[ P ] You Cannot Start a Fire Without a Spark

A

lthough the ashen gray she-wolf’s facade looked placid, perhaps even disinterested, the priestess was indeed excited -- for several reasons. It had been pure happenstance that Rhiannon had even found the flaming red flower that would serve as her entry into a vastly different world, just as it had been a sheer coincidence that the fae had met the wolf she had asked to come along on this peculiar adventure in a time and place completely foreign to Rhiannon. She was, after all, a simple commoner, born in the lowliest rungs of a society itself considered near the bottom of what was acceptable and decent. But tonight, it seemed, her company would be astoundingly altered, and at this, Rhiannon was most interested.


Still, it was not the crowd that interested her the most, nor the scarlet blossom resting at her paws as her eyes searched for a certain familiar face, dark and handsome. She had half a mind to doubt that the other would show, for whichever reason could easily be conjured. They were little more than strangers, really, which served as motivation for her invitation that cold evening. Rhiannon was motivated to change that, though their private meeting in the forest previously had been… intimate. There was more to understanding another, more to knowing someone, than simply observing and acknowledging that which makes them so intriguing.


Really, Rhiannon simply wanted more of this enigmatic creature, cloaked in darkest night, who called herself Nyx. Amethyst sights roamed the unfamiliar faces crowding near the garden, and though she remained resolved, she could not help but wonder if coming to a place like this was a mistake. There was something unspoken lurking in the minds and hearts of these strangers, Rhiannon could sense as much as most of the crowd avoided eye contact with the pewter femme. She was not there for their amusement. She was there for her own desires.



@Nyx

art and code by Yahtzee-Penguiduck

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

The night is so alive — so many wolves all gathered here tonight, all wearing masques and lost in great merriment and enjoying the performances and refreshments the king had prepared. The energy of the crowd invigorates her and lifts her spirits, for she can feel the spirit of Dionysos tonight. The only thing wrong is everyone's sobriety, the inhibitions they've yet to release. They may sip wine but they do not indulge in it.

Parties are meant for letting go and liberating oneself from the worries and restraints of day-to-day life, not sucking up to aristocrats and trying to make an impression — but she supposes it's simply another one of many things done differently in Rionnach. Back home, she would gladly imbibe as much drink as she pleased but here she does not want to be the one drunken fool causing a scene.

Praise be to the king's choice to make this ball a masquerade, at least — masques are a staple of Bacchic rites and celebrations. Nyx comes tonight wearing the skull of a bull, with magnificent horns of glossy obsidian. In her own blood, she has drawn on the forehead three circles not quite interlocked, beneath them an upward curve drawn over the brow, and a line down the nasal bone which ends with one last line that goes across it — something vaguely reminiscent of a chalice and berries bunched together. The blood has dried since the markings were drawn, once vivid crimson but now a maroon so deep it is nearly black as ink.

The bull skull, the markings — it is all meant to invoke Dionysos, the second incarnation of Zagreus, the soul of wolfkind.

But Nyx has not come tonight to mingle with this crowd. She recalls a most gorgeous night at the lake under the waxing moon. Fate saw fit to bring to her a stranger so mysterious and alluring that night. Though it had been the one and only time they'd crossed paths and weeks have passed since, Nyx never could quite get Rhiannon off her mind. She had lit a fire within Nyx then, only to walk away. Paradoxically, it only made that flame burn hotter.

If it weren't for her invitation that night, Nyx is unsure if she would've come to this ball, but the promise of passion is far too enticing to refuse.

Outside in the garden, the fragrance of lavender and burning herbs evokes memories that warm the skin beneath her ebon fur. There she is. Nyx makes a beeline towards the monochrome woman with her head high and her tail slowly swaying behind her. She stops just in front of Rhiannon and makes no attempt to hide the way she drinks up the sight of her. A smooth smile plays at her dark lips.

"This is not your crowd, I take it?" she says, noting the blasé look in those violet eyes. "You're even more beautiful than I remember."

@Rhiannon

i used to get caught in the clouds, with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away

The sight of the sleek ebony wolf brought a distinct pleasure to the stormy woman, eyes ablaze as she watched the other approaching. "This is not your crowd, I take it?" Rhiannon smirked. ”One would imagine they think well enough of themselves to not be concerned with my sort,” she responded, mirth in her eyes. ”But the queer looks they cast toward me are rather shameless, indeed, in their condemnation. All the more reason for our presence, then. “ She wore a mischievous expression, visible despite the feathered mask she wore.


"You're even more beautiful than I remember." As Nyx paid her a compliment, Rhiannon feigned shyness, lowering her head as if she were a demure maiden. ”It is good to see you again, as well, dear Nyx.” She offered the sentiment in sincerity, despite her playful coquettishness. The way her amethyst sights explored the form of the other was, however, anything but timid, and warmth spread through her body like libations.


In closer proximity, Rhiannon could see the intricacy of Nyx’s mask. ”The Phantom Queen,” she murmured, nearly breathless at the resemblance. Of course, she had only heard of these deities through story and lore, but Rhiannon was certain that this was, indeed, what one of the most fearsome goddesses in her pantheon would look like. It was a rare event indeed to strike Rhiannon speechless, but the tales of the great Irish queen ruminate within her brain, inspired by the sight of Nyx in her meticulously crafted mask.


After a moment, Rhiannon continued in reverent tones: ”You appear before me much as Morrigan, the prophetess of ruin, goddess of death. She who observes the future of all, she who can alter destiny and destroy. Even the utter annihilation of the world…” Her passion for the Divine Feminine was on full display, and she could not help but smile as she shared.

@Nyx

art & code by alexandre

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

The intensity of the enchantress's gaze is a shock that jolts the prince's spirit, reigniting her desires. Nyx's words are received with a dazzling smirk and a comment suggesting these wolves think themselves too good to concern themselves with one such as herself.

This comes as a surprise to Nyx, whose head tilts curiously. "What sort is that? Attractive, well-spoken, and divinely favored?" One would think such a woman would be turning heads for entirely different reasons, that she would be met with adoration, not damning looks. Straightening up, the midnight wolf takes an aside glance towards the others congregating near the entryway to the garden. "Perhaps they are all simply envious," she muses.

Silver eyes trail over the corvid-like masque, admiring the jet-black feathers and the craftsmanship of it. Dark and intricate, it suits its wearer well. At the compliment, Rhiannon lowers her head like a winsome coquette, but her shyness is just an act for she ogles the dark prince without shame. Her words bring a smile to Nyx's face.

Tall ears perk up at that breathless murmur and Nyx can feel herself burning under that captivated stare. After a moment of awestricken silence, Rhiannon speaks of a goddess she had yet to mention until this moment — Morrigan, the magnificent goddess of death. The sorceress's passion shines brightly through each reverential word and her enthused smile. It's... actually quite endearing.

"Morrigan..." Nyx starts, over-pronouncing the R as usual, "She sounds incredible, powerful as the Night herself. Is it really okay to compare her with a simple mortal?" She's smiling crookedly, unbelievably flattered Rhiannon feels she resembles the dark and powerful deity. However, she fears what the divines themselves would think, as numerous tales of the gods smiting the hubristic abide in her memory.

@Rhiannon

i used to get caught in the clouds, with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away

"What sort is that? Attractive, well-spoken, and divinely favored?" Rhiannon exhaled deeply, savoring each syllable as it left the other’s tongue. Though Nyx’s features were mostly obscured, the enchantress found herself enraptured at the appearance of the Phantom. ”Such flattery.” Much like her greedy gaze, she did not bother to conceal her pleasure, and she moved closer while still not filling the night air between them.


"Perhaps they are all simply envious.” The silvery femme’s smile grew wider across her narrow muzzle. ”This, I find doubtful. They see value in their wealth and in convincing themselves of the quality of those they spend time with. Which…” Her words trailed off, head nodding to those around them. ”They are not like you and I.”


"Morrigan.. She sounds incredible, powerful as the Night herself. Is it really okay to compare her with a simple mortal?" The low octaves of the wolfess, partnered with the alluring smile on the other’s dark muzzle, and her well-toned body… all of Nyx seemed only to serve as further confirmation of the perception that Rhiannon had shared. She hummed thoughtfully as her focus turned toward the inky sky before swiftly returning to Nyx’s form. ”She may strike me down if I am mistaken in my comparison.” She paused for a moment silently for a punishment that would not come, with a gratified grin, as if to prove her point. ”I would not dare to speak the words aloud, were they not true.”


Violet eyes moved, though it took some concerted effort to do so, away from the perfectly crafted form of the other and to the entrance of the grand garden. ”Shall we? Or...” Although she was still willing to enter the absurd party, in the depths of the fae’s mind, Rhiannon suspected that the two would find greater enjoyment away from the festive crowd, with only each other for company. Once more, she found her focus irresistibly pulled in the direction of Nyx. After all, it was doubtful the two needed anything more than one another for passion, flowers be damned.

@Nyx

art & code by alexandre

i used to wake up with the moon

praying for the sun to die soon

The sound of that sigh paired with the closer proximity does a lot to stir those deeper urges. Nyx finds herself leaning in, unconscious of the action, as if compelled by the moonlit temptress. So close and yet so far... Her eyes drift up to catch that smile, as Rhiannon doubts these party-goers envy her. Her own smile subsiding, Nyx doesn't miss the way the other's voice trails a moment before she simply says, ”They are not like you and I.”

A breath of a laugh escapes Nyx then. "No, they are too restrained," she says with a short shake of the head, grinning once again. "They don't even allow themselves to get drunk on their wine, because they are too worried about impressing the aristocrats." It's a shame really, how so many wolves come to an event like this not to enjoy themselves and have a wonderful night, but because they see an opportunity to obtain status, or whatever it is they suppose they will accomplish by cajoling some noble without an ounce of real power but vast wealth and lands.

The fallen prince had hoped to have left this sort of thing behind with everything else she's lost, but it seems politics are the same game everywhere one goes.

Rhiannon's focus shifts upward to gaze at the night sky, while Nyx's attention remains all on her — particularly on that soft mane, which strikes her terribly with the desire to touch and to grasp at it. Their eyes meet and the sorceress speaks. ”She may strike me down if I am mistaken in my comparison.” A short pause, as if waiting for this very thing to happen. ”I would not dare to speak the words aloud, were they not true.”

"Ah, who is the flatterer now?" says Nyx with a smirk. She teases but the weight of these words is not lost on her and the flush that refuses to go away is evidence of its impact. She knows the argent enchantress would never make such a comparison lightly, but still she cannot fully accept it out of respect for the divine.

The wolf of night follows amethyst eyes towards the garden's entrance. ”Shall we? Or...” says the silver woman, another suggestion seeming to hang on the tip of her tongue but it is left unsaid, perhaps because it is obvious they shall.

"Come. Let us continue our conversation somewhere more private." Somewhere she can indulge in Rhiannon's company away from any distractions. Nyx starts towards the gateway, brushing her side against Rhiannon's as she passes her by. With a swish of her tail, she sends a smirk the other woman's way from over the shoulder and ventures in.

@Rhiannon

i used to get caught in the clouds, with blood on my face, with the strangest smile

hoping for the wind to carry me away