a dance of dragons | eulalie v. umber [day 5]

Maybe it's the murder that clouds her judgment.

A boy and a girl are collapsed against the cold, ruined floor of the throne room. The first is in the arms of the friend who tried, and failed, to protect him from Eulalie's wrath. The other is as alone in death as she was in life, her skull haloed by scarlet and a tangle of golden curls. A fallen moon and sun; blood and stardust alike stain Eulalie's hands.

She had always intended to be merciless, to take lives as easily as taking a breath. Then she went and found a space inside herself to care. About Andromache and Florentine, about Tsiuri, about the consequences of her actions. It's one thing to be skilled, but it's another to turn off all sense. She cannot seem to master it. Cordelia Blake carved a war path through the Sixth Hunger Games and set the kill record that still stands nearly a century later.

Eulalie feels more like a missile, charging recklessly forward and watching awestruck as everything in her path turns to ash. It excites her in the mornings, how powerful she can be. It makes her feel like all those childhood wants and dreams of glory have finally come to fruition. She's the big bad in this arena. Then in the evening she lurches, like she's on the back of her wyvern again, nosediving straight toward the earth. And she's left alone with the dread, the horror, the truth.

She's a terrible person. She has torn a limb from the body of a boy who didn't even raise his weapon to defend himself, just like she teamed up against a career who was all on her own. Her axe is still weeping, red tears falling to meet the dirt. All of her triumphs have thorns, sharp edges cutting into her. Her face remains an impassive portrait of a girl, thin smile and apathetic eyes. She tries to push the storm down inside herself before the lightning can catch the trees on fire.

And then the tapestry falls, slamming against her and pulling her down to the ground with a thud. Maybe that's what awakens the fury, what makes her claw her way out of the tangled mess and scowl with a scarred chin. It is a tall task, to balance the ruthlessness and morality that have made their homes in one body. For a beat, she's able to distract herself, putting her focus into looting the bodies and claiming what little treasures remain in this desecrated space. The others flee, retreating to lick their wounds.

When the shadow passes over her, Eulalie turns to glance out the nearest stained glass window, where the shadow of a boy and an impossibly huge wyvern seem to block out the sun. The pointed tip of the hat he's wearing tells her all she needs to know: there goes Umber, once again putting himself out of her reach. The scar on her chin stings, her brow furrowing. She hones in on that hurt, sucking in a breath that makes the gash on her throat ache.

And then she rises to her feet, securing her bag across her shoulder and looping her axe to her belt. She marches to the exit, calling over her shoulder. "Tsiuri, let's go." When she enters the clearing, where stone fragments of statues and buildings loom in the distance, it doesn't take her long to spot her own wyvern. Magically teleported just like the rest of them, curled against the branches of a tall tree. She raises her hand to summon him, blonde hair blown back in a gust of wind as he flaps his gold gilded, pink scaled wings.

As Tsiuri appears to join them, Eulalie has already positioned herself on the wyvern's back, gripping her hands on his spikes and squeezing her thighs around his flank to hold herself in place. She gazes down at her ally, and then up to the fading image of a boy who scorned her and has yet to pay. "We're hunting," she says simply, nodding at Tsiuri's own wyvern before whistling and summoning her mount to take to the skies.

Like a pink comet, she scorches across the horizon, closer and closer to the black shape that steadily grows larger with each passing second. Once she can make out the silver threaded stars on his fluttering cloak, she calls out to the tribute, her voice cutting through the air. "Umber!" She speaks his name with enough venom to rot her cruel smile. "I'm going to get you!"

Kicking at his flank, she urges her wyvern to approach with claws extended.