Desreal: it was never meant to help;

Lightning flexes across the sky and she doesn’t look up. Her eyes transfixed upon the sole figure of Saphira. The power of the song overrides any ability for her to flee, not that she wanted to. Nor did she know the true outcome of this event. If she had known she would of fought it, or tried to escape the vast grasp the song had on her.

But she moves, and her fire moves with her towards the painted figure, her smile twisted around her mug in the ugliest of expressions. She does not laugh, not now, she just smiles that eerie smile. She does not truly know Saphira, or nothing about the shards. Hypatia had warned her, Renata had warned her even more. She knew the evil bounty they had to offer. But slavery was not her fortay.

But in the end, she would not be able to help it. The siren’s song overwhelmed her and like the puppet she was about to become she went.

Her words took her by surprise. Like some urban horror movie. She cackles, loud and high, her mind threatening her with words that wouldn’t permit from her mouth. She was no ones, she was her own, and it would always be so. Or it could have been, would have been, until now. Her movements are rigid as she tries to fight, but it subsides so easily against the sirens will.

Then she was upon her.

And her fire flared to life against her skin, the source, the flesh wound that was just created. It was almost as a piece of her left. A valued piece, something worth more then pride or any ego. And she could feel it leaving, through the wound as a piece of her fire went to Saphira and her shards. She screams, but it is short. The song fades from her mind and she could feel the strength coming back to her, her own will power. But it wasn’t her own, it was the shards, laughing and cackling in her mind in a strange voice tied to Saphiras.

Her orange-gold eyes turn to her. Watching her for a moment, the woman she hardly knew she knows better then anyone else. Or perhaps it was the shards as they rode her, but her nonetheless. She snarls viciously, the power possessing her as the air came in swift movements, swirling around her. Her fire relaxed, cracking and stiring inside her. She bared her yellow teeth, “Yes Saphira, yes, I am.“ But it is not her speaking, Lebanon would never belong to anyone.

She had been stolen, and Hypatia would not be happy.

For now the power of wanting the shard does not react to the touch of their flesh. Her wound bleeding and fresh, her own nose rubs against Saphiras own unhealed wound, or at least the one on her shoulder. She can feel the craving, but for now, for now. Lebanon knows that she is held captive to her, and them.

mc. lebanon
abomination;