Withering
Drained, empty, hollow, and relief.
He would walk into battle renewed even if it meant she could not walk without a shake in her stride.
Maeskia was unsure where the knight went after she used art on him.
Behind the city of light and lions, shadows withered from their owners to crawl to her heels.
The wound given by the dagger on her chest was raw.
Quirks and quick thinking left the men baffled
The wound was used to protect two who mattered
The darkness carried her into the small woods, to where the lake was pure.
It ran into the city to be infested by the filth of the living.
The witch could have followed its path to find a host and refill what life she gave up to protect her knight.
It was the loneliness that made home in the chest of the wrath.
It was what she needed, this moment of silence.
Life, chores, and worries could wait.
She would recover, and the heels she wore would vibrate once more on the cobblestones.
Heads would turn, smirks from men, glares from women.
They would be her encouragement.
Her goals and desires were already tangled among those who called this place home.
She was approached often by the poison she fed them.
For better or worse the dance of power was her favorite game.
A night away, given to the darkness was a healing grace.
They could not see the weak and sacrifice
Only witness the control
On of my favorite ocs to write)
