you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared

It was more of a coincidence. Truly, this meeting had Ivan written all over it. Vhalla shouldn't have been surprised and yet, she thought she had been sneaky enough to keep her master in the dark. Clearly, Ivan was always two steps ahead, the assassin playing catch up. She knew better but she still couldn't help herself, she couldn't stay away from Laz but seeing someone who was in Ivan's circle employing the hunter, well, she simply knew she needed to stop seeing him. It would end in someone getting hurt or in death. Ivan was death and he would do anything to keep his prized possession from leaving him. Not that she hardly had a choice, she would be forever bound to him until he died or he willingly released her.

Vhalla is brought back to the present, her hand tightening on Laz's arm as her icy blue eyes narrow dangerously at the platinum blonde, the woman practically stinking of wealth. Still, Vhalla curtsies to the faerie, her lips pursed into a tight smile as she announces she would be attending this weekend. It's not lost on Vhalla the look of surprise that flashes through Lazarus, if he only knew just how wrapped up she was in this world. She was no one. She was used for pleasure by others, the assassin hardly having a say in that aspect of her life. She was a whore, a murderer. Vhalla was simply not a good person, the woman only bringing heartache in her wake. She knew how to play the game well, the witch no better than a pet to these people. Lazarus wouldn't understand and she had no intention of him ever finding out.

Rage boils in the pit of her stomach as she bids goodbye, Vhalla wanting to set the woman on fire as she speaks again, her very voice grating painfully on her ears. Luckily for her, Vhalla always got to decide what she would wear, Ivan never taking that from her, though he always managed to match perfectly to her, even when she didn't tell him what she was wearing. Vhalla hardly says another word as she turns stiffly, stalking angrily down the sidewalk, that anger so very close to breaking out of her in the form of flames. The witch is so entirely lost in her own anger, she doesn't hear Laz, let alone her name on his lips. She continues down the sidewalk until her wrist is suddenly in his hand. Whirling around, her hair is practically levitating around her head by the amount of heat she's putting out, her eyes like living flames as she lets out an animalistic growl, her teeth bared at him.

She didn't want his pity or his concern. Perhaps there was a small part of her that appreciated it but she didn't know how to accept such things. It has never been warranted to her and she was convinced it was something she would never understand. Wrenching her arm from his hand, she stumbles back a few steps, her rage consuming her as she can feel that control slipping, his next words distracting her just barely. "She's not wrong," she growls at him, "I am Ivan's whore. His pet. I do whatever he wishes," she grunts, her voice hardly raising in volume but the anger is clear. And there it was, that control slipping even more, her hands clenched into fists and she knew that there was no way she was going to contain this, her rage far too potent. She was going to hurt Laz and is was going to be all her fault.

Gritting her teeth, she backs into the alleyway putting more distant between them, faint flickering of flames beginning to appear at her clenched hands. "You need to leave, right now Laz," she groans under the strain as she finally stops in the middle of the alley, knowing full well if she continues to move she wouldn't have the concentration to contain herself. Emitting another groan, she shuts her eyes as she attempts to concentrate on her breathing. No, no, no! She had done so good! She hadn't lost control of her flames in years, why was it happening now? Was it because she actually cared what Lazarus thought? Part of her brain insisted that was the case and yet, she rallies to shove the thought away. She should have never grown to care for him, how and when it had happened she isn't entirely sure.

"Laz, now," she moans painfully, her voice rising an octave as panic overtakes her. She was going to kill him, he was in her blast range.

Vhalla Solarn

To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered