I will not. She will not make me. Reaching for her again, she side steps me, and now she's pissing me off. "Woman!" I snarl, finally grabbing her shirt to pull her close to me. Her nose is pressed against mine. "Do not tell me no."
"Athanasius," A voice coos to my left. "Normally you'd have burned up whatever avatar this was, but this one you play with."
"Luciara." I sigh. Placing Ione on the leaf carpeted ground, I stare at my sister. "What the fuck, your avatar is a Lycan? Why couldn't I have gotten a Lycan?"
Ione scoffs. "Fuck you."
"Not with the way you're speaking to me," I mumble. "How?"
"Oh," She rubbed between the ears of the wolf. "Destiny and all that." She laughs at her joke.
The air hums around my twin, bending toward the presence that approaches, as if the trees and earth themselves ached to be nearer. The scent of wild jasmine and storm-wet soil filled the clearing, thick and heady, twining with the golden light that spilled through the branches above.
Luciara Ethelaris.
My sister, my radiant counterpoint, my eternal foil.
She rides as a queen might, her spine straight, her fingers light upon the thick midnight fur of the beast that bears her. Thewolf, vast as a war steed, moves with the soundless grace of something ancient, something from before the dawn of mortal time. Itseyes, burning amber, fix upon me, as knowing as they are untamed. A singular white paw breaks the darkness of its form, a stark contrast—one flaw, one perfection.
And atop it,Luciara smiles.
She's always smiling.
Not the cold, cruel smile of gods (Yes, I'm talking about myself and sometimes Time) who toy with lesser beings, but something richer, something indulgent, something thatsees through to the bone of existence and finds it all terribly amusing.
Herskin, deep and dark as polished mahogany, glows where the sunlight touches it, kissed by divinity itself. From beneath the cascade ofdark green hair, the elegant rise of herantlers stretches toward the heavens, gleaming as if they have been carved from jade. And her eyes—all four of them—hold me fast.
Theupper pair, a fathomless green, no whites to soften them, see beyond time itself. Thelower pair, honey-brown, human in form if not in wisdom, flicker with mischief.
She pats the hip of the great wolf to a stop before us, her laughter carrying on the wind, rich and silken, a melody that belongs neither to the earth nor the sky, but some place in between.
“Well,” she muses, her voice golden, lilting with that knowing amusement that has plagued me since the first dawn of our existence."I must say, brother, your avatar is quite comely."
She tilts her head, allowing the sun to trace fire along the elegant ridges of her antlers, andthat damned smile deepens.
"Tell me—have you partaken of her yet?"
The words are a blade wrapped in velvet, a jest, a challenge, an inevitability she already knew the answer to.
Luciara. The ever-knowing, ever-radiant, ever-infuriating Luciara.
"Partaken?" Ione asks. "Is this a custom I am unaware of?"
"It is a custom, in some way." Luciara replies. Turning back to me she expects an answer. "Well? You two seem awfully intimate with one another."
Rolling my eyes, I let this human form slip and regain my true one. "You know I've never asked."
Luciara winks at Ione. "He's shy."
"The Lycan." I point, deciding to ignore them.
Ione creeps closer to my side. "I'm sorry, werewolves are real?"
Luciara laughs. "Did my darling brother not tell you this? Many…creatures are real." She slides off the Lycan's back. "This is Delilah, change my dear."
The wolf shakes its fur and becomes a human woman with peanut tinted skin and soft brown eyes. She's much shorter than my twin, just reaching her shoulder. "Primordial," She greets me in the old way, bending at the waist, hands outstretched before her, palms up. "I welcome you."
"This is the type of respect I want." Acknowledging Delilah, I tap her right palm with my index finger. "Mine could use some work."
