught in the whirlwind of memory. desperately trying to recall if there'd ever been a time she hadn't had to chase her prey to eat her meal. " you'd do that ?? for me ?? " and why not ?? is he still not here bound to PROTECT ?? and what would there be to protect were she to wither away sipping something sub-standard and stale. which begs the question [ . . . ] and makes her smile again fondly in asking , " do you think you taste better than they do ?? "

Like her mutts back home, is he? Fine. Maybe then, so far from the mortars of her estate, he's the very strong flavor of her past's rare joys. He's no damned vineyard, at the very least, fashioned to only sour with the seasons like a wine. Rather, Henry's a fresher sort of sweetness and perhaps a sparkling type of brightness like a sugar-swelled fruit. She could both drink him and sup him, even drag her greedy tongue against the seeds at her gums, and in the thickness with the pulp settled meatily and figgy, she'd taste the vastness of a summer under suns she's lost. That's it. He is her grumbling beasty. He is her angry dog with the bite-force that would gut. But unlike these wastrels gone limp for her feeding, it is him, not them, like her sun-warmed fruit. He is the summer. He's from strong vines.

And she's here believing cheap wine's a harvest.

"You serious? I've got to spell it out for you then, have I, is that it?"

Unbelievable! She's unbelievable. Lords and ladies both... Weathering her crimped mood, Henry -- as oxes would -- barrels oh so gracelessly. "Carry on as you are," the lad starts, calm, truly, should one ignore the meager exasperation he's corking, "and the next town over's going to hear about you before you've even set foot on the road." Think of it! A lady like her with rumors that awful! Frown prickling, he lowers his head, cuirass twinkling. "It's not the way of things here, and you know that. And, anyway, how do you gather I've ought to look at you? You really expecting me to start breaking out in song seeing you go about like that? Give you a hearty applause maybe?" That'd been a line, certainly. Curious, Henry, interest piqued -- more than it had been, at any rate -- turns his gaze directly on her. She would believe him made very uncomfortable. How right. And yet, how remarkably wrong. "What I'm getting at is, isn't it better to go to someone that won't rear back on you? Someone you can trust?" Someone like... "Me, maybe?"

[sanctifisol]

gratitude paints serana's expression and with fervor , all wrapped up in proper poise , she walks with kida. " then i shall do just that , kida. " the vampire nods. this would be the new way , she thinks. no longer would her coven sit in shadow , shackled by harkon's paranoia. they had to make nice where it mattered. was it her favorite sliver of ruling ?? no. had she become better at it with feran's guidance and quiet aptitude ?? yes. maybe , with time , she'll learn to like it. but something told her after centuries of isolation , change would come pouring from her cup like molasses. " would you believe me if i said i didn't fly that often ?? " because you couldn't go anywhere ?? because you were to only know the walls of the castle until your father learned his path to power was paved with your blood ?? " walking is just fine for me. for vampires. "

"it is certainly a unique way of travel," kida comments, still replaying the fog of transformation in her head. "i suppose if my people could do the same, we would — flight is a robust method of swiftly venturing from point a to point b, so i... cannot blame you for your creativity." she watches @sanctifisol compose herself, breathing in and out to reset their meeting (kida, to be polite, does the same and mimics her behavior). "it is good to meet you, serana." if this woman wishes to push away the awkwardness of their encounter, so be it; they are here for good reason, for political talks, and can ignore a bit of strangeness for the sake of positive relations. "you are correct, but you may call me kida if that is easier." she takes serana's hand in the soft shake and notes how chilled her skin is. maybe that is a common quality of her kind? "we should venture somewhere safer, not in the open like this or as dreary as the forested dark. come. i know a place." a few steps to the left... then a pause, and kida smiles over her shoulder. "you will not have to fly. i promise."

[sanctifisol]

Fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by.

Traits.

01. aloof, what better way to protect your heart than acting as if you don't care? / 02. patient, it comes with age, eternity teaches you everything comes with time. / 03. protective, she's so tired of losing things, it's time to fight tooth and nail to keep them. / 04. disobedient, once serana comes into herself and trusts herself, few of those around her can tell her what to do if she doesn't agree. / 05. sincere, serana isn't the kind of person to keep her feelings from being known, especially once you've proven to her she can trust you

Colors.

01. black, the color of her hair and most of her fabrics, it keeps things simple. / 02. oxblood, one of the few rich colors that breaks up the monotony, whether its on her clothes, in her decoration, in her eyes, or painted on her skin. / 03. white, ghostly and bathed in moonlight, she becomes ethereal. / 04. gold, a lord and lady is nothing without their gold. / 05. silver, and what is the sun of gold without the moon of silver?

Scents.

01. graveyard soil, earthy and musky, she smells of a patch of grass just after a storm. / 02. blood, even if she hasn't eaten there's always an air of iron about her, as if it's stained her. / 03. rose & geranium, amongst other florals, her fingers are stained with the scent of her mother's garden. / 04. lavender & rosemary, known for their strong scent, they cover more unsavory aspects of serana's natural musk. / 05. almond/cherry, fresh corpses and the smell of death.

Clothing.

01. light leather armor, when adventuring she knows to keep her body safe. / 02. rich fabrics, in a more casual setting serana wears silks, brocades, satins, wools and linens. these make up her dresses, pants, coats and her formal wear. / 03. lace & embroidered detailing, her skin will peak through lace panels, her fabrics will have embroidery of golds, silvers and crimsons. / 04. simple shifts/chemise, some may catch her ghostly figure at night in a shift whether its a panel of silk or an off the shoulder gossamer chemise ruched at her waist with the occasional ruffling

Objects.

01. molag bals collar, a physical manifestation of her faith and life, it's a complicated relationship but he always has her by the throat. / 02. harkon's sword, the dragonborn does not keep his sword, instead it is passed down to serana where it either sits at her hip or hangs above her doorway. a one-handed sword where two bats make up the hand guard / 03. valerica's ring, once harkon is dead, valerica passes their marriage ring to serana to do with as she pleases. serana keeps it close as a reminder of what once was

Vices and bad habits.

01. lip biting. when she's in deep contemplation or becoming anxious, serana will start to peel the skin on her lips either with her teeth or nails / 02. detachment. after killing harkon and being resurrected, there's a level of detachment serana holds on to out of fear. and if she senses something troubling with anyone she cares about, she will detach first hoping that it saves her heart the trouble. / 03. isolation, similar to detachment, serana tends to isolate herself more out of habit that no one wants to spend time with her. it is often that you have to search for her. / 04. gluttony, in moments of weakness she will overeat and consume more blood than she needs. draining people dry.

Body language.

01. finger tapping, either on herself or on surfaces, this usually indicates thinking or impatience, good luck determining which / 02. folded arms, especially when negotiating/planning or dealing with other coven leaders, she will take on a very masculine language / 03. tilted chin, to look down at some, to inquire others. / 04. long strides, her natural gait is to walk the length of her legs (my almost 6 ft queen!) so outside of teleporting, serana naturally walks fast and strong. / 05. pulling at her hair, as it grows, she will often isolate a chunk and just run her nails through it over and over. she isn't pulling it out of her head, just running her nails through it and picking at the knots

Aesthetics.

01. aristocracy, velvet brocades, gilded mirrors and family portraits, distant classical music and the burden of inheritance. / 02. dilapidated manor, candelabras and chandeliers draped in cobwebs, cracked spines of library books suffocating in a layer of dust, the smell of must as beauty decays. / 03. a forest at night, moonlight filtering through dew covered leaves, mistaking the wind for far away whispers, the occasional glint of a pair of eyes in the dark brush, the murky scent of bark and fir. / 04. graveyard dates, something quiet and peaceful, yet uneasy. the scent of damp earth and wet stone. marble statues your only company as they're frozen in their ethereal lifelike beauty. / 05. horror. the scent of iron and sound of blood splashing on the floor, sharp teeth glinting in lowlights, the primal fear of being hunted for sport.

Songs.

01. sleep token - alkaline. she's not acid or alkaline, caught between black and white, not quite either day or night, she's perfectly misaligned. / 02. florence + the machine - which witch. and it's my whole heart deemed and delivered a crime, i'm on trial, waiting til the beat comes out, who's a heretic now? who's a heretic child? can you make it stick now? i'm miles away, he's on my mind, i'm getting tired of crawling all the way / 03. ethel cain - family tree. i've killed before and i'll kill again, take the noose off, wrap it tight around my hand, they say 'heaven hath no fury like a woman scorned' and baby, hell don't scare me, i've been times before / 04. phildel - funeral bell. oh mother i'm scared to die, where, where do my good deeds lie? oh father, i'm scared to live, takes more than i've got to give, oh hunger i know you well, my cruel friend is a funeral bell / 05. imogen heap - headlock. i'm just keeping an eye you've been walking, you've been hiding and you look half dead half the time,

Tagged by: @knightedgales 😚

Tagging: @papillorne , @dovaeh , @adamanteine , @wiedzlak , @lamourstre , @wampirszy

[sanctifisol]

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language and the grasping for language. — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, from Notes on Grief.

An independent Henry of Skalitz from Warhorse’s Kingdom Come: Deliverance series. Narrative themes include seeking revenge, being orphaned by war, and unwavering, unerring loyalty. Set in 1403 Bohemia with fantasy and modern verses available. Content warnings include homophobia and PTSD. Read rules and about before interacting. Promo credits (1) and (2).

[sanctifisol]

what if other occult / paranormal beings blood was like alcohol because of the magic/ otherness in it ?? meaning drinking from another supernatural being will result in serana being as close to 'drunk' or 'high' as she'd ever get. maybe different kinds have different effects idk idk like witches blood makes you one way, werewolves and other vampires another, etc. could even say like ... idk elf blood vs orc or khajit ??

are you picking up what i'm putting down????

[sanctifisol]

a vampire’s muffled moans while feeding have me nodding my head like yup that’s the good shit right there.

[sanctifisol]

he wants serious ?? serana's face falls like first snow. glamoured eyes grip him. cold. the kind of winter that seeps through to the bone. and she listens. quietly. stoically. a sitting marble statue swathed in shadow next to summer's beckoning hound. he huffs just like her own back at home when they've been disgruntled. when her movements rub against their instinct. when they sense a danger that's far enough away not to warrant that of a chest-grown growl. the least she could do is listen attentively. he's worried about these nobles ?? these hardly greened mortals who have more experience holding goblets between their fingers than swords in calloused palms. they are in their spring , drunk on fermented wheats and grapes , stumbling and toddling about. children , really. he's the right of it , it's hardly work. but that's WHY she chose them. it's her handful of sun-warmed berries offered in the middle of a field. something to eat that didn't require the ritual a firelit meal may.

" what would you have me do , henry ?? můj bože. "

ice clips her words. the way frost clings to soil , waiting and wanting to melt so it could nourish the seeds beneath. " you're upset over my choice but i don't hear what or whom you think i SHOULD be eating. and i hardly see the reason why it bothers you so. " oh. " i see the way it makes you squirm. that i make you uncomfortable. " there's pause as she considers her words. lets those ones sink in. infants taste the best. like a newly ripened strawberry , all juicy and sweet. is that what he wants to hear only a block away from God's temple ?? no. that's not the path they need to tread , serana knows that much. then , what ?? what is this ?? what's happening ?? pale fingers wring in her lap. full stomach , yet she pretends she doesn't hear the thump-thump-thump quickening beneath his skin. " so unless i hear some alternatives from you , i think i'll continue how i've been. " he wonders what obstinate is ?? let him taste it.

Henry's her protector. When hell comes upon her, it will be him, her shield, that will weather every salvo. Yet, it isn't just from war that he'll guard her, all those threats upon her body with those glimmering silver swords and those well-aimed arrows. He'd topple blighters for her character, for the goodness of her image and the purity of her name, so how can she gamble as she meanders with these bleeders? He eyes them. None, heaven spare them, seem aware of the monsters.

Still, the stirring in his belly... Frowning, it feels a bit like the frothing of a biting sea brine.

"What? No. I was just trying to suggest you-- Do prdele. Can we be serious for a second?" Henry flushes. Put out and rather decently, too, he sounds mopey. Disapproving, but very much mopey. It shaves some summers off his timbre, deep and bloody rolling like a mill for oats. He turns to Serana done and up proper and mouth clean of blood. However, the scent of faint oils from that man she can supped from... It's everywhere. He wrinkles his nose. He prefers lavender. "What's all this about being obstin...obstinate or whatever? I know you aren't here suggesting it's work doing what you do. Bat them eyes at anyone here, and you'll have him tripping over his feet just to get your name." Not the point, Henry. Or is it? No. Point is: "I'm telling you to be careful. And they're half-way to soused, anyway. Isn't it like draining vinegar?"

[sanctifisol]

the candlelight catches against mirrored eyes as serana looks to a seemingly perturbed henry. her brow knotting together in sincere confusion. why now ?? what's changed ?? propped up against a wall , shadowed just outside the light the candelabras would offer , would be a man who , to any passersby , looked to strung by the drink. just a few minutes earlier , they would've though they'd seen two lovers sneaking a MESSY FUMBLE in the dark whilst serana drank heavily from the trunk of his neck. he'd wake none the wiser in the morning. simply tired and unable to recollect the fight he must've won the cut at his throat from.

" it's what i have available , henry. " an honest answer as she adjusts her simple gown to sit beside him. purposefully leaving out that it's easy - liquored up men only require a fluttering of the eyelashes and soft smile to be led like dogs to a quiet corner thinking they've scored their TREASURE for the night. was she not swindling them just as much as they were to others ?? ever the devil warned of. tempting in many ways. " i hardly think it's a good idea to go hungry looking for someone without sin to sup from. unless you're wanting of me to make your life a little harder than i've already made it by tearing at a throat in public. " lips curl into a smile fraught with mischief. " i could be much more obstinate if that's what you're wanting , štěně. prostě řekni slovo. "

It isn't like the thought of drinking blood's become easier to stomach. In truth, it still frightens him a little, still familiar with those stories he'd heard often in his youth. Then, it was thought but a thirst of foul monsters, of both sinners and idolators caught dancing with the devil. Of course, Serana's far from a demon, more stunning and just than all men here, but the way her skin glows with the freshness of her suppers... His skin crawls. And stranger yet, something odd and peculiar twists in his gut.

"My lady..." If you would-- "Do you really think it's a fine idea to go feeding off the folk in there?" He adjusts his vambrace. He can see no body she's gone and supped from, but from here, his wolvish-made senses smells the hit of blood. Hm. Frowning, there's the smell of wine, too, from the feast hall beyond. "A bunch of liars and swindlers, they are. Just seems beneath you, doesn't it?" / @sanctifisol liked for a starter.

[sanctifisol]

something about his confession shifts the earth underneath her. however casually he presents it in the beginning ── near-flippant , even ── serana recognizes the tone instantly. she’s worn it herself. it doesn’t matter how terrible the memory , how deeply it stabs at the heart ;; immortality has a way of sanding down even the sharpest of blades things. distance becomes a defense , else the weight of it all crushes you.

" i'm sorry. " which is a paltry response ── but the only one she could think of without empty gestures. sitting up , her head tilts towards him , lips and brow knit tightly together in an expression of regret. whether his acceptance was a lie or not , serana doesn't show if she had clued into the truth. " do you think of them often ?? " she catches herself , feels as if she's needling too much before thinking it was only fair , perhaps , to dig into her pains as well. " there was someone once [ . . . ] when i was fresh. one of our knights , " the name still doesn't come forward. as if she'd screamed it out of her body entirely that night. " father didn't like it so much. killed her in front of me. "

             His palm is coupled to his jaw while he sits there placid and stoic — only a mild difference from when he's one hand grasping his other wrist in his lap. Slisae's mind is stellar at multitasking, which often leads to overstimulation (  mixing private life with ruminations over varieties of nightshades whilst visiting a friend is one of those moments.  )

             Serana draws him out of his grim silence and he imperceptibly flinches at those words ( rot ⅋ wither. ) ❝ I did forgo them when I lost my adopted son. He was — ill. Youths of my kind don't 'ave their regenerative immune systems kick in until later in life. ❞ Slisae feels nauseous, he hasn't opened up about this in such a long time and he's not quite sure why now ( — perhaps he feels safe with her despite the walls.  )  ❝ Iilkrou'myet left a hole in my soul. ❞ The ancient doesn't even realize his voice falls low, with a falter. ❝ I've come to terms with it.❞ — A lie.

[sanctifisol]

Harkon: "Serana, my darling. I see you still favor keeping a pet." / "So, you've returned. Is your... pet keeping you entertained?" Serana: "You will not touch him/her."

[sanctifisol]

a plot where serana and your muse knew each other prior to her vampirism - were they both of noble decent? were they around each other a lot during social events? a plot where a well-known noble family disappears for a period of time and your muse wonders where their friend is. a plot where serana is a fledgling vampire and has to handle being around her friend again while battling all of the responsibilities and burdens of being new-blooded. a plot where your muse starts to unravel the mystery and they need to choose between unveiling the truth or keeping their friend safe.

[sanctifisol]

stilled , serana eyes the other as they move. not a muscle twitch , as if she were nothing more than a graveyard's memorial statue. stoic. emotionless. let them speak. there's no rush. rushing through interactions will only lead to trouble , and trouble is not something she can risk. missteps are a currency she can't afford to spend. be it lack of respect or misunderstanding. a flash of yellow , she glances to peek at the fabric. begging her memory to come up with anything that could give her information to help. something useful. coming up with nothing. not a family. not a coven. not some obscure footnote hidden away in an ancient tome's pages. which INFURIATES her. not knowing. what is sitting away in a castle with nothing but books to keep company good for if not to know of things ??

though , when they speak , she can hazard a very educated guess upon what it is they're referring to. " i'd like to pride myself on not being CONTAMINATED by megalomania and paranoia. " could i say the same of you ?? she wonders , but now is not the time for provocation. " then let's speak to it. " hope flickers in the pit of her stomach ── dim and bruised , but stubborn nonetheless. that this was the answer to her problems. that this could be what she needed in order to put a stop to harkon's madness ── this disease that festered and boiled in the deepened wrinkles of his mind , decaying it as it had the entire coven. " i've had some experience keeping secrets. what's another one or two added to the repertoire ?? "

sohaila is acutely aware that they have absolutely no business being here.  the bright yellow symbol sticks out like a sore thumb, acting as a flashing arrow that separates them from everyone else around them. some days, it feels too tight, too restrictive, too heavy of a burden. tonight, it feels like a blemish.  even now, they know these thoughts are dangerous. anyone of their kind would kill to be a candidate for the position they're in the accord, and they're all too aware of the privileges this grants them because this yellow strip of fabric says they should be granted some respect. not too much, though. show a devil a little reverence and they'll probably take you straight down to hell with them— they're certain that’s how most people here see them.  there's a hum that leaves the akhu as they set eyes on @sanctifisol. ❛ very soon, you'll have to learn the power of a secret. ❜

they like to think of themself as responsible. sensible. but there is one thing sohaila and the humans agree on, they were not a good person. because in the end, a good person would probably not be here. and they have little care for it, if anything. ❛ actions are often impure, it contaminates others. do they contaminate you, serana? ❜ they walk around her like a predator regarding its prey, but truthfully it is much more simple than that. the sun doesn't truly affect them, but that's because they're less of a vampire and more of an arrow of sekhmet, a demonic entity sent by the goddess to bring disease. they know, however, what chaos it will cause. ❛ we have much to speak of. ❜