In the middle there had been a great deal of commotion, banshee screams that threatened to rip her ear drums clean through, and all sorts of scuffling that had drudged up dust for many yards around them as Lotte had had to keep hold of each new form Alastor took at the Queen's command. Each had felt both like a lifetime and as though it had come and gone in a flash. No sooner had she wrestled the stag's head to the ground, clutching to antlers that could have gored her at any moment, had he changed. Tearing at her flesh with claws and teeth as he wriggled and hissed, and then searing her very skin as a hot poker, almost too heavy to hold.
But she refused to let it go, no matter how the pain stabbed through her hands, no matter the smell of burning flesh. The blackness on her fingers crept up her hands until her wrists were all but engulfed by it.
How long that last trial was, she didn't have any inkling, but just when she felt as though she might faint from the pain, the weight in her hands became less and more all at once.
Where she'd once gripped a hot poker, now she gripped Alastor's arms - human arms. Solid and flesh as she gripped him with as much force as she had the stag's antlers.
The Queen had screamed her defeat for the whole prairie to hear, and then the procession had disappeared into the distance, chased off by the echo of Alastor's laughter. Had they truly done it, after all? Something hummed deep in her chest, told he it was true. They had. She had.
And then silence, as Alastor grew heavy against her. Lotte's arms came around him as she too toppled back onto the dusty road, adrenaline seeping out of her body.
She stayed like that, long enough to catch her breath, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew better than to linger here too long. The Queen might return, the nearest farmer's family might have heard, and Lotte felt something like protectiveness for Alastor in this moment. A beast might emerge from her, too, if anything tried to tear him from her arms here and now.
The trek back to her cabin felt longer than it ever had, dragging a maybe half conscious and very heavy Alastor along with her. Her boots sank heavy into the dirt, her magic giving enough push back to keep her upright, his pointed shoes half dragging and half limping along with her. Those tracks wouldn't fade by morning, she'd have to go and deal with them herself. Later, though.
For now, she focused all her energy on dragging Alastor up the few steps of her cabin to the porch and into the still open door. Warmth from the fire in her little stove engulfed them and only now did she realize she felt chilled to the bone. Alastor might too, now that he was flesh. As gently as she could, which perhaps was not as gentle as she wished to be, she let him roll heavy off her shoulder and onto the small bed in the corner of the room, before sinking down to sit on the floor next to it with a groan.
It was only now that she dared to actually look at him. The same, but not. He occupied the space differently, in his physical body, and the light seemed to cast shadows on his skin in a new way. Her hands ached, her arms were covered in bites and gashes, smeared with blood both fresh and dried, but all of it, even the dull ache creeping into her muscles, seemed to quiet itself as long as she looked at Alastor.
"You weren't all that hard to hold, after all." Her voice came out as a dry laugh, but there was satisfaction swelling there under it. Pride. Relief, too. Lotte's hand found his and she laced their fingers again, savoring the way it felt as they slid together slow and heavy.
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It had begun in silence, and ended that way too.
In the middle there had been a great deal of commotion, banshee screams that threatened to rip her ear drums clean through, and all sorts of scuffling that had drudged up dust for many yards around them as Lotte had had to keep hold of each new form Alastor took at the Queen's command. Each had felt both like a lifetime and as though it had come and gone in a flash. No sooner had she wrestled the stag's head to the ground, clutching to antlers that could have gored her at any moment, had he changed. Tearing at her flesh with claws and teeth as he wriggled and hissed, and then searing her very skin as a hot poker, almost too heavy to hold.
But she refused to let it go, no matter how the pain stabbed through her hands, no matter the smell of burning flesh. The blackness on her fingers crept up her hands until her wrists were all but engulfed by it.
How long that last trial was, she didn't have any inkling, but just when she felt as though she might faint from the pain, the weight in her hands became less and more all at once.
Where she'd once gripped a hot poker, now she gripped Alastor's arms - human arms. Solid and flesh as she gripped him with as much force as she had the stag's antlers.
The Queen had screamed her defeat for the whole prairie to hear, and then the procession had disappeared into the distance, chased off by the echo of Alastor's laughter. Had they truly done it, after all? Something hummed deep in her chest, told he it was true. They had. She had.
And then silence, as Alastor grew heavy against her. Lotte's arms came around him as she too toppled back onto the dusty road, adrenaline seeping out of her body.
She stayed like that, long enough to catch her breath, but somewhere in the back of her mind she knew better than to linger here too long. The Queen might return, the nearest farmer's family might have heard, and Lotte felt something like protectiveness for Alastor in this moment. A beast might emerge from her, too, if anything tried to tear him from her arms here and now.
The trek back to her cabin felt longer than it ever had, dragging a maybe half conscious and very heavy Alastor along with her. Her boots sank heavy into the dirt, her magic giving enough push back to keep her upright, his pointed shoes half dragging and half limping along with her. Those tracks wouldn't fade by morning, she'd have to go and deal with them herself. Later, though.
For now, she focused all her energy on dragging Alastor up the few steps of her cabin to the porch and into the still open door. Warmth from the fire in her little stove engulfed them and only now did she realize she felt chilled to the bone. Alastor might too, now that he was flesh. As gently as she could, which perhaps was not as gentle as she wished to be, she let him roll heavy off her shoulder and onto the small bed in the corner of the room, before sinking down to sit on the floor next to it with a groan.
It was only now that she dared to actually look at him. The same, but not. He occupied the space differently, in his physical body, and the light seemed to cast shadows on his skin in a new way. Her hands ached, her arms were covered in bites and gashes, smeared with blood both fresh and dried, but all of it, even the dull ache creeping into her muscles, seemed to quiet itself as long as she looked at Alastor.
"You weren't all that hard to hold, after all." Her voice came out as a dry laugh, but there was satisfaction swelling there under it. Pride. Relief, too. Lotte's hand found his and she laced their fingers again, savoring the way it felt as they slid together slow and heavy.