Fantasy 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧

[neon reverie]

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[neon reverie]

Rhea had always thought her death would be a quiet affair; eyes slowly closing for a peaceful sleep only to never open again — the kind that cradles you in its cold embrace as gently as a mother would rock her child to sleep. But she supposes it did creep up on her nonetheless; silent, without a face, without a warning. A shadow simply slipped through, weaving between the threads of life, cutting strands little by little until the rope finally snaps and the blade falls. Her family, with eyes turned to look anywhere else than above, didn't see it coming. Or, perhaps they foolishly thought the vultures circling within their skies would not, could not, dive for their flesh and blood.

Rhea remembers hearing the screams of her father from even beneath the ground, the cheering of the crowd growing louder as the horses pulled into opposite directions, tearing the limbs from his beaten body. She is grateful to not have heard the cracking of her mother's skull above the high winds after they pushed her from the jagged cliffs; her whipped body disappearing below world's end faster than a heart drop. She still regrets to not have clawed out the eyes of the man who brought her poison and said it was mercy.

Everything still tastes like blood.

Aprymaere never stood a chance against the soldiers upon soldiers from Ionad; the city state would've had its skyline marred by smoke and flame, her streets trampled into crawling graves. Borders are never meant to stretch like bloodlines do, but any line, any family, can be erased when children are raised with swords in their hands and greed in their minds. One battlefield of strewn bodies was enough for the king to bend the knee, sacrificing his power to save the rest. And just like the many other nearby city states, Aprymaere was swallowed into Ionad's titan body. Alive but mangled, sinews twisted into the being of something else.

Tonight marks the beginning of a new identity for both Aprymaere and Rhea. One saved, one resurrected; they breathe anew, different name, same hearts. Together, they watch as wine spills over golden goblets, watches how everyone smiles and laughs while corpses are still being carried back to their homes. Two kings sit beside each other, feasting on legumes, olives and figs, but not too far away, the stench of decomposing skin clings like a layer of grime unwilling to be scrubbed clean, refusing to be forgotten by nightfall. Then again, is there an aftermath when war never truly ended? Because the soldiers may have dropped their weapons, and the tendon-cut wails might have ceased, but there remains little to be forgotten, and even less to forgive.

Deliverance begs behind stained glass, blood-stained teeth and boned fingers scratching. Behind it, the seer smiles, all knowing of the star-worn path.

The Aprymaereans have always liked to wring prophecies from constellations, their ears seemingly tuned to the murmurs of prophets and sages about close and distant futures. A whisper of a chosen one quickly becomes a search for a body lying at the feet of a precipice, and ancients kinds of magic are secretly being called upon to awaken a dead heart if the stars deem it part of the presage. Rhea remembers coming back to life with lungs gasping for air, throat so dry it felt like crumbling with the slightest movement. The king of Aprymaere, an older man who always smiled a smile that felt on the edge of dropping, only told her one thing after she demanded to know why he resurrected her. What he wanted from her.

"A dead king."

Rhea thought he meant someone else, thinks back on the man who declared them a traitor with nothing but boiling hatred. But maybe this is worse. To think the prince has become a king so soon; her old fiancé, now bearing the same crown that gleamed when her father was torn apart and her mother split open. Bile of disgust rises up at the sight of him, only to be forced down. Fists clench behind the fabric of a skirt; Rhea bows her head quickly to shadow any fragment of emotion that flashes across her face as the king introduces her to him. Part of her is grateful for the change of appearance that the magicians have managed to give her. Part of her wishes to see his face when looking at the woman who is supposed to be dead.

All of her wishes him dead.

"O king, may I present lady Calliope of Aprymaere. As we agreed upon, I would like for her to have a place in your court."

Rhea, no, Calliope follows to speak, words gliding like silk despite the high-strung tension inside.

"

Hail O King, I come to offer my fealty and service to the throne, if you would have me."

MEDEA

Rhea.

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  Aprymaere's palace

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  attire

  
  
  
  

  a dress

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

♡coded by uxie♡