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Alma accepted the jacket like it was a relic, not with reverence, she wasn’t built for that. But with something near it. A gesture of dignity, perhaps. A recognition of the moment. Of what it meant. Of who Selene had chosen to be. The fabric was coarse, standard-issue field weave. Heavy...

Alma exhaled, slow and deep. The kind of breath that felt like it hadn’t been taken in centuries. Rain beaded along her collarbones, steaming gently as it touched her skin—sheer heat or a rejection of this realm’s water, it was hard to say. But when Selene spoke. calm, clear, dominion laced in...

Alma’s smile didn’t fade. It deepened. Not smug. Not cruel. Just… tired, like a song played one too many times in an empty room. The kind of tired that isn’t about energy, but age. That sits behind the eyes like dust in cathedral rafters, settled, quiet, undisturbed for epochs. "You speak like...

Alma: 07:16 Alma wasn't greater into the world with sound, but with weight. The kind that clings and...knows you. The veil peeled back like wet silk, clinging to her skin, her horns, and her mind. She stepped forward onto the bare stones with practiced and fluid footsteps, not those earned with...

Lysandra looked down at the food and curled her nose. "Was this a fresh kill?" Pushing the bowl away, her stomach doing flips as her completion turned ashen. "That wasn't processed meat either..was it?" She started turning a tinge green as realization started setting in that, this meal wasn't...

Lysandra had laid on that bed, the feel of it was starting to feel wrong. She had stayed too long, had trampled on things she hadn't intended to but had all the same. She stared at the metallic ceiling for what seemed an eternity, perhaps two. Her mind had wandered to many places, but at that...

Lysandra didn’t move at first. Just sat there, eyes on the door long after it had closed. Then, softly, barely more than a breath: “Always, little red” No conditions. No expectations. And with that, she leaned back against the cushions, closed her eyes, and waited.

Lysandra looked up at her, eyes steady, voice low. “I’ll be here.”No judgment. No conditions. Just truth. “Not for the neat parts. Not for what’s easy. For you.” She reached out, just brushing Olyv’s hand with her fingers—a tether, not a chain. “Go find him. Say what needs saying.” A pause...

Lysandra didn’t move at first. Didn’t reach down. Didn’t shift away or lean into the weight that folded into her lap. She just sat there, steady as a mountain, hands resting on her thighs as if waiting to be asked. Because Olyv’s touch wasn’t needy. It wasn’t a plea. It was a choice. And...

Lysandra let the silence stretch, her eyes never leaving Olyv. Her tail gave a slow flick behind her, but she didn’t shift, didn’t sigh, didn’t soften. She just sat there—still as stone, quiet as dusk settling over a field already scorched. “…You think I ain’t angry?” she said finally, voice...

Lysandra’s gaze didn’t waver. She watched Olyv come apart without flinching, without turning away, without so much as a twitch toward pity. What lived in her eyes wasn’t judgment or indulgence or even sadness. It was something quieter. Steadier. The kind of weight that could bear grief without...

Lysandra's hackles lowered as Soap began talking to her instead of the snowy aired cow across the room. She did indeed take the food offered though and ate a few bites before daneing to answer. "Yes, I've noticed a great many things about this flying rust bucket that are in need of severe...

“…Then I won’t.” Her voice was low, steady—almost a murmur, like it wasn’t meant to be heard louder than the storm in Olyv’s chest. She didn’t move. Didn’t reach. Just let the words settle between them like a vow made in the quiet. “I’ll wait, Olyv.” A beat passed. “And when you can breathe...

Lysandra stirred, her breath catching somewhere between sleep and waking. The room hadn’t changed. It was still quiet. Still dark. Still warm from the night before. And yet something was wrong. She didn’t move. Not fully. Just cracked one eye open, then the other, keeping her body slack, her...

Lysandra stirred when the warmth beside her disappeared. Her brow twitched faintly, but she didn’t wake, just shifted, lips parted in a sigh, her tails curling instinctively toward the space where Olyv had been. The sheets rustled softly, the scent of skin and sweat and something sweeter still...

The moment Olyv whispered “Don’t hold back,,” something inside Lysandra stilled, then surged. That voice, stripped of all its usual sharpness and swagger, laid bare a want so real it took her breath away. She hadn’t expected this. Not truly. Teasing Olyv had always been a game, a dance of barbs...

Lysandra went still. That rich, teasing air around her held, suspended like breath before a kiss, like thunder before the crack. The half-lidded eyes, the reverent whisper, the trembling hand that had dared to hold her tail like something fragile and precious—it wasn’t banter anymore. It wasn’t...

Lysandra purred with satisfaction as she heard Olyv’s tentative steps follow her into the room. Without turning around, she let her voice trail out like silk over bare skin, dripping with amusement. “Just this once, hmm?” she echoed mockingly, the soft click of her claws against metal...

Lysandra's smile was absolutely vulpine as she circled around Olyv like a predator surveying her prey. "Where's that usual fiery bravado gotten off to, Olyv? Blown out like a candle by the one creature on this ship capable of ripping you to ribbons or flustering the unflusterable?" Her laugh was...

Lysandra looked at the bottom of her boot then the slow trickle an unseen panel, her ears flattened a bit as some intrinsic part of her tensed with professional frustration at the seeming lack of proper maintenance, but she filed it away for later to fix herself. With graceful precision she...