westwhere | felt the barbs of his pitchfork pressing up against my soul [closed]

Emilia allows herself to share in this quiet amusement.

Her trip to his brother's circle may have been brief, but it was illuminating in more ways than one. Envy's always tried to sow seeds of distrust between herself and Wrath. She isn't proud to admit that it worked once or twice, nor is she proud to admit she and Envy may have certain things in common. They've both been fueled by their need to seek retribution. The difference, of course, is she could never imagine herself harming Vittoria. Wanting anything but her happiness and her well-being. If she were here.

"He won't stop until he's paid you back for what you took from him, but you knew that. I suspect if I were to ask you what happened that day, the curse would come into effect and skirt around things it does not want me to learn."

An ever-so-faint smile, though it holds no mirth. "That is why you established yourself in the Necromancer district, isn't it?"

To search for something that could break their curse. Something she hadn't understood would be of importance during their first stay. She hadn't known she was cursed at all, and thought his brother the true devil.

Wrath cannot answer her. The lock around his throat returns, and he remains so still. His entire body tenses within at his desire to be able to answer her. But he cannot.

None of his brothers are like what mortals would understand when it comes to siblings, and Emilia remembers Vittoria as her sister, as her twin, as the most important person in her life. This is not something Princes of Hell can wrap their minds around even when there is not a reason for one to truly despise the other. Envy will do whatever he can for his retribution, and Wrath has been aware of it for a long time.

"It is why I was most worried about you going there." It is all he is able to say when he can find the words that he is allowed to give, and it took time to find them.

His chest aches, and he lifts his gaze back to her, seeing the smile on her face. She knows so much more than he realized, so much more than she did before. "They have ways of dealing with curses here. I thought perhaps-" He swallows and then shakes his head. "But I was wrong."

Of course.

Emilia knows better than to expect a thousand year old curse to be resolved that easily, and so far away from the world in which it originated. The truth is locked somewhere inside of her, and she just doesn't know how to get around the barriers that have been set to find the key. Every time she tries to solve the puzzle, her mind is scrambled once more and the pieces fade.

It burns too much to say that out loud, and so she focuses on the rest of what he's said. It's not the first time he expresses this sentiment: that he hadn't wanted her in hell. He'd wanted her to refuse Pride, and she didn't.

Her chin lifts.

"We both know it was unavoidable. I was going no matter what the moment the gates opened. Even if I had set my agenda aside, the mortal realm was not equipped to deal with the carnage. Every innocent human life was at risk. The only thing that's changed is now I know why you were able to accept my counteroffer so easily."

Wrath says nothing in response to her words. What could he say? So much of it requires responses he cannot give. He wanted more time. There would have been more time had his brothers had not intervened, and he would not do so if the risk was too great.

He waits, searches for a response to give that is truthful without being trapped by the curse itself.

"I wanted more time."

He wanted more time with her in the mortal realm, more time away from it all. He releases a breath then, tightening his shoulders.

"My brothers wanted to push the issue. ...as they always do. Patience is not a virtue they possess." Despite being eternal as well.

Neither do I, Emilia wants to say.

But that is no longer true, is it?

To not be in control of herself at all times meant being vulnerable to an attack, either by the realm itself or his wicked brothers. He once said she was ruled by fire, and that's no less true now. But there are many ways to burn.

She learned in the Seven Circles that her path to vengeance would need to be a slow burn. The weapons she acquired for her arsenal — using them did not come naturally to her. It was a process she invested in, and so she grew fangs of her own.

"They all lost something, as well," she says, reading in between the lines. She's not sure she expects an answer anymore. Not when she is now acutely aware of the curse that's been choking them both for years.

Edited 2022-01-10 00:04 (UTC)

Wrath does not say anything in acknowledgement. He cannot. The curse prevents a further answer, but he is certain it is written in the dark of his eyes. They lost something because of him and his choices.

It is the reason Envy is so angry at him. It is the reason Envy would do anything at all to ruin him.

He releases a breath, slow, controlled. Then his gaze lingers on her- his betrothed, how beautiful she is, how much she had to go through in Hell itself. He wanted to spare her of that - foolish as it may have been.

"And now we have returned to Taravast instead. I had forgotten about this world and this place while we were in Hell."

Another method of losing memories and having them returned.

"As did I. A consequence of the beacon's magic."

This city and this world in general. Emilia isn't sure.

She's grateful for the fact. She doesn't want to lose a single piece. She wants to belong entirely to herself. But that's why it almost stings, the ease with which these memories returned to her, first slowly and then all at once.

Because so much else still hasn't. Her throat locks and she pushes past it.

She's quiet for too long and she knows it. She half-turns, no longer facing the city but looking into her room instead. What she would give to know what he's thinking. To crack him open like a book. "We need a new plan."

Wrath's jaw locks. They have been a victim to memory stealing magic both in their own world and in this one. She had no choice over the magic used in either case. He... did with his curse that he helped to create. It was so long ago, but his chest still aches with the reality of all it has led to.

It leads them here to this moment shared together.

He is grateful it leads them together at least despite all that transpired before they ended up here once more.

"...we do. I doubt our group will linger in Taravast much longer. Bonaccarso appeared to be aware of what group we were part of, who was our benefactor. He thought he could use us to his advantage, but-"

He was wrong. Wrath cannot say he is not grateful for that, but he cannot say the same for the Merchant who appears to be wielding them as his own weapon now.

It is for the best, really, that Wrath was the one who held the private audience with Bonaccorso and not Emilia. Her own conversation with Macaluso was ... strange, erratic. It left her with the most disquieting feeling.

She hadn't thought of it again, until now. The block in her memories wouldn't have allowed her to do so.

"And what did he say of our fair Merchant?"

She decides to indulge this curiosity, despite the fact Bonaccorso's words will be met with the same skepticism she employs for most everything else. There is no trusting those who have their own agenda here. Had. RIP Bonaccorso.

There's a near smirk when Emilia refers to him as such 'our fair Merchant'.

"He laughed when I referred to him as such as if the very name was amusing to him," Wrath says in answer and then shakes his head. He does not trust Bonaccarso either at all. None of them should, but he had little reason to lie in the end- little benefit to come from it except perhaps sewing doubt. "He said he doubted I would listen to his warnings against him, but that the Merchant was a man who was ruled by vengeance."

There's a deep sigh then before he cocks his head to one side, stretching out his muscled shoulder. At times, his titles (the devil itself is more complicated, but the rest) become useful, because then mortals do not bother to explain to him what he already knows far better than any of them could hope to.

"...and that men of vengeance do not have clear sights."

Arms folded across her chest, Emilia half-turns to him.

The silence speaks for itself.

He would agree with Bonaccorso, though the thought would leave a bitter taste in his mouth, she thinks. It was Wrath who told her vengeance was a poison, a slow death of self. Wrath who told her to seek her justice and her truth, but to not lose her soul. She doesn't believe that they need be mutually exclusive. She will have her way in the end.

"Bonaccorso and his chose to sell out Ellethia alongside the others to secure Taravast. He did so mercilessly among other crimes. I would be more surprised if the Merchant did not have a bone to pick about it."

She doesn't have to trust the Merchant to understand the drive.

Wrath meets her gaze when she half-turns, understanding why this particular subject is one she relates to. They did speak of the cost of vengeance. He can only know it because he has experienced it for himself, because he gave into his own revenge a long time ago.

And many suffered for it, including himself. He doesn't want her to have to suffer any more even knowing it is inevitable. It is her choice to make, and she's made it if she has gone after the mirror.

"The way Bonaccorso spoke of it seemed to imply revenge was a motive beyond Taravast and those who sold out Ellethia." Like it may be the Merchant's main motivation in all he does. "It is clearly all tied to the Undead in some manner. I do not believe either of us are surprised about that."

It appears to be his motivation for everything, but Wrath would not be surprised if he had other motivations beyond that. Most people do. He would hope the Merchant would be smart enough to not reveal his motivations in their entirety. Then again, this group is so limited in its power that they are merely pawns regardless of what the Merchant chooses to share with them.

"No," Emilia answers after a weighted moment. "I'm not."

She can't really begrudge him the attempt either, in some ways. She herself sees a weapon in everything lately. A tool to utilize to her advantage. The way she prepares herself for setbacks is to assume others can see it, too.

It comes back to that ever-present need to right a terrible wrong. It led her straight into the jaws of hell. It led her to betray him. She thinks of that in the silence that follows: that he has every reason to mistrust her and mistrust her words. She should wait until they have their power situation sorted out, so he can sense the truth in her words.

But he deserves them now, whether he believes her or not.

"I meant what I said that night."

'That night' except for him it was mere hours ago.

Wrath's armor has returned. The walls are back as firm as ever, and so when she speaks, he does not respond outwardly. The truth is he knows she meant what she said that night. He had his powers then in the evening, and there was no lie within the words she gave to him.

However, in the end, they made the correct decision in not going further, in not half consummating their marriage. Because it was clear she was not ready to do so. They were aware of that much that evening, and yet he still was not prepared for her actions and betrayal in his moment of vulnerability. He did not expect to wake from his drugged slumber to the realization she was in Pride's circle (which she would need an invitation from him to enter whatever her reasons).

"You do not have to explain."

Any of it. Regardless of what she said, her actions delivered an alternative message- he believes both can be true, but that does not prevent the pain of the betrayal nor how it left him feeling in the aftermath. He would prefer not to discuss it. His jaw tightens, and he stares at her with dark-gold gaze.

"However, with our return to this world once more, I hope you would afford me some measure of trust."

She wants to afford him more than that.

Wants to give him, in truth, more than her trust.

There are pieces to this story he has yet to live, however, and — how strange that their roles should be reversed to that end. It wouldn't ultimately change anything, would it? Her sister was desecrated. Emilia will not take that a step further and desecrate what's left of her memory by allowing, for even a moment, anything else to supersede the goal of avenging her.

Wrath doesn't care for words, besides. He cares for action. With that in mind, she merely nods and decides to let her future actions speak for themselves. Decides she will afford them both enough respect to keep from false sentimentality.

She did what she did and she would do it again. Thus...

"Will that same measure of trust be reciprocated?"

Wrath senses the way she simply nods in acceptance of it, and he appreciates it. She knows him now - more than he has let most know him. Her words were truthful, but her actions mean the most to him always, and he still does not know what to make of it.

The question gives him pause. He wants to answer Yes. He wants nothing more than the two of them to work together against all the forces which have threatened them, which have hurt them. However, he is still reeling and uncertain about what happened within Hell and why it happened.

"...when it comes to matters here, yes."

They are still on shaky ground within Hell itself. He doesn't know why she went to see Pride, why she would want him asleep for that. He does not realize what she risked to simply learn more of him, to have that confirmation.

"I trust no one else as I trust you."

Matters here.

By necessity, more than anything else. The caveat is well perceived, and echoes her own conditions upon arriving to Taravast. It's not a pleasant feeling to find herself on the other side of it, though it's no less deserved.

Understandable, too, for all that she is unfairly wounded for it. She can no longer claim ignorance for why he is this way. She marched through those yawning gates and submitted herself to unspeakable horrors with grim defiance.

Learned all the brutal shades of the world he rules. The world she will rule.

"I don't know if that says more about me or you."

There is a ghost of a thin smile upon his face.

It is gone as quickly as it appears - too fleeting to be pointed out, but her words amuse him, genuinely, despite the nature of their circumstances. He far prefers when the trust between them can go deeper, but he is not ready yet even though he understands why she has never been able to give herself fully to him.

He would not want her to until she was ready.

"I believe it says an equal amount about us both"

They are well suited (enough) to rule Hell together for a reason, and whatever occurred in that bedroom, there is no one else he would rather face this world with than her.

felt the barbs of his pitchfork pressing up against my soul [closed]

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