05-11-2015, 03:21 PM
And in the darkened underpass I thought,
"Oh Satan, my chance has come at last!"
"Oh Satan, my chance has come at last!"
She needs him.
For weeks (or has it been months?) she has told herself that she doesn't need him, but there is a pit in her stomach every time he breaches her thoughts. Every moment that she spends looking into her daughter's autumn eyes Myrina finds herself confused and in an inward battle. Her lips purse tightly shut in consideration as Nayl peers up at her. "Mother," her voice is silky for one so young and there is so much hidden strength woven into it. Their gaze levels onto one another for a lasting breath before Myrina turns away. The meadow opens in front of them, unraveling like a carpet as though this is her grand entrance after so long; her grand return, really (but it isn't grand at all). "Perhaps you'll meet father today," she doesn't promise her daughter because there is a chain of doubt that holds her back. She wants to see him again, to feel the warmth of his body, but it has been months. Likely he has forgotten her and she wishes she could do the same.
Myrina could never admit to him how he entices her, drawing her from the shadows, and holds her eyes for so long. Love doesn't exist, she always heard from mother. Children should be borne to power, not adoration, but Myrina doesn't want to follow in Echion's lonely footsteps. Alas, she also doesn't want to be weak and manipulated by something so fickle.
They travel at each others sides while sparing few glances until they stop where the sun reigns high above them and bathes them in light. "Nayl," she whispers her daughter's name on soft lips before reaching down to brush her forelock aside. He will come, Myrina doesn't say before turning her attention back to the meadow.
For weeks (or has it been months?) she has told herself that she doesn't need him, but there is a pit in her stomach every time he breaches her thoughts. Every moment that she spends looking into her daughter's autumn eyes Myrina finds herself confused and in an inward battle. Her lips purse tightly shut in consideration as Nayl peers up at her. "Mother," her voice is silky for one so young and there is so much hidden strength woven into it. Their gaze levels onto one another for a lasting breath before Myrina turns away. The meadow opens in front of them, unraveling like a carpet as though this is her grand entrance after so long; her grand return, really (but it isn't grand at all). "Perhaps you'll meet father today," she doesn't promise her daughter because there is a chain of doubt that holds her back. She wants to see him again, to feel the warmth of his body, but it has been months. Likely he has forgotten her and she wishes she could do the same.
Myrina could never admit to him how he entices her, drawing her from the shadows, and holds her eyes for so long. Love doesn't exist, she always heard from mother. Children should be borne to power, not adoration, but Myrina doesn't want to follow in Echion's lonely footsteps. Alas, she also doesn't want to be weak and manipulated by something so fickle.
They travel at each others sides while sparing few glances until they stop where the sun reigns high above them and bathes them in light. "Nayl," she whispers her daughter's name on soft lips before reaching down to brush her forelock aside. He will come, Myrina doesn't say before turning her attention back to the meadow.
But then a strange fear gripped me and I just couldn't ask.