Schattenfeuer » Lair » Razela

Razela

(#57901844)

Level 9 Bogsneak

Familiar

Silkmith

Energy: 48/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

8.44 m

Wingspan

5.76 m

Weight

983.67 kg

Genetics

Pink
Jaguar

Crimson
Bee

Strawberry
Glimmer

Hatchday

Dec 25, 2019
(4 years)

Breed

Adult
Bogsneak

Eye Type

Lightning
Unusual

Level 9 Bogsneak

EXP: 4717 / 21526

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

none

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Razela Undaver.
↠ Duchess

"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall..."

Empty halls and echoes of events long past never frightened her. She was used to the quietness ever since breaking free of her father’s embrace, his arms a moment too tightly, too clingy. She was everything he had left after that incident. Everything involved was just called that Incident, it was even forbidden to speak of her mother’s name.

And yet, her picture was everywhere, the documents on her father’s work table were strawn over and over with scribbles of her name. Her favorite perfume scented the air of the too large mansion and it made her father crumble every time like a charm. The breakfasts were the most tense she had ever endured in her short life. Because then, he was still sharp and clear eyed. Asked uncomfortable questions, for example where her mother’s old jewelry was.

I don’t know, became her favorite phase, because it was the easiest way to explain. Came over her tongue like warm honey by the time she was thirteen. And his wounded heart soothed over, soaked everything up that came tumbling over her lips. But the intense attention became borish, became a drag to deal with, she didn’t know how to help him, there was nothing she could do to make it better other than slip into the skin of her mother completely. It was useful that they had looked alike, now more than ever.

And he seemed to heal, for some time, all it needed were a few nights in which she crawled into his bed, wearing her mother’s jewelry heavy and intricate around her neck, her skin glistening from sweat and perfume as her breaths became high pitched sounds and the silence of the home was chased away for a moment or two. And when morning came, she was a master in wiggling out of her father’s arms, shedding the old skin of her mother like a coat too wide.

She hoped things would become better when her father suddenly remarried. The new woman was wonderful, she was tall and elegant, every word over her tongue seemed like it was the sum of a thousand thoughts, thought and carved into utter perfection, chilled by the frost that always seemed to cling to the tips of Kisai’s hair. Razela was relieved when her father no longer fell apart upon catching a whiff of her mother’s perfume. When she visited him at night however, she couldn’t help but stop and watch in awe.

Kisai was a vision out of snow and frost, she was waiting for the phantom of a woman long dead, eyes filled with a glint too dangerous to decipher and lips painted a sinful red that reminded Razela of pomegranates and fresh blood parted to speak in sweet, cold elegance. The ring on Kisai's finger flashed in the light of candles and the moon, as she crooked it, an invitation forbidden and silent, while her father slept peacefully next to his new wife.

Of noble blood and high birth, that was what her father always praised and what she should search for in a partner. Kisai was both, she was the High Speaker’s daughter, who sat in the council with the other leaders and answered only to the Emperor or on rare occasions his Empress. The fact that the woman was already taken by her father, proved to be a challenge, her own, tender age, was to be discarded, nothing time couldn’t change. She knew how to deal with her father’s business, she knew the numbers and the stocks, and had learnt it between donning her mother’s gowns and rubbing her perfume onto her skin until it was rosy and enthralling.

Kisai never spoke about the night when she had visited the newly wed’s bedroom. Neither denounced or encouraged Razela’s raging daydreams. All she ever did was a knowing quirk of her lips, painted red like sin, like fresh blood, like the pomegranates that quickly became Razela’s favorite fruits, despite hating the sour taste they left on her tongue. Kisai was the perfect wife, silent and cold, draped in her father’s colors to please his mind and assure her loyalty.

Two years. That was how long Razela lasted until she reached out again, her hand soft on the paleness of Kisai’s skin, long strands of snowy hair tickling her chin, her neck, fell down to her bared chest as she bend down and Razela’s world tilted into the horizontale. And her father was none the wiser as he poured more sugar into his tea during breakfast, idle talk suddenly broken by hacking and coughing, foam of bright red bubbling up his throat, eyes wide as he clawed his own neck, as if he could force the air down if he dug his fingers in just hard enough.

Kisai didn’t even flinch as her husband spat blood and slime, lifted the napkin idly to wipe her cheek clean of a speck of red before continuing to eat bite after bite of her breakfast, the chilling look of her wintery eyes fixated on Razela, shaking and pallid as she was.

”Don’t stop now, dear, your plan is not finished yet.”, Kisai spoke as she lifted her cup to her lips, red as sin and blood and pomegranates. ”There is nothing more vile than leaving a plan half done.”

Thank the deities for the fertile soil of the Undying Empire, thank the Emperor for the hunger of his roses. No one expected a thing as the garden received a makeover by the heiress herself. And the silence returned, like a faceless witness to her deeds, Razela found herself minding it no more. No more.

Even when Kisai moved into her own, lavish home, Razela couldn’t find it within her to regret.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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