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Jourrael’s hair had once been the same pale silk as the rest of her people, the color of the webs in which their goddess held them in. It had not remained that way for long. At first the shift was nearly unnoticeable but over time, the smooth strands took on more and more red. It had taken several decades for her to realize the cause until one particularly bloody night had shifted it from a vibrant pinkish color to a deep red.
That had been the night she learned she wore the mark of her service to her Queen and that with each life she extinguished in Lolth's name, her hair would be dyed with the blood of her prey.
Jourrael had never minded the change in the first place but with this realization, she began to revel in it.
Leylas felt differently.
The slow change had at first fascinated the other woman, so much so that most nights that they lay together would end with Leylas’ hands running sweet strokes through the full length of Jourrael's hair, from her scalp to the very ends. It had been much longer then: another thing stolen from her with her defeat in the Divine War. Leylas, though... Leylas’ love was something she had begun to lose even before that.
Her lover had begun to drift away the deeper Jourrael had delved in the name of their Queen. Looking back, it was rather obvious how little her other half had been able to handle the calling that Lolth had given her. In those long ago days, Leylas had been one of many tasked with delving deeper into the underdark and bringing back resources to serve their city, and at first, Jourrael had thought that it was merely the extended time apart caused by the duties they held that stood between them. But when she had arranged for their down time to coincide (at the cost of the very night that had brought such a change in her hair’s hue), she learned just why she was being pushed away — and that it mattered more to her once-lover than it ever would to Jourrael herself.
They had spent the first few days of their interlude in a sweet haze of reaffirmed love and even sweeter lovemaking, Leylas’ growing distance a trouble seemingly soothed by the quality time together. All had seemed to go well until their second to last night of reprieve was interrupted by Lolth’s call for the blood of several traitors and blasphemers, nearly an entire Den’s worth. A call Jourrael knew was a test of her devotion and strength, one she answered despite the lure of Leylas sweet and warm in her bed.
When Jourrael returned from the deed done, slipping back into her lover’s arms after a quick clean, she had not thought it to be anything more than that: A test likely passed and the price paid for treachery.
The morning showed differently though.
After two breakfasts—each fulfilling in a different way—Leylas pulled her from their private chambers into the gardens of their Den with bright eyes and kisses sweeter than death. The walk was cut short, however, as Leylas stopped in her tracks, her expression slipping into the telltale distant gaze of an incoming Sending . Jourrael watched ice creep over her lover's face before the other woman tightened her grip and brought them back to their bedchambers.
Once there, Leylas dropped to the edge of their bed, something that had struck a strange kind of fear into Jourrael’s heart at the time. One that only grew when her partner raised piercing eyes to meet hers.
The argument that followed was vicious and damning, perhaps for both of them, though it was Jourrael herself who instigated the worst of it.
It was Leylas who drew the connection between Jourrael’s darkening hair and the blood spilled in their Queen’s name.
It was Leylas who asked if the visible staining of her soul was worth everything Lolth gave her for it.
It was Leylas who left.
All before the Divine War ever came to pass, the Calamity they called it now. After that Jourrael had begun to take pride in the hair that Leylas had foolishly scorned. Only to lose much of it along with her head.
Not that any of Jourrael’s history would stop her now — Lolth had begun to call once again for the blood she was owed, that of those who would spread treachery and blasphemous teachings. It was a test of her chosen’s devotion and strength once more.
A test that Jourrael would pass. There was at least one of these so-called ‘Kryn’ who knew the price for such acts well, after all.
Leylas would look good in red.