ORIGIN - you shall give me your loyalty, evermore

"It is almost time, my dear child. You shall live once again, whoever you were."

Where were they? Somewhere dark, but warm, but also cramped. They breathed and they gasped for air, but nothing but fluids filled their lungs. How long had they been here for? They remembered greens and blacks; they remembered strange sensations in their throats and red. That was somewhere else, somewhere far away from here.

Where were they? Perhaps somewhere not as far as they thought? The place the remembered, the somewhere else had walls wider than these ones - they could stretch and roll for hours without hitting anything, but now, at the slightest turn of their head, they hit a wall.

Fear. Panic. Urgency built within them. They began to thrash and kick and hit at the walls surrounding them. They cracked and they splintered, until the fluids surrounding them fled and they were left in the remains of their prison; coughing and spluttering for air.

... Where were they? Somewhere dark, but brighter than before. In the yonder, there was green. They closed their eyes, and remained still, panting for the fresh air.

@Midas

It had been 30 days, give or take, since he revived that one stone. The serpent had checked on it a multitude of times, watching as the peridot grew larger and larger. Today, the shell was shattered.

Coiled tightly about a tree branch, Midas had observed. Eagerly, lime eyes took in the sight of the chrysalis glowing to reveal the silhouette of a struggling neonate within. The crystals broke apart to reveal a slick and wet creature. Flicking his tongue out, he watched the russet hued creature struggle to their paws and heave for breath. They were almost draconic in features—thanks to father Midas!—with a thick mane that covered all of their under- and topsides. From the crown of the amalgam sprouted the beginnings of green horns.

His heart really melted as he took in the sight of his newborn daughter.

Uncoiling from around the branch and slithering headfirst down the trunk of the mighty tree which he'd perched on, the serpent approached. "Marigold," he crooned. That was her name. The first child of Midas was Marigold. "Marigold Gildenleaf." It was a shame she did not bear the golden crown of her father... but she'd be a perfect princess regardless. He'd raise her to be so.

Lime green eyes softened as he approached and he put on a sweet smile, tilting his head almost curiously at the child. "My daughter," he whispered.

@Marigold

ooc: ignore the attempt, it was an accident

Daughter.

She. She didn't like that. Marigold - her name - that was fine. She. Daughter. That was not fine. The thick black fur stood on edge as she stared at her alleged 'father,' forked tongue flickering out briefly. "Daughter," she repeated.

"Father," an independent word. She was beginning to draw connections; as much as her mind could. She stood, thin and wheezing, and stared at the anaconda. It lacked her legs, her fur, but it had her scales.

There was no doubt about it. This must have been her father, by blood. The air leaving her lungs hissed like gas lost from a pipe, escaping her aching chest only to suck in more air. It hurt. She tried to pay it no mind. "Father."

She paced somewhat forwards, mind spinning. Her ears flickered - another thing Midas did not have - as it listened for more words to leave the snake's mouth.

@Midas

The thick mane of his progeny stood up as he spoke of her and referred to her as 'Daughter'. Midas blinked for a moment as he realized that perhaps she just didn't want to be confused. The first words to escape the amalgam's scaly lips were what he had said and a new word. Father.

Huh.

He was a father, wasn't he?

Smiling, he flicked his tongue out and nodded in approval, wiggling closer. Marigold's limbs were long and slender, and the scales of the creature had taken on a russet hue. Fur was present, so she must have been some mammal. Perhaps something akin to Damian. No matter. She'd easily believe that Hen is her mother... well, he hoped that she would, anyways. Well, she had her name. He lifted the tip of his tail and shifted so that it pointed to himself, "Midas Gildenleaf,"

Then, he was curious to see if she'd inherited his spell. Pulling at his magicka, he hoped for the best. His scales darkened and flicks of shadow began to drift off him. Blinking his still lime green orbs, he nodded towards his child and whispered, "can you?"

@Marigold

She watched. She observed. Daughter. It sat in her mouth, sour and burning. Her father lifted his tail, a new name. "Midas," she said. "Father."

She had the connection. Names were such a strange thing; but 'Marigold' was better than 'Daughter.' She assumed, by the name given, that Midas did not want to be referred to as 'Father.'

Her head tilted, black fur came over her face as she thought. The snake, her father, his scales began to turn black, and he whispered some words she didn't quite understand. What did he want? Did he want her to do the same? She could try.

Shadows clung to her skin, the only thing illuminated were the nubs of green coming from her head; but even they were coated in shadows after a few moments. In the shadow of the tree, she was practically invisible, fur blackened into an inky black, scales somewhat of a dark blue colour. The only thing visible were her eyes, reflecting light, glowing an eerie olive.

She stared. She waited.

@Midas

Nodding in response to his child's connections and ability to piece things together, he slithered closer and gently nosed the top of her crown. "And Marigold," he smiled and leaned back, tongue flicking out to taste the air.

As he faded, she attempted to as well, and she was more than capable. Pride surged in the gilded king's chest (do snakes have chests?) and he smiled. "Yes. Good job, my dear." His golden stone shimmered for a second as it spent the duration of the spell, and the serpent's scales returned to their familiar verdant hue.

Then, he peered up. "Do you hunger?" Did she own teeth like his? If so, could she hunt for herself? If she could, that would be fantastic... but Midas wouldn't mind if she was not.

@Marigold

A gentle touch to her head. The affection registered. Midas and Marigold. Father and daughter. The sour taste returned, but she understood now. Midas loved Marigold.

She wondered why.

Praise now. Dear. The horrible taste increased as she watched Midas carefully. The shadows clinging to his body began to fade until the green colour was visible. She shifted. Hunger. Was that what the tight feeling in her chest was?

"Hunger," the hybrid wheezed. Fluids still dripped from her body as she lifted herself up, still barely visible while in the shadows. Her legs shook. Too thin. Hardly working. The only thing keeping her standing was her tail, lifted evenly to keep her balance.

It hurt, somewhat. Perhaps she was a thing that was never meant to be - but regardless, she headed forwards, out from the darkness and into the light. The shadows clinging to her head seemingly melted off her and into the ground as her head came out, followed by her body.

She watched Midas, careful and wheezing, waiting.

@Midas

The amalgam wheezed once again, and Midas pondered it for a second. Was there something wrong? He'd assumed that it was perhaps just the shock of fresh air in a neonate's lungs. But... could he have done something wrong? Impossible. She was just surprised by the sensation of fresh air.

Marigold stood once again, thin limbs almost like sticks. They wobbled precariously beneath her weight, but her long and delicate tail kept her standing and balanced. The serpent hoped that those gangly limbs would give way to grace and beauty. Midas wondered how he'd feel if he had legs.

Midas smiled warmly and nodded as he flicked his tongue out. There was a scent in the air. Rainbow spinner, perhaps. Those annoying birds. They sung too cheerfully, even when you were killing them. So... he began his hunt. The serpent slithered towards the trunk of a tree, and began to spiral upwards, going around and around. His salmon hued tongue flicked out once again, signaling that the spinner was close.

Lime-colored orbs glinted as he quietly slunk onto a branch, a multicolored avian perched upon it with feathers ruffled out. It was a healthy sized male, perfect for his little creation. Teeth bared, he struck. Each tooth met their mark, and the bird cried out in mournful song before going limp. Before he felt the urge to swallow, the serpent spit out the bird. He closed his eyes and gently hooked one fang into it, carrying it a bit lopsidedly out of his mouth.

He would return to Marigold, and gently set the prey before her paws.

@Marigold