Constance: 'Killing' Matilda

[06:15] In the sunny splendour of Osrona she stood, that out of place redhead that acted as if everything was totally normal. Rubbing her cheek, she spotted the person that she needed and drew in close.

"Constance," the breathless mutter escaped her lips. It had been some time since they'd met, from their one and only surreal encounter and the various distant staring that they'd done at each other since then, where the blind girl had thrown up and Matilda had gotten a demon flavoured sunburn.

"So you stayed alive. I was looking for you. I followed a sparrow, but it was scared to come much closer."

Checks out.
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[06:21] Contrasted against the dawning cityspace that lorded over the Shimmering City's streets lingers one that detest the very noble prevalence of the city's upper landing. The drab presence of the youth seems misplaced against the bustle of armored knights and glimmering faces.

And yet, it were she that the familiar voice addresses. Her head beams upward, the gaze surveying the distance space before her before landing upon features long idolized in their esoteric meeting.

"Hm?" She ponders, the greeting met with a simple nod. "Aha, I don't think I'd die easily. I think."

Nay were she any adept in the avid art of birdwatching. The nuanced preparations needed to prevent the avian disruption evades the understanding of the youth.

Her head tilts as a finger frees itself from the shroud of her oversized swear, the index moving to tap upon her chin. "I think you might want to hold outfeed to it maybe. I know rats tend to prefer hands with food on them, aha. Maybe it would work the same?"
(Constance)
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[06:28] From the way Matilda bobbled her empty head in faux understanding, it was evident that thoughts of sparrows had flown away as quickly as the birds themselves. The redhead stood in that reverie for some time, contemplating the marketplace after listening to conversation most banal. It was a few seconds of quietude as Tillie slowly blinked and straightening, coming to a realization. At first maybe it seemed she was going to respond to those animal feeding tips, but...

"Ah,

you don't really belong here,

do you?

I think every rat is hiding from the glint of polished greaves."

The way she dressed, the examples she gave- she looked far more out of place here than at their first meeting, and that was saying something.

"I know you won't die. Not for years. How have you been? Where is that nervous boy?"
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[07:01] There is distance between the recluse mundanity of the initial statement and the follow up that had churned upon a secondary curve.

The ample widening of eyelids invoke a level of surprise that comes riddled over the milky-eyed individual. A haphazard conflux of lack of comprehension of jumping from one topic to another in this capacity.

She chuckles, albeit back to the nervous disposition she is more often worn. "Aha, I guess not here, no. I technically live in Sudbury." A peculiar correction, one made without any modicum of regret.

Whereas the joyous populace find comfort within the upper half of the Shimmering City, it were not misspoken to deem Constance as out of place; if not her lack of reluctance being the most pivotal sign.

Regardless, so comes the oddest of greetings. "Yes... aha... well it's lovely to see you." Whilst Tillie held no remorse of their statement, the puzzled prevalence of the black-haired youth'sgaze does. "Oh. Nic? I think he's still at school, maybe. Why, did you need him for anything?"
(Constance)
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[07:07] "Not really."

An idle question, perhaps her attempt at small talk- she was still a teen, after all, and had her 'normal' moments like the rest. Even if they were short lived around Constance, like an idol that awakened all sorts of grim and confusing musings. The redhead couldn't help herself.

"Have you been living since we last met? Oh, you brought yourself to life with a wish. It was wonderful. How do you feel now? I'm so curious."
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[07:16] Always had it seemed like the continuous reading of a tome of riddles with this one. The collective and much more diminutive mental capabilities of Constance had clearly paled in comparison to the red-head.

If not for her lack of intelligence to follow with what Tillie had been saying, it would be the lack of wisdom to understand that she would be better off not trying.

"Living? Uh, well, I guess technically, aha." Whether it were at a transcendent or literal context remained unknown to her.

However, there comes the drip of sweat as the pivotal query finds purchase. The coveted outcome of her plunge comes into focus. Still, there is a sense of uneasiness in her form, and yet there holds the facial contours of one that knew something.

"I feel... kinda similar, aha." A white lie.

"I guess, I feel more revitalized inside," she expounds, the thought process passing as words clamor to shift from thoughts to words. "Like something helps me go on and stuff. It's hard to explain, aha."

Her eye contact is avoidant, yet to those that peer deeper upon the pale windows would revel something within that stirs. A swirl of passion previously absent within the lifeless eyes of Constance.
(Constance)
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[07:16] Constance says, "*would reveal"
[07:19] Even if she hesitated, the words came like free flowing water and Matilda was already told more than enough. A faint smile touched her lips, crimson locks bobbing with her gentle head-nod. It all aligned with what she expected, that miracle born from nothing and everything at the same time. A childish wish, or some true power?

It didn't matter, only the effects would remain in the end.

"That's because you're alive," it was the simplest conclusion there ever could be. "There's no reason to care about yourself if you're not. Now you're breathing. I'm so happy to see it. Ah, even if I wanted the wish, I suppose I'll find another."

There was a pause there, looking over her shoulder. Towards the nearby church.

"Oh,

maybe,

you can help me with another wish . . ?"
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[07:25] "Alive. Yes. Aha." The very word alone had grown jaded over her ears. An odd experience before the transference of her focus shifts backward.

Perhaps there is partial hesitation. For the merits of her wishgranting purposes had initially fallen to one doused individual out of two. Thusly so, who were to say a second time would not end in a similar fate?

Fear riddled as she may be, perhaps there was some semblance of a granted wish after all. Though her features bore reluctance, there is an eventual nod that follows through.

"Another wish?" She asks, the interrogative tone alone calmly ebbed to understand the contract before the proverbial signature is signed. "What'll that entail?"

It didn't help that another fountain had been set just at the front face of the building the lass had eyed, yet Constance were hopeful.
(Constance)
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[07:30] "Hmmm.

I don't know yet.

I suppose I'll see, inside the celestial corridors. I feel like it's in there. Itching, nagging, asking me to find it. Like a little wish-rat peeking into the corners of my vision for just a moment."

It was not the fountain this time, no... something in the church itself. Matilda stared pensively for a moment before turning to Constance, smile widening- girlish, naïve, almost normal.

"Come on! Of course you'll help. I made you who you are. You're already getting used to it, aren't you? Normalizing the miracle of life? That's okay! Nothing makes me happier. You'll help me now, though. I can't do it alone. I'm scared, I'm so very scared. You remember that demon, don't you..?"

So she'd noticed Constance looming there after all. Come to think of it, little Constance knew more than enough to have Tillie immediately arrested- but there wasn't a shred of concern about that.

"I have to become stronger. I need to make a wish. Come with me! Help me kill my weaker self, okay? It's dangerous if I do it alone."
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[07:37] Beyond the boulevards and through the manicured courtyards lie the cathedral itself. The lording visage of its architecture had strived before the general frontface of the city's main road, bellowing its radiance in clear theocratic power.

The eyes of the people, by nature, seemed almost drawn to it.

"Aha, I mean, it's the least I could do." In some aspect, her gratitude mayhaps were misplaced. In truth, there were much more nuance to her status of leading her own decisions.

And yet, here she were, almost nodding in approval without a second thought. Such a compliant individual.

"I haven't really been in there at all before. But if you're sure you need to be in there..." A second glance is made toward the building, squinting in hesitation for but a moment before eventually exposing a sigh. "Alright."

She turns, her body forwarding to now face northward. Feet begin tostir as a new presence of occupation of her time had been arranged. "I'll help."
(Constance)
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[07:53] It was hard to read Constance. Maybe because her face was difficult to interpret, maybe because reading subtle descriptions is tough. Whatever it was, Matilda decided that it didn't -really- matter what the nuances of the situation was. Constance was basically someone that she created, right? So of course she'd help.

They moved through the church. There were always a few people there, heads bowed in prayer, sitting at pews and giving their respects to the stars, or the angels, or whatever religious icon was in fashion at the time. The two young girls were unimpeded as they moved, surprisingly. Matilda ended up finding... an unused prayer room.

Simple and unadorned, just a few mats, some scripture, images and idols, water to wash ones face and star charts. The girl looked around, pausing, -sniffing- the air as if the wish carried a gentle breeze she could catch...

She turned to Constance.

"Ah. It's in here. I'm excited. Thanks for helping. Hmmm. You're ready, right?"

From within her coat, a fucking knife was pulled out. Ceremonial and simple, handed over hilt first without hesitation.

"To kill me?"
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[08:04] Like a bird to a flock, she follows. From the muffled clatter of her footsteps across the grass to the echoing clacks of soles on tiles, the cathedral were but a marvel of religious piety to the sky above.

Something she herself mayhaps would never understand to the fullest.

It were oppressive. To be here had almost pit a churn within her stomach. Her body had dejected the very presence of her soul within its hallowed halls, and yet there were no physiological reasonings that she could fathom for such an experience.

Perhaps it was nothing more than a gut feeling.

But then again, the following moments would prove such to be not completely false. For in the flash of steel glints a dagger beneath the hushed folds of the Grimmore's dress. The curved knife passing a reflection of eroding fearful eyes as a glimpse of herself is seen within its sheen.

Footsteps stumble, a sense of adrenaline pumping across her form as precipitation doubles. "E-Excuse me, what?" The words had been exposed in such nonchalance that it did not fully register at first.

Hands rises, no motions to grasp the knife was made. Instead, the defensive posture of clung hands waver in denial. "No! I can't kill you!"

To drown, where it would be the own volition of the water that curses one to the brink of death, it were much more amicable. Yet for the prospect of murder? Even some boundaries can be too much for as mundane of an individual as her.

"No, no, no, no. I can't, I can't."
(Constance)
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[08:14] "Don't be scared.

It's not really killing me. It's letting me be born."

The knife certainly looked real, a strange black material that betrayed a sharpness glinting in the chandelier that cast shadows across the room. Matilda didn't seem nervous; if anything there was a manic energy about it, a building crescendo, stepping forward slightly to meet that nervous retreat, eyes determined.

"You have to. Constance. I can't do it myself. I might make a mistake. I'm so scared. Ah, ah... this is where it begins. This is where the wish is hiding. Spill mine blood, and let me sign it all across the room. I want to make the covenant. I want to know what it's like!"

Both hands reached out, taking Constance's own as firmly as she could- leaning forward, breathing heavily, voice still quiet even as it rose in that strange, hurried hushed whisper. Earnest, eager.

"You understand me, don't you..? Gently take it... slowly, over my hand! Oh, or my stomach, if you want me to feel you when I breath in and out. Make it happen. Kill my weakness...! Before I get scared and change my mind--!"

There at the end, the tiniest break in her voice. So she was still powering through her own terror with sheer adrenaline.
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[08:29] To command a cowering soul to revoke fear is akin to pouring oil with water in hopes to mix.

The task were herculean, for even she could not cease the rising blood pressure and the harrowing breaths that grow by the second. Even at the light-hearted disposition of the Grimmore, the panic that grows within the soul of Constance is unceasing.

"No, no, no, no..." She had made a promise, and yet, she remains reluctant. For the previous task had seemed more innocent in comparison to this. Perhaps the very driven and direct action wrought by the prevalence of the act make it harder to accomplish than before.

In seconds, hyperventilation arrives.

Her chest pumps like the wingbeats of a hummingbird. The quiver in her hands paired by the very status of her weak body had pushed her beyond what was comparable to the norm.

Such a fragile mind with a fragile body. In seconds, at the speeding hands that had pushed the knife's handle into her palms, she almost faints.

Her back lulls, the absence of life churns as her body goes limp for a fraction of a second. The pressure, anxiety, and fear had eventually corroded her into a full panic attack...

Only to recover in break-neck pace.

Or has she?

Her body stiffens. In moments, where there was a missing heat and a clear absence of magic upon the mundane lass's form, there is a shift. Warmth grows as the lax fingers that had almost dropped the knife clutches upon it with fervor.

With a single backstep to keep her body from falling, the one that was Constance suddenly stands upright; her demeanor, different.

For what was supposedly still Constance now radiated a different aura. The meek and diminutive form expands in a sudden confluence of confidence, the shivers and shakes had long been replaced by an iron will, all while the odd pale hues now look back in a passionate sienna.

Constance would have never been able to brandish a knife at an acquaintance. And yet, this girl before Matilda seemed like she could.

"If the spilling of blood is what one yearns, the Lady shall not deny thy request," she mutters, the tone having drastically changes, and yet still holds the familiarity of the Sudbury native. "For the celestial flow of blood shall be thy payment for my own cooperation."

The one that was Constance steps forward, the knife swung in a preliminary state of preparedness. All before it rises, her arm curled in preparation for a lunge.

"Let out goals unite. And let Helheim's reach embrace thee."

"Consider thy wish, granted."

Unless stopped, her forward step departs as her form lunges, a wish imposed. Yet not by the one that had initially agreed to the act, but a seemingly different entity masquerading as she.
(Lady Astoria)
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[08:31] Lady Astoria says, "*our goals unite"
[08:43] Eh-

Huh--!?

It was okay that Constance was breaking down... inevitable, even. She'd power through and find herself again, or Matilda would just have to do it herself and risk the consequences. What she hadn't expected was a full morbing into a completely new person.

"Huhm-"

"Oh..."

Staring with avid attention at Constance's transformation, the redhead leaned forward, watching... until it was somebody else that stood afore her. A figure reminiscent of that watcher from the forests. That mysterious and powerful girl radiating potency.

It was impossible not to tell; that unique speech pattern, that confidence that wrapped up like a cape, the alchemical transmutation of all fear and nervousness into a completely different sensation, keeping her safe, shielding her from reality.

Awe inspiring- but false. Wasn't it something conjured? Or... was Constance the conjured one, until she'd found her wish?

"You... ah. Make it so. Make it so! Goodness... quickly, I'm getting nervous. Ahh, my arms, they don't feel so confident!" This wasn't the lady she'd agreed to die to, after all. It was a very personal request.

At least Astoria would get in before she really changed her mind.

So it sank
into her side,
that painful stab that she couldn't prepare for fully.

"Hk-"

It was one thing, to be manic and driven to finding a wish... and another thing to be stabbed for the first time. Matilda recoiled, clutching her side, legs wobbly underneath her before she sank to her knees, teeth grit furiously, trying (and failing) not to make any pathetic sounds.

She'd need a few seconds to recover, for sure...
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[08:55] Her form swivels in an ungodly speed. Whereas Constance were nothing more than a sluggish, clumsy, and tiresome lass, the one that had formed for her body moved like any experienced magi would.

The glimmer of the heat were infectious. As if the very aspect of bodily heat were drawn to fade as the very blood of those before her seem to flush in coagulation.

The knife finds its mark true, whether it be due to the influence of the third party or the simple blindside of a different set of hands doing the deed, it were done regardless.

Her abdomen unfurls to as the first signs of crimson leeches from the entry point. The scent of metallic copper wades from the general vicinity, as if magnified by something far more supernatural.

By the end, stood with the knife still plunged, the form of Lady Astoria, unphased.

"For Phoenix Light had decreed this first step be done. We can accomplish the two things we yearn form." Past the pain does the free hand of the wicked witch rise. Her palms quivering in focus as the blood that had begun to escape from Matilda's abdomen begins to move at its own accord.

An orb of celestial blood coalescing right before her fingertips as the harvest had been made.

Still, she is unrelenting from pulling the knife free from its human socket. Yet this were not out of yearning for pain, but moreso an aspect of pressurizing the wound. Fearless as she may be, this one were not stupid.

"In your offerance, may you find thy wish be made real," she chants, the softest chuckle beneath her breath gleaming as the orb of coalesced blood sinks into the folds of her form, stowed. "For in this aspect, we shall both emerge grander people."

"After all, this one has no one else to thank but you."
(Lady Astoria)
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[09:14] By the time she had straightened enough to observe, it was already too late. That knife remained inside, that trickling blood slowing down as the pressure kept itself in, what blood had leaked out all coming forth into an orb. That offering, taught by her greatfather, taken away before she could search for the wish...

ah . . .


no, that wasn't right. The wish was here all along. It had taken shape, transformed the meek woman, barely alive, into something fantastical, a creature greater than herself. Brazen, confident, alive, speaking of accords. Could it be, a bona fide emissary of those powers? Once upon a time she had said, that the powers of Hel were at her command...

"Ah... ehe- hah..." It was hard to laugh, only managing the beginnings of a giggle before grimacing. Slowly standing up, every movement caused that knife to shift before she grabbed the hilt to steady herself, hand trembling. Tempted to whip it out, to have her blood splash forth in a lurid, dizzying, fatalistic pattern, her entire essence spraying out in a crimson crescent of devotion...

"You were here all along... my guiding star. Mine wish, returning a wish. Beautiful... surely, he will take notice. Look upon me. Look at me. Look at me!"

Was she speaking to Astoria, or to another? Difficult to tell when she was looking right at the girl. She stumbled over, hands moving to rest on each of Astoria's shoulders if allowed, breathing heavily.

"Lady in red," she breathed deeply. Even if Astoria wasn't clothed as such now- the crimson offering was more than enough. "Everything will be fine, won't it? I thought I would be all alone... but together. We can rewrite everything! Ahhh… teach me what it means, to be like you."

There was a strangeness to her self. As if something had indeed, taken a glimmer of notice. A fraction of essence, drawn forth from oneself.
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[09:30] Her figure remains poignant. Despite the seeping reds upon both her and her companion's visages pang its lurching stain upon both body and soul, there is an unknown composure that had long been absent from the one that had stood here moments prior.

"I am not one to hold the fate of others unto my hand. For I am merely the guiding hand that proses the fall of the deceased, pulling the wrenched souls into Helheim's reach," she announced, her hands soon receding as the Grimmore moves to glaze over the imbedded weapon. "Whether he whom yearns to pluck the mirth of souls from the innocence of life's eventide sees your act or not is not of my volition."

"For he would smite me if he truly understood where I had disappeared to."

The precipice of life and death. The prospective understanding that had eluded Constance vividly grew upon the eyes of Astoria. For at the verge of oblivion is whence one's true form shows itself.

"I had not learned who I am from mere teachings. My soul had been formed by the very machinations of Helheim itself," she confided, the flick of her hair almost far too nonchalant for the prevalent occurrence. "My birth had been instilled within me the requisite understanding to fit the throne of the Fourth Noble of the Nine Hells."

"I do not know a time whence I knew not nor had been lacking in my purpose and powers."

Her jerks her hand back, rising to lay just before her eye, right where the eyepatch would have been. "Yet for you have garnered thy attention, surely the Dark One will be in swift pursuit. In such case, I cannot remain, for his decree will see my end."

"Steel yourself. For, perhaps, there is more that can be accomplished if you survive. That is, of course, will you?"

And in parting words, there is a soft grace of a migraine that blurses another hypnotic wave before the visage of Constance. As archaic and eccentric as the words of the Lady may be, they would be her last at this moment.

In seconds, the trance fades. What remains were but a dazed Constance, barely breathing as her hands clutch upon her head in agony. "Urk."
(Lady Astoria)
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[09:43] Rapt attention, devotion, listening as closely as a bird to passing storms. She stared over at the self proclaimed noble of the nine hells... and as silly as half of those titles sounded, there was no way she could treat them with any less than divine gravitas. In a moment like this, she felt entwined with the mysterious Lady, who herself was Constance.

The moment was gone both in an instance and an eternity, those last words heavy over her shoulders. To survive. Not just the future and some inspirational, metaphysical concept- but the very present. A non lethal stab though it was, there'd be a lot of questions asked as she escaped the cathedral.

Then, Constance was back.

It was a hazy transition, a passing fever that left her face to face with the stunned girl grabbing at her head. Matilda moved close, taking one hand in her own, the other still holding the blade.

"Ah... ah, hah, I don't understand. I don't get it." How had the Lady come and gone so quickly? Some sort of Nethradin? Or something greater, something different? The idea that it was just some personality disorder never crossed her mind.

"Constance... I'm dying," she whispered. "Take it out... so I can drink this potion- Hahn.. and heal myself."

Of course she'd come prepared! … Hopefully it worked.

"Do it, do it, do it, do it..."
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[09:50] She falls upon her knees, the thrum of the world before her almost cascading into a unanimous conflux. Swirls of mania almost leaving her barely grasping her surroundings.

If she were any more in-touch with herself, she might have screeched.

And yet, she remains. Still, shivering, in-pain.

Only at the faint static rises Tillie's voice, almost barely rising free from the deafening chorus.

"Ah, ah..." Her head slowly rises, almost zombie-like in demeanor. For she had fallen in one moment, and in grievous pain in another.

If not for the painting of the Grimmore stabbed dearly upon the abdomen would she have likely lacked the adrenaline to move in to yank the blade free without a second thought. "Don't. Die."

Lasting words as her cups the red-head's arms, almost pleading in the act as she barely clamors in her own right. Despite not being the one stabbed, she seemed much weaker than the one that had been.
(Constance)
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[09:58] The sharpness of the ordeal was dulled by adrenaline, perhaps shock, perhaps disbelief. . . after that initial, dizzying nausea, it had been easy for Matilda to forget there was a knife lodged in her side if she hadn't been holding onto it. When it came out? That fleeting mercy vanished.

A crimson arc painted between them, splattering the ground and floor and their clothes as she let out a whimpering cry. Clutching her side, prevented from stumbling back by the gentle arms grabbing at her, she leaned forward into Constance instead, teeth grit shut. Constance looked like she was about to faint, and Matilda was able to power through, drink that 'minor' (by magi standards) healing potion...

.. and let the wound start to knit itself together already. The vial clattered to the floor from her shaky fingers afterwards, shattering into pieces as the pale faced redhead breathed heavily.

For some time they were caught in that reverie, invariably moving to rest in each others arms in that strange manner.

Finally, Matilda straightened. She took a long breath, facing Constance.

".. hah.. the trace of a wish, but it escaped. Maybe we were too slow. You look tired, my Lady in Red. You don't need to worry anymore. Let's rest, together."
(Matilda Grimmore)
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[10:06] The miracles of alchemy would prove more to be gained than the prospective meager attempts at damage by the mundane blade of a knife. As if it were nothing but a scratch, leaving the lasting motions of but a minor inconvenience as the bleeding soon ends.

Pulling free, the lull of a transient head falters in focus.

The forsaken sweat beads that flowed as naturally as blood clot levies at her visage. Eventually, there is a blur that soon takes over once more.

For where there once was a burning vividness of colors, the return of the void once more encompass her coming presence. "What..."

"Gk. No... more...…" There is eventual rest that soon takes over her fallen existence. The fleeting mana clamored by the acquired blood had been more than enough to draw free the life force of the young lass to its brink.

With only hearing the final few words of the Grimmore, her last moments of consciousness would be compiled with further confusion before everything dies out.
(Constance)