Fumigate Your Castle (Open)

[Asara Willow]

~Summer 50th, 511 AV~


In the darkness of the alley she lurked. Her body curled up into a small ball in the corner of where a vertical wall met an overhanging roof. Gold eyes glared intensely, pupils large in the molten colour. A finger on the wall had healed badly from a snapped bone and was mangled and nearly impossible to use, but the tiny hooks still worked and so she found it useful. For now.

A distortion in lips as pale as moon-tinted coral showed irritation. Her eyes glowed with the emotion. Hunger may have played a part in the extended nature of her fangs, but it wasn't the main part. It was the incident from earlier when she was getting a new bag of fruit from the Bazaar that had given her cause for annoyance. Turned out that the vendor she had approached had lost her daughter to the Harvest. How could she have known?

That was the second time in this wretched wasp nest that apples had been used as weapons. Needless to say, the little spider crouched near the roof was feeling very antisocial today. She couldn't even go to her usual hiding place on the roof because a very specific human was fond of rooftops and had, the last time she'd seen him, tried to provoke her only friend to hurt her. She had no safe haven in this place anymore. Nor any friends, but as far as she understood that losing her friend was her fault.

Stop moping. He was a Dra. Sitana's smooth voice intruded on Asara's thoughts and she hissed at the voice, before she spit. Her venom and saliva disappeared below past her notice, but at least the burn on her tongue had faded some. For once a headache didn't accompany her defiance. Instead a delicate laugh drifted lazily through her mind. The sound brought to mind slim dancers on silk roads, swinging and dancing with long swaths of silk. A creeping, dark laugh. Maybe you don't remember how disgusted you used to be by the little folk, but one would assume you were Symenestra enough to feel your pride was wounded instead of this stupid miserable rejection. Asara paid no heed to the derogatory mutters. Dra were fine. She doubted she'd willingly use her body to produce one, but she liked them. Or, she liked the one Dra she knew. He terrified her, but she liked him still.

Beyond the alley's entrance people walked, paying no heed to the darkness but to shudder as they passed, some subconscious instinct warning them of danger. Even humans knew how to listen to their instincts. The spider did as well. She knew, very intimately, that humans couldn't be trusted. They were racist, narrow-minded ants serving some higher, very haughty being. Humans with apples, humans with knives, humans with fast feet and a knack for being stupid idiots. Not one could be trusted. And as much as you may try to think otherwise, you know that Seven is nothing more than a human mimicking your appearance.

Huffing a sigh, Asara turned her glaring, discontent eyes from the opening to the street. No one was coming to investigate the mysteriously danger lurking there. No one was begging to be food. She had to move on, and as Leth rose and Syna dimmed she began to feel the itch to look at the sky again. Maybe she'd find herself on a rooftop anyway, but at this moment she wanted to avoid them. She didn't want to get hurt again.

Her long hands, connected to long arms, found purchase on an otherwise difficult to navigate wall. Tiny hooks holding her against gravity, even though she felt it's irresistible influence by the way her body leaned. Past injuries and a novice skill made her movements difficult and awkward, but she was still eerily graceful to those who had not known of the ability to scale walls unhindered by such things as smooth surfaces. Graceful, delicate, eerie, and monstrous. She was as instinct dared her to be. Hungry and wrathful to the unfairness of the world. Wouldn't it be fun to jump a human woman and kill her out of envy and hate? Yes, yes it would.

Maybe some Knight would come along and exterminate her like a nest of roaches would be exterminated by humans that saw similarities between their lives and the lives of the insects under their clumsy feet. She could hope one would. Maybe she could kill him.