omgkatsudonplease: a preview of my and @banacotta‘s piece for @yoimagiczine! it’s a mixe
omgkatsudonplease: a preview of my and @banacotta‘s piece for @yoimagiczine! it’s a mixed-genre high fantasy piece ;) i also have a promo ficlet for it that’ll also go up this weekend, my schedule permitting (since i’m travelling to china tomorrow!) A slim figure stands to the side of the late summer bonfire, arrayed in robes of blue so pale they’re almost white, sparkling like an opal in the dancing light. Long black hair blows gently in the twilight breeze, as unfathomably dark as the night sky, as smooth as silk. “Oh, no.” Viktor turns at the sound of Yura’s voice. His cousin’s brows are furrowed at the figure. “Him again. I still haven’t forgiven him for leaving the Sand-scourge campaign early the last time we went south.” “Don’t be rude,” rebukes Viktor, already half-breathless. “He lost his familiar. I’d have done the same if Makka got killed in the action.” Yuuri Katsuki, Hasetsu’s pride, slayer of the Great White Boar, is at this Harvest. Viktor had heard stories of how Katsuki had trapped the Boar into a cave and woven the strings of his enchanted koto across the entrance, slicing it when it tried to escape. All of them had invariably mentioned Katsuki’s untouchable beauty and icy aloofness, like the first gleam of a mountain snowcap at the crack of dawn. They truly were not far from the mark. So many years have passed since the first Harvest they had spent together, and all this time Viktor has been hoping they would cross paths again. The years have been kind to Katsuki, filling him out from a gangly adolescent into this devastatingly icy beauty. If Viktor had been a lesser man, he’d have assumed he’d fallen prey to his own illusions. Yura rolls his eyes. “Whatever. He’s old news, anyway. It’s not like he’s done anything cool since the stuff with the Boar. Just you wait, I’ll bag the most Fell Creatures this season.” “You’re probably more likely to run screaming like a kid your first night in the wood,” teases Viktor, looking out towards the distant twisted shadows of the forest, where the souls of the victims of the Fell were trapped beneath its leaves. “Shut up,” mutters Yura, though he undeniably shivers looking at the woods. “I’m almost sixteen. That’s how old you were when you captured the Firebird.” Viktor sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Go dance, Yura,” he dismisses. Yura scowls. -- source link