#(( dahlia accidentally kills miranda through the power of LOVE

[royalreef]

@bestconqueror​ inquired: What could a barbarian with so little possibly gift the princess with so much? That was a question Dahlia had pondered on thoroughly in the days leading up to the holiday, and so dearly hoped she’d found the answer to in time.

Hanging from the handle of Miranda’s locker by a thread, thin and easy enough for the princess to break, was a small present, contained in bright wrapping decorated in a pattern of pink crocodiles... exceptionally light, as suggested by it’s meager support. Whatever was held within gave nothing away with it’s weight, nor did it’s contents jingle or shake as it was tilted.

Taped to the top of it was piece of canvas paper, with the drawing taking up most of it more than confirming who the gift was from- an all too familiar cobalt demoness, scrawled in Dahlia simplistic style that Miri had undoubtedly already become accustomed to from watching her best friend doodle; the cartoonish representation of her holding a finger to her lips in a “Shhh”ing gesture, as if about to share a secret. The text accompanying it confirmed the assumption, “Only open this in private, please” jotted down in Dahlia’s handwriting.

When the wrapping is eventually torn off (hopefully away from prying eyes), it’d reveal a blank, cardboard box beneath- a truly simple container for a gift meant for a princess, isn’t it? But for this, it serves it’s purpose.

As the lid is slipped away, the first thing that would’ve likely caught the merfolk’s eyes would be what lay onto- another one of Dahlia’s art pieces, this time featuring the big blue ox AND a certain pink croc (drawn to the best of her ability... she’s trying), the two of them smiling and... holding hands, pink & blue hearts scattered around them. No text accompanying the cutesy image.

Aside from that, the box appeared nearly empty, only containing a smaller piece of folded piece of parchment.. nothing shining or outwardly expensive, no jewels or gold or relics of hell’s past to speak of. In all respects, this offering seemed humble... but, big things can come from small packages.

Even just on outward inspection, the parchment was clearly of different make from what Dahlia had drawn on; not of canvas or line or any other simple school material... in fact, it didn’t seem to be paper at all, but instead a dried hide... the hide of a high demon, specifically. Such a thing was certainly not unheard for anyone versed in the goings-on of hell, but it would’ve been the first time Dahlia had ever presented it to anyone outside of the nine circles.

Unfolding the gruesome scroll, Miri would be met most abruptly by large, crimson text... ascribed in the jagged script of demon tongue, a language outsiders tended to call “Infernal”... lettering which, if the princess passed over it with her scaled hands, would let off a dim but distinct orange glow, and give off a warmth that would be all too familiar to her.

Not only was this signed in demon blood, but it was Dahlia’s own blood.

Which, even if Miranda could not read the Infernal text herself, would likely be enough to surmise what this was; Dahlia’s true name, and not the common one she and her clan took for ease of interaction with the other planes.

To a layman, such a thing would be meaningless piece of personal info, but to Dahlia and quite likely Miranda, it was clearly a sign of immense trust. A demon’s true name ties to their very essence, and gives those with the knowledge and the resources the ability to hold power of them. It can be used to summon or message them from across the planes, banish back to hell, and most commonly, bind them to one’s will.

Clan Aquino, and Taurus Demons as a whole, never engaged in such things- having such a disdain and repulsion to the idea of being bound that they scorn their true names, intent on abolishing the practice as a whole in their rewriting of hell’s practices... making this to quite possibly be the only written name of a Taurus Demon currently in existence.

This was no contract, no convoluted deal offering her service for the princess’s soul, just... just her name, shared freely. Something entirely unheard of in the history of the nine circles... offering one's whole self to another, in the truest sense.

      Miranda didn’t need to investigate far to figure out who the dainty little package was from. As if her smell wasn’t written all over it already, so familiar to Miranda, calling to her with hellfire promise and all the sweetest memories that it represented. The doodle, taped down and showing Dahlia’s visage as penned by her own telltale hand, only confirmed that for Miranda, though even more questions than answers were left in its wake.

      It was tiny. Light, dangling from her locker by but a thread that Miranda easily freed with her claws. Maybe to another, that would be a warning sign to a disappointing present - but this was Miranda. The norm was giant presents, extravagant gifts whenever a suitor wished to earn her favor or an enemy her mercy. Things traded amongst royals, grandiosity so extreme that it became trivial, trying to constantly one-up the last gift given, and growing less and less connected to reality as the price tag increased. A small gift, a light gift, was entirely out of the norm. Strange, new! And from Dahlia? Left all the more unanswered questions, odd unknowns, burning at the back of Miranda’s mind as she tucked the little gift into her arms, handling it delicately, keeping it safe.

      Of course she heeded the written request. How couldn’t she? It made all the more questions swirl in her head, buzzing around with giddy delight. Waiting almost felt a part of the experience, the unknown, an odd feeling, but a welcome one. She couldn’t break Dahlia’s trust, not even for a minor thing like this. Especially not for the little things like this, given weight and contour by how constantly new the sensation felt, inadvertently stressed by how much she was supposed to be dealing with life-or-death moments.

      And so she waited. Kept by her side, safe from those who might see the princess’s eye turned and figure that anything of hers would fetch a fortune, or those who pried anything they could to use against her. Kept safe from the shenanigans of the day, things which Miri was so used to, so familiar with what Spooky High regularly threw at her. Not even pondering the question of opening it until she had returned to her castle, held tight within the walls of her own bedchamber, the only possible witness being her darling Sprinkles.

      There, Miranda lifted the label and set it aside, finally pulling away the fitting paper covered in rose crocodilians. To be greeted by a cardboard box that only intensified her curiosity as it could finally be satisfied, working it open with such delicate claws.

      The art alone would’ve been enough. Heart fluttered in Miranda’s chest, picking up from typical languid pace, and there was nothing to be seen on her face other than admiration. Sure, Miranda was formally trained in her type of artwork, and sure, maybe someone with a far crueler soul wouldn’t have called the art good, especially in comparison to Miranda’s training - but, to Miri herself, it outshined all of the masterpieces in the Royal Palace itself. 

       Lifting up to admire it, a soft heat burning on her cheeks, smile turning them sore. It was Dahlia’s artwork. That alone was worth all the treasure Miranda had, but it was them. The two of them. Holding hands, surrounded by hearts, and Miri curled where she sat on her bed. Tail circling around, shoulders bending over as spine followed along the curve. So, so delicate, making sure not to damage the paper, but the closest thing to hugging around it she dared try. And it being mere artwork on paper didn’t stop Miranda from thumping her tail against her sheets. Her body unable to contain the delight, the warmth and the flow, the way her eyes softened and head went fuzzy and everything felt so right within just a single gesture.

             It was a good thing she had opened this privately, for more than one reason.

      Aside the artwork was set. Later, Miri would have to get a frame for it. Nothing too grand, as it would never be presented in the halls of her castle. No, it was far, far too important for that. Nowhere else to place it than in the place of highest pride, where Miri kept all of her finest gifts from her years at Spooky, somewhere that she would see every day and be reminded of the people out there who she loved, and be reminded that they loved her back.

      For that, she had almost considered that all within the box, but Miranda was one to double-check, and double-check she did. A good thing, as her fins perked, noticing the folded... not parchment? It didn’t smell right for parchment. It smelled closer to leather - tanned hides and burned bodies, the clinging smell of sulfur.

      Miranda, as it was, had dabbled in the dealings of demons before. Not personally, of course. Her attention was far too widespread for that, but the progress within the Hells was a part of the Merkingdom’s business, and thus, Miranda’s business. And she had seen prepared hide like this before, how flayed skin could be made into it. Several examples were still at her own disposal, within her private archives for such things.

       But... Dahlia had never given her anything of that sort before. Miranda was fairly sure she hadn’t even seen her with any before, even with how fraught her memory could be. Curious as could be, down she reached, until her hand gripped the folded skin, and opened it up to read it.

       Miranda had never learned Infernal. Of course, she could. If she really wanted to, she knew the tutors she could easily find for such a thing, and have entire classes worked out for her to become fully fluent. A few words she was familiar with, not much, and not even as much as some of the other languages she had an unsteady grasp on.

      Yet, as her jaw went slack and she stared down at the text, thumb rubbing over it, that familiar heat simmering against the pad of her digit, there was no doubt what this was. Dahlia’s True Name.

      Did... Did she know what she was doing? In a more generic sense. Did they know what they were doing? Miranda surely didn’t. She didn’t know the emotion in her chest that swelled up and over, broke over its banks and flooded until her eyes became teary and one hand lifted up to cover her mouth in shock. A deluge of a feeling so intense that it washed away any name she could try to pin to it, lost to seas of a fierce intensity that washed her out to sea before she could ever try to escape the riptide. Did Dahlia know that Miranda would feel that, the way a laugh broke free of her throat before she could chain it back in, a shake to her shoulders? A smile that hurt only in the very best of ways, a flurry of blue that turned across her scales and refused to leave? Did she know the name that eluded Miranda, of that broken dam that her body could no longer hold back?

      True Names were something Miranda was familiar with. How couldn’t she? Her people -- and this was truly Miranda’s people, her dominion, her claim to power as a heir to the throne, the rightful inheritor of the seat of the Merkingdom’s command -- kept a list of their known True Names. Few demons gave them up willingly. Even to a kingdom as powerful and with so many souls and so much power to spare, most were clever enough to know that putting such a thing in their hands would only come back to bite them in the end.

      But the Merkingdom had their methods, and she almost hurt, knowing what sat so sweetly in her palms, a gift, and what she had seen within some of the darkest prisons that the world had never witnessed.

      Miranda had personally worked upon several rites which involved the invocation of True Names. What butchery they had been. What atrocities. Time had sharpened the blade of magical knowledge, the inner workings of such things, and Miranda had seen, had done, things of which any stray wizard or rogue necromancer could never envision, sitting alone. No one else to work their ideas off of, no one else who could refine and hone the butcher’s knife. And all taken so carefully, so gently, so that no one else would be the wiser. No magical ripples. No trace.

      And there Dahlia’s True Name sat. Written in her own blood, held in Miranda’s hands. The Crown Princess of Abomination herself. Only considering how much then, how intensely she had to protect the gift, sweet and vulnerable and so, so trusting, that she had been willingly given. 

       Miranda didn’t need to check to know it was a first. Not just in the sensibilities of Taurus Demons, but in the Hells themselves. Her dearest friend. Her Best Friend. Her kiis’r.

       The sheer weight of this amount of trust would’ve been enough to break Bellanda’s back, let alone the frailest of the four sisters.

      All Miranda could do was pull the written Name to her chest. Press it against the scales that sat just above her heart, feel the hellfire heat that felt so much like her second pulse. And cry the hot, heavy tears of an emotion that burned so bright and pure that Miranda swore she had been scorched by the unfamiliarity of this kind of intimacy, this kind of love.

      Sooner would the princess be executed as traitor to the Merkingdom than betray that trust.