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Of Shells and Magicks
By Babydykecate
Time drops, spins, shifts. The shell is weaker than her power, and it shudders and gasps. Illyria forces her eyes open to find hollow black eyes staring back at her.
"Out of my way," the unfamiliar human orders. Illyria tilts her head, amused with the human's audacity.
"You may not worship me, human, but I am still a superior being," Illyria tells the human.
The human sighs and raises her hand, "Dissolvo."
Illyria's shell does not fly backwards like a mere human, but the magick is powerful enough to send a jolt through the shell, and she must fight to stay standing.
"You are not as feeble as I assumed, human. I think you could provide me with some amusement," Illyria tells the human.
"I have no time for demons," the human replies with a glare, brushing past Illyria.
"Demon? You dare to insult me? When the world met me, it shuddered, groaned. It knelt at my feet. I am God to Gods," Illyria growls, her hand thrusting out to slow the human's time.
Illyria walks around the human, standing in front of the human when time resumes.
The human blinks and turns to glare at Illyria.
"Excudo!" the human yells, as she throws the glowing energy at Illyria.
Illyria's shell tremors and she uses the force to propel her body at the witch. Her fist collides with the human's jaw, sending the human sprawling backwards.
"You have not been listening, human," Illyria lectures. "You are no match for me, even with your dark magicks. You reek of humanity." Her blue eyes regard the witch disdainfully as she walks toward her. "You reek of grief and loss. Your humanity hangs upon you, foul and pitiful. You morn human life as if it matters beyond this moment. You disgust me with your anguish," Illyria snarls.
"It does," Willow hisses. "Her life mattered. She was my world, and without her the world is hollow." Willow pulls herself from the ground, looking back defiantly at Illyria. "Da mihi vim," Willow cries, her black eyes flashing and glowing. Sparks fall from her finger tips as her power increases.
Illyria is drawn to the smell of the power, the witch's unpleasant human scent almost gone. Illyria's eyes are half-closed as she feels the witch's power multiply.
"Her life mattered," Willow says in a low growl. She raises her hands, the sparks brighter and faster. "Tara. That was her name. No one will ever speak that name again, because no one will be left to," she continues, her voice growing in rage.
Willow's arm swings wide, crashing into Illyria's stomach. Illyria utters a surprised gasp, her hand flying out to slow the human's time again. Illyria walks toward her, until they are mere inches apart. Her lips press against the human's as time resumes.
Illyria drinks from the dark power, the witch's salty rage mixing with her rich ambrosial magicks and bitter humanity.
Willow gasps, struggling to pull away. The God King holds Willow to her, deepening the kiss as the force binds them together momentarily. As the powers mix, their bodies quiver and quake. The force rumbles through them to arch at their mouths, thrusting their heads apart. Their backs are arched, feet flung from the ground, lungs breathless. Willow's gasping breaths are followed by tears as she flashes back to her dance with Tara.
Illyria watches the bubbling anguish with great curiosity. The witch's eyes flash between the black of magick and the green of her humanity. Illyria is puzzled that the witch's returning humanity isn't repulsing her. Her bright blue eyes watch as the tears trickle down the human's cheek. Illyria wonders what sorrow tastes like, what it feels like. The emotion is too trivial for a God, but she craves a taste of the strange emotion.
Illyria brings her lips to the human's again, kissing her lightly. Willow's brow furrows, but she allows her body to relax into the kiss.
At first, the witch's humanity is saccharine sweet on Illyria's tongue. As she holds the witch awkwardly, she begins to taste sorrow for the first time. Sorrow floods her veins, and it is rose water, ice, a rain that soaks you to the bone.
The shell shivers, tremors and crashes. Illyria is torn from that time, thrust back into the time before, with the arrogant vampire she will make her pet. She tries to forget the taste of sorrow as she slams her fist into his jaw.
The End
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