Mother; Sweet, Only Mother

Mother; sweet, only mother

She waited till moonfall as always; the silver light of her former reliever illuminating the silent steps of the once only Spirit of Vengeance. Even the scythe of the crescent moon seemed mournful, well aware what evil had been committed 33 years ago.

Once kneeling at the grave, Cindy began to arrange the flowers of bouquet she always brought, handpicked, only the best for her mother even in death. She did her best to remember flower language she explained to her on a humid summer afternoon with pictures so bright in the aging book. First, the crown of lilacs for family, white daisies woven close for innocence, blue hortensia petals covering the center for gratitude the way she raised her. A white lily interwoven with a lively pink orchid: Cindy's never passing mourning along with Viola's everlasting image of a graceful, beautiful, loving mother.

Her hands shaky by the time she was finished with the little altar which was always more appealing in her imagination than the final picture. Her legs no longer could support her, the marble cool even under her touch. Today she wasn't the Fire. The Creator and Destroyer of Worlds. Only a child who lost her mother.

“Happy- I don't know if this day is happy for you.” more rasp coating her voice than usual, three days in a year Cindy visited. Mother's day, on the day of Viola's death and on the day of her death. A child running to her mom for safety from harm that already befallen.

“I...I got the violets from Hell. From a very kind lady who- reminded me of you.” and every day she would talk until she passed out from exhaustion and slept through the remains of the night, curled up next to her headstone. Safe.

“Yes I have been going down to Hell for fun. I know how it sounds but I'm actually staying out of trouble...mostly. Well, better than I do up here.” the child admitted, a shaky hand reaching out to caress the orchid

“And I met someone.” glowing orange flowed from her fingertips, the ghostly flames swirling gently.

Slowly they took shape of a woman in a long, flowing dress and the gentlest possible expression on her face, also sitting on once pristine white marble gravestone with a pure smile and soft glint in her eyes. Deep down, Cindy knew it's only her magic that could make these moments as close to reality as possible; her tears always began to flow like a restless river of pain.

“His- His name is Erebus. He's...not like anyone else I've met or been with. He's kind. Gentle. Respectful. Talented, shy, guarded and mom, he's so beautiful.” inside and out but she couldn't say more per moment. Viola silently smiled and waited for her daughter to continue as she always did.

“He's an artist. A musician as well. We've both been helping each other in different yet so similar ways. He both can sing and play the guitar and he definitely didn't expect my voice.” the tiniest laughter before emerald blurred with liquid fire glanced up the radiant woman

“You would like him. I love him and I think...he feels the same. I really love him mom.” Cindy hasn't admitted it out loud so clearly before “I only didn't ask him to come with me visit you because...” because I'm not sure if he can. If he would get hurt for getting out of Hell. And I don't know the depths of horror I would unleash if he's harmed.

“Maybe an another time? If it's alright with you” the figure didn't respond no matter the agony pooling in the eyes that held the very universe within

Cindy unconsciously moved to hug her, desperate, foolish and hopeful that one day, it might be different. She passed through the semi transparent glowing stardust of a figure; an inhumane yet so human wail of agony tearing from her throat. Rivers of fire began to flow uncontrollably, her pain searing into the marble as swirling burnt orange with faint stars trapped within.

Hours passed till she somewhat could regain composure, after all she wasn't done yet. Haunting melodies carried by the wind filled the empty cemetery, a soul beyond repair singing her unquenchable sorrow. She sang without regard of strain, not when her only audience could never hear the true depths of her gift.

Sang until she collapsed against her headstone, trembling hands slowly readjusting the flowers of the crown while half conscious. It had to perfect. Just like she was. Cindy couldn't remember her eyes falling shut, her body giving away a year of exhaustion as she slept undisturbed, safe from night terrors, cradled in her mother's lap.

If you ever have a 'weird, unhinged, strange, etc' idea: always tell me. I might just make a genius plan from it with a few changes.

“Your species have nothing to do with the natural distrust life taught me, what the fuck do you perceive me as?” it was a miracle that her tone was still as sharp as she wanted to be, despite Morpheus' threads' restless pull

“Might have the power of one but I don't exactly have a God complex. Turn towards Heaven for better examples.” she was prideful, yes. Arrogant to a degree. But she had her reasons and power to back it up. And after a life cut short of suffering, kindly allow her to announce she can and will remove any obstacles in her path how she sees fit.

The low rumble of ice cold panic at the words alternative payment was impossible to ignore. Nor she planned to.

The situp was color blurring quick, her weight supported by her right arm despite the silent protests of chiseled yet quivering muscle. The exhaustion wasn't mirrored in cutting jade eyes fixed on him with a piercing stare of judgment itself. Something else lurking beneath her orbs, not quite infernal nor celestial; it shifted with unnerving fluidity like magma rolling from volcanic mountains.

Only after the silent conclusion did she allowed herself to fall back, finally listening to her physical aches as well.

“I will think about it. You are attractive.” blunt instead of playful, she was tired to play the games she usually entertained herself with

For @phoenixborn​ from (x)

“Nothin’ more than to know you’re okay, ain’t often folk look ready to fight a whole ring and at the same time appear to be workin’ on fumes and the willpower of a God… Hard to believe an imp would want nothin’ but ya best for ya huh?”

Striker continued to caress her head, the hair felt silky smooth as it trailed through his fingers. Knowing more than most, he knew how the strong would hate to be perceived as weak or in need of attention by anyone they didn’t trust, yet Striker was in the unique position that he often had gotten to be good at in getting into situations where folk would trust the bartender/saloon owner, he was a public figure, but one people could feel safe with talking to, at least in an emergency.

“If it’s impossible to think so, then let’s say a kiss on the cheek, that’s the alternative payment if Nothing is not good enough for you.” A chuckle before a soft hum escaped him, some people demanded to be able to pay, either to feel better about themselves or that they didn’t trust the imp’s -no payment required- option.

I headcanon Cindy BITES into her ice cream not only because she's warm enough that it probably doesn't hurt her teeth but also to intentionally freak others out

Make a headcanon!

...I haven't considered her ice cream eating habits but her temperature is definitely too high to calmly enjoy it so, yeah she does before it melts. And after witnessing the reaction it only fueled this approach.

Status: approved✅ with the addition that she definitely plays the typical 'licking the ice cream sensually' too.

Migraine thought: 90% of the time, human Striker fanarts make him look like a young Hungarian bandit from the early 18th century & it has me double checking with a scrambled mind.

Hungarian bandits (betyár) were basically cowboys with swords and whip instead of revolvers so-