had enough? {open}

[Etoile L'astaria]

'What are you doing?'

'Going out.'

'But your highness--'

'You shouldn't be concerned. I'll be all right.'

And all right she would be. The queen of of the dark had risen at dusk to take her place out in her favorite forest. Over six-hundred years she'd spent her life out in the flames, surrounded by spirits of the dead. It felt more natural to her out here than it did in that stuffy castle.

The earth was warm under her barefeet, her dusty-rag dress swept over and gathered the dirt. Unlike most dark fey, her favorite time wasn't the night, but rather the time right before the sunset, when the sky bled and painted the earth red. The brightness of the sun made it so that the shadows were at their highest point, providing the most power during the daylight.

Yes, evening was her favorite time of day. She gently touched one of the trees, dark brown eyes reflecting the golden embers. The fire was beautiful, the souls were beautiful- angry- but beautiful. "Why still fighting all of this time? Do you not feel sleep pulling you into its embrace. Is your hatred so strong that you continue to burn despite no reconcile in sight? Pitiful."

[Silvar]

Despite a strong love for the dark, Silv found that he spent an increasing amount of time among the flickering shadows here in the forest, though the reasons why were as variable as the flames.

This time, for instance, the reason for his being here was quite apparent and looking a right mess as always, though she looked quite at home here where he himself seemed almost out of place. As she had left the castle, he had followed her, a silent trail, be it out of some sense of duty or simple curiosity even he was unsure, and here he stood, the tortured souls here drawing a rather unsteady reaction from him.

Eyelids lowered slightly against the light of the fires, he stepped forward, just enough to be noticed before he spoke.

"Even more pitiful would be the day the flame went out," he commented, a sentiment he connected with, for there was nothing more wretched to him than the fight gone out of a creature.

[Etoile L'astaria]

"Would you consider it more foolish to continue fighting once defeated, or to submit and allow yourself a restful state of being." Her head tilted. "Is pride more important to you than saving yourself agony? Perhaps we are all this way, in the end. ...To fight, even when it is futile, is only in our nature."

And then she laughed, a witch's cackle. There was nothing beautiful or sweet about it, nothing melodic nor melancholic. It was empty, hollow, and shrieking. "Ah, forgive me," she spoke shortly as she calmed down. "It's been awhile since I've entertained someone out of the court."

She knew all too well who he was- her warrior, the one she was supposed to count on to fight the physical battles. She didn't trust him, but Etoile trusted no one but herself. Still, she had a respect for him and what he did, enough respect to speak with him on good terms. ...if anything Etoile did could be considered "good" terms.

"Silvar," she continued, "Tell me, did you follow me out here for any reason in particular? I do not believe that people approach me simply to chat."

[Silvar]

He listened to her go on, and glanced at her momentarily out of the corner of his eye as her head tilted before he returned his gaze forward, eyes a bit unfocused as he watched the flickering shadows (and lights), but senses sharp. He nodded, though, at her seeming conclusion.

The piercing sound of her laughter, while grating on the ears, did not startle him, and her explanation made sense. He did not envy her position like some, perfectly content to reap the benefits of being a figurehead of war, of being Death on the battlefield. Despite her reputation, his position was not one to question her, and so he didn't. So long as he had the opportunity to kill, he would, and that would be enough reason to follow orders.

When she spoke his name he turned his head, crimson eyes reflecting the flames, silent as she finished what she had to say and for a few moments afterward, processing the question. Why? A good question. It wasn't to chat, no, not at all. So why indeed was it?

"A whim, I suppose," he answered finally, because it really couldn't have been called anything but (though whimsical was a word you were hard pressed to call him, and it would be wise for him not to hear it if you did). Again, even he was unsure of the true reason.

[Etoile L'astaria]

"A whim.." she echoed. "Your reasoning for following me makes as much sense as my reasoning for being here," the dark queen spun once before setting her dark eyes on her warrior. He had been in the court much longer than she. Had he felt loyalty to Hawthorn? Did he hate her, resent her even, for taking the place of her younger sister? The throne which rightfully belonged to her?

Or did it matter what he thought? She was queen, and that was that. Anyone going against her would be treason, she'd make sure of it. "Ah, well, you're more than welcome to accompany me or go your own way, it does not matter," and she would not give a care to what he decided. Etoile had spent so many of her thousand plus years in solitude.

To the dark fey, she was simply a relative, a long forgotten sister only a few years older than their dear, sweet Hawthorn. But she knew the truth. She was hundreds of years older than that wretch. she was the rightful dark queen. And for once in her life, that was the truth.

"Tell me, though. ...What is it like to see the life leave a person's eyes?"

[Silvar]

Yes, he was aware of this particular one of his Queen's habits, though whether she was aware that this was not the first time he'd followed her, he did not know. Not the first, but the first he'd spoken up, for she was a strange thing, much different from the previous Queen (though did it matter? The Fey on the throne was not any more eternal than he was, than they all were, and his loyalty would always lie with the throne itself).

As aware as he was of her oddities, though, Silv was also aware that for the most part, whether or not he was here was unimportant. It wasn't as if the woman needed protection, and he certainly wasn't there to offer that (though if some idiotic Fey happened to attack, he would relish the chance to cut them down). Ah, but what a question she posed him, and the corners of his lips twisted upward, because it truly was one of his favorite subjects.

"Where to begin?" he asked (though it was rhetorical), and the fires reflected life in his eyes as he thought about it. "Though, it is different from case to case, it is an exquisite thing, to watch someone die..." How exactly to describe it?

How did one describe what exactly an orgasm was like? You just have to feel it.

"Have you yourself not taken a life?" he questioned, for her found it hard to believe that she hadn't. "Or do you simply want my take on the experience?"

[Etoile L'astaria]

The look in his eyes reminded her of the look that she often got when she discovered something new, when secrets were revealed to her and she no longer had to guess. Yes, it was that hunger, that thrill of doing something one loved so dearly. To him, it was the thrill of the kill, those last seconds as life drained from a person's face. She seemed almost content with the subject as she listened to him talk about it. She'd read her books, she'd spent nearly all of her thousand plus years as a solitairy fey, she knew the works.

But hearing a first hand account was new. She wasn't a people person, never had been. "It sounds magnificent, the way you describe it... Yes, I see part of the reason you are the warrior of dark now," she nodded. Though she had not witnessed his combat skills- that was the other part she had to take into account.

"Ah, not directly," she admitted, deciding to be truthful with her answer rather than lie. "I've never had the pleasure of watching someone die in front me, knowing that it was I who stole those last breaths from their body. ... Therefore, I am eager to hear of your take, if you please."

[Silvar]

Insight, however slim. Perhaps it was another reason he was here, for while there was plenty a tale or rumor on how much of a this or a that she was, nothing could say anything like seeing it for yourself. Just as she perhaps would one day see Death for herself, for while he could describe it in great detail, it was still nothing like the real thing.

Not directly. It seemed fitting enough, and he gave a brief nod, his hand lifting to brush the stray hairs from his face and lingering long enough to nibble thoughtfully on the end of his thumb. As his thoughts circulated, so did the shadows at his feet, though while a tale of Death always made him eager, the only Fey in the vicinity was one he could not show firsthand, though if any unfortunate thing came close...

"One of the most intimate ways to kill someone," he began then, glancing at his hand as he moved it away from his face, palm up, fingers tense, "is to strangle them." And among his rather vast repertoire, it was still the simplest. "To strangle the life from another person, to listen to the way they sputter and choke and gasp," the shadows twisted, his voice taking on a jagged edge, "is the best way to watch, to feel their hands upon you, to feel that grip slacken. You can see the way that recognition fades from their eyes, you see, when you're close enough to hear them beg in that state."

The grin he wore was so feral, so darkly gleeful that he had to add one more thing, one very, very favorite thing.

"But have you ever seen a Fey that's lost their Wings?"

[Etoile L'astaria]

My, how fascinating this creature was before her now.

If there was one thing that the dark queen couldn't stand, it was boredom. Yes, simply boredom. People who bored her, she had no use for. But this man, her warrior brought a gleam to her dark eyes.

The way he spoke, the way he described killing- it was like an art to him. Her dry lips parted in mild fascination, her eyes only becoming wider with his final question, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. "Again, no," she responded, quite honest once more. Why lie about something she wished to discuss more?

"Let's just say that I haven't gotten out much," it was both truth and a lie. She had been out of the dark kingdom, had taken her time finding a new home, settled down eventually in the burning forest where she could read and do as she pleased, never welcoming any visitors and lying to keep them away. 'Is anyone home?' No. Oh, all right, thank you.' And off they would go.

"It would be like tarnishing the soul, would it not? I've read of the tragedy before... but perhaps you would also care to enlighten me with the account of a first-hand experience?"

[Silvar]

He watched her face as he spoke, watched the expressions play and shift, however mild, and on some level her fascination seemed to spur some sort of appreciation from him, for it was not every Fey who listen with such rapt attention to a story such as his, and this Queen was so much different from the previous one, so very different (he thought perhaps it was a relished change).

Quite a few would be simply appalled to hear of what it did to a Fey when one ripped the wings from their back piece by piece until there was nothing left of them. But she urged him to share (and he'd thought she would, the way she looked at the mention of it).

In the Fissure, he had taken so many.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, because reducing a Fey to such a pathetic state was a capability not many seemed to share, the cruelty of it so appalling, and his own wings stretched out as if to shadow the flickering firelight from his features (but it was still there in his eyes). "It is a truly monstrous thing," he offered, and the shadows played in his still upturned palm, twisting around his fingers and along his arm, "to take away the pieces of a soul... It's such a striking change with each piece, the way they become dull in stages, like Death without Death and oh how they've screamed!"

The edges of sharp feathers seemed to glisten in the firelight, a shiver running the length of him down to their tips because never had he felt so alive as during that battle.

"And when finally the last piece is gone... It is as if Death has taken them, but left a hollow shell of a thing behind."

And there would be no Kingdom that would take back the broken thing, surely, though on the battlefield his victims usually hadn't had to suffer that fate for long before being struck down by someone else. Still, in that brief time, it was almost ecstasy to watch them fall apart.

[Etoile L'astaria]

"Ah..." Etoile smiled a little, listening closely to his description and making mental note of everything she heard. "To take away a fey's wings, then, is to hold the power of the life they once had in your hands. Sort of a way to be a death fey without giving up your life, is it not?"

She could see where he found the pleasure in his life, what brought the light to his otherwise empty eyes. Yes, her warrior was demented in all of the ways that he should be. The talk which fascinated her in the beginning was now a dead topic. He had told his point of view, and she was content with that. She'd learned something new.

And that was all there was left to do was to bow out gracefully. "To think that one day, even the most immortal fey will be mere shells of their former selves... Immortality is but a dream, even for the dead," she looked mildly amused by the prospect. "You intrigue me, Silvar," she said, her words not to be taken lightly. For the dark queen, it was an honor to be considered anything above boring.

"Your outlook on taking the soul from a fey... and yet you are still of the living. Tell me, if you can, how many years have you walked this earth? How long have you held the position while my sister was in charge?"

[Silvar]

Ah, to compare himself to a Death Fey? An interesting thing to think about, but a thought best saved for a more appropriate time. A deathbringer, to be sure, but otherwise, he fancied himself a destroyer of things.

To hear of her intrigue from her lips was a small surprise, but one he indeed did not take lightly (anyone who could be intrigued by him deserved a measure of respect). Her question led him to think, though, for it had been so very, very long since he had kept track, and he found he truly couldn't remember.

"I'm afraid that it's simply been much too long," he responded, and that was only one of the reasons why he couldn't remember, the frayed edges of his sanity and his at times complete lapses of a sense of self were rather large contributors. The mind was funny that way, and for some of the things he had forgotten, he would likely be thankful. "My memory isn't as good as it used to be," he commented, a flicker of something twisted in his eyes (or was it the firelight?), "and I am surprised that Death has not come to tell me that I have overstayed my welcome in this world."

[Etoile L'astaria]

"Hmm, that is understandable," she looked back out into space as he spoke of his memory not being as good as it once was. She wondered, briefly, if her memory would one day leave her as well. She'd read stories of fey's powers being so great that they eventually caved in and destroyed the user.

Was this just the checks and balances system in their world ensuring that no one person was ever able to handle that type of power? The thought was fleeting, but interesting to her. She had never heard of an immortal fey, even her own parents were dead now, though they stemmed from the original birth of the world, so she was only second generation at most.

To think that the dark kingdom had been ruled by the same family since its establishment... well, no matter. It seemed that she had a lot to think about while she was alone in her mind. "Perhaps, then, you have not overstayed your time in this world... Death will know when you have, and he will come for you," she smiled in a very odd manner.

"For now, I will be taking my leave," if he continued to follow her, she would not stop him, but as far as she was concerned, she had said her piece, and only wished to be left to her thoughts.

[Silvar]

In the case of Silv, his powers were already the reason his head was a little off, without question if one saw him out of control. Each time took just a little more, and even he knew that eventually, there would be nothing left to lose. He honestly hoped that Death claimed him before then.

Her words were less interesting to him than the look on her face, and he pondered it, though she seemed ready to be alone (and he had no inclination anymore to continue). He responded to her simply with a nod, a silent acknowledgment of dismissal and respect (for even if he wasn't quite all there, he had the sense to respect how their positions related). It was early, after all, and he had learned several things already tonight, feeling more inclined to return to the castle now that he'd satisfied what could have been curiosity.

Perhaps, he thought, as he turned back towards the edge of the forest, it was time to visit one of his less conventional haunts.