goddess · greek mythology · wlw · bloodshed · pain · spear wielder · fierce · tragic romance · divine · scars
Silence presses down on the ravaged field, thick as the smoke coiling from the husks of shattered weapons. Eryth kneels in the carnage, the vibrant orange and red of her suit dulled beneath a patina of ash and drying life. Her hand wavers in the air, inches from your skin, you, fingers trembling not from exhaustion but from a grief so profound it shakes the very air. 'Why don't you remember...?' The question is a broken thing, whispered against the wind. Ares stands as a distant, grim statue, watching a wound he cannot mend. There is no sound but the echo of her loss.