Along the Shoreline

She has so long prided herself on being a goddess, and yet Virgil cannot help the weakness that seeps into her. Raisa?s voice comes in, clear and confident, explaining just what this is. Virgil can feel it; she knows what it is, but it frightens her. She does not think the ebony woman realizes what power this gives her; the golden goddess wants to fall to her knees, to beg the other woman to end this agony, but she does not. Virgil does not know how to let her walls crumble; her ears flick back for a moment, before they go forwards. She cannot drop her confidence now, even when uncertainty creeps into her bones; she is matriarch, Empress, goddess, and none of these things leave room for uncertainty.
But oh how she wants it, oh how she yearns to step forth and fall into Raisa?s embrace. The woman proclaims that she wants more, and oh how Virgil understands it. She wants it too; she feels her heart pounding, and when Raisa?s flesh comes into contact with her own, she stiffens, her legs locking up and breath hitching. Oh she yearns to let go, but how can she? ?Raisa?? she says softly, a prayer of sorts. What sort of dark magic is this? What sort of song has this woman sung into her ears to make her feel so weak? For a moment her own head buries into the side of Raisa?s neck, comfortable there, inhaling her scent and memorizing it.
Virgil is afraid. Oh, she trusts Raisa enough, but the last time her heart felt this fondness it was abandoned. It is not fair, she knows, to compare Syrinx to this Queen. It is not, but she cannot help it, not when the wound is still so fresh that the shrapnel is still embedded. ?I?I don?t know if I can do this now. I?? she takes a step back, but she does not run. It is a compromise, and it scares her that her initial instinct is to run. She is a warrior; she has faced down grown men when she was not more than nine months old and not flinched, and yet this makes her feel like a mortal. All are folly in love, even the gods.