Sweet as the Grape

Absinth’s mind wandered as her knife spun through the air, embedding itself with a solid thunk into the bark of an old log by the waterfall. She stepped forward, pulling the blade free before taking a few measured paces back. Her movements were deliberate, each throw steadying her thoughts as much as her aim. The roar of the waterfall was almost hypnotic, drowning out the lingering ache she couldn’t quite shake.

Her thoughts drifted to Indica. The child had enjoyed watching her practice, eyes alight with quiet curiosity. As she lined up her next throw, Absinth’s focus sharpened as she let the blade fly once more. The knife struck true, yet the image of Indica lingered, as much a part of her aim as the throw itself. A rustling in the grass caught her attention then, pulling her back from memory. She turned, catching sight of a familiar flash of red fur moving through the clearing, and the subtle ache within her twisted, transforming into somber warmth.

Absinth watched her daughter with a mischievous smile, but she couldn’t miss the fidget in her paws or the slight hesitation as she approached. Then, the question came, innocent in its delivery, yet unmistakably seeking something more. Ah. My curious girl.

Absinth let the words linger, and for a moment, her gaze flickered back to the waterfall. Well. She supposed this wouldn’t be the last time one of her children wished to know, so why not start from the beginning, nice and proper? "Listen up, save any big questions until the end, got it?" she began softly, "Khroma, is not like this land, Sericea. It’s a place where colors seem to fade away, where life is painted in shades of gray. It’s cold. A place where a King has never outlasted the next challenger, where chaos reigns above all else. Vices take root there—or they are born there rather, and mercy... mercy is a fragile thing that dies quickly. Just like everything else." She looked down at Sericea, her gaze steady, laced with a strange sadness. "I was born and raised there, where betrayal is commonplace, and trust—trust is a weapon that will always be used against you." Absinth hummed, her lips splitting in mock delight as she continued. “For all its lawlessness, it is a place so strict even to this day I could be hunted down and killed for leaving. Isn’t that fucking hilarious?”

"Absinth Artemisia Inferos"