12-12-2017, 01:48 PM
Don't say I'm out of touch with this rampant chaos; your reality.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
Her heart is torn.
Never had she felt such a deep and driven tie to the soil as she did on the volcanic island. The thought of leaving it behind, of letting it be little else but ashes to ashes and dust to dust in her mind – it is a heavy weight on her mind. So young, she had been, when she followed Magnus with a son much too small still nursing against her barrel – but Magnus had long faded into the tattered and frayed pages of history, and that little one had grown and left her, too. Reckless and wild – a spitfire with a short fuse and a scathing temperament, she had been a force to be reckoned with, but time and experience had carved into her, whittling away her unruliness, shedding her of her insolence and arrogance.
But alas, all must come to an end, and eventually the tide would wash away the history she had etched into the soft and supple sand, adrift at sea once more – and she would be nothing more than a memory. There is a tendril of longing that she cannot imagine fading away with time. A piece of her, however small, would always belong with Tephra – but as his dark lips brush across her neck, and her gaze is settled into the deep and unwavering cobalt of his stare, and not even the bubbling magma cradled in the crest of the volcano could rival the heat stirring inside of her chest.
You are my home, he had said to her.
Her legs carry her steadily in a two-beat stride beside him, seamless, as if the bond held between them had always been. As if it were eternal - with no beginning, and no end to be seen. Beside her, her tightly bound feathers tuck closer to the curve of her gilded barrel, aching to be spread wide into the vast and open sky – but there is something to be said in the urgency of his stride; in the transformation befalling his dark features as miles and miles are crossed the way, relying on scent and sight and sheer will of muscle, as their ancestors had. The softened compassion she so often saw fell away, unsheathing hardened resolve beneath. Her slender neck is outstretched, and her teeth nip gently at the ridge of his shoulder. A reminder that she is beside him; that she would follow him anywhere.
And you are all that I need, she had told him.
Adrenaline surging through her veins, the boundary is crossed, and their legs carry them past the charred remnants of a forest ravaged by Offspring. Deeper and deeper into the woodland, and then suddenly, stillness. Her breath is shallow but apparent in soft puffs of fog, as the golden flecks of her hazel eye roves the dark shadow sheathing the thicket in a low-lying but dense mist. Her stare follows his own, tracing the lithe and slender indigo silhouette of a creature both insidious and infamous. She does not say a word – she merely carries Thana’s glowering gaze with intensity (with a glimmer of an unspoken threat; her posture erect and rigid as diamond sheathes her in a glittering armor while spines of bone rise across the bridge of her nose).
Now decide, Dahmer demands, and she is steady and still beside him while the warning of what would come to those who fail to stand down – waiting, should she need to, to make a believer of each and every one of them.
Never had she felt such a deep and driven tie to the soil as she did on the volcanic island. The thought of leaving it behind, of letting it be little else but ashes to ashes and dust to dust in her mind – it is a heavy weight on her mind. So young, she had been, when she followed Magnus with a son much too small still nursing against her barrel – but Magnus had long faded into the tattered and frayed pages of history, and that little one had grown and left her, too. Reckless and wild – a spitfire with a short fuse and a scathing temperament, she had been a force to be reckoned with, but time and experience had carved into her, whittling away her unruliness, shedding her of her insolence and arrogance.
But alas, all must come to an end, and eventually the tide would wash away the history she had etched into the soft and supple sand, adrift at sea once more – and she would be nothing more than a memory. There is a tendril of longing that she cannot imagine fading away with time. A piece of her, however small, would always belong with Tephra – but as his dark lips brush across her neck, and her gaze is settled into the deep and unwavering cobalt of his stare, and not even the bubbling magma cradled in the crest of the volcano could rival the heat stirring inside of her chest.
You are my home, he had said to her.
Her legs carry her steadily in a two-beat stride beside him, seamless, as if the bond held between them had always been. As if it were eternal - with no beginning, and no end to be seen. Beside her, her tightly bound feathers tuck closer to the curve of her gilded barrel, aching to be spread wide into the vast and open sky – but there is something to be said in the urgency of his stride; in the transformation befalling his dark features as miles and miles are crossed the way, relying on scent and sight and sheer will of muscle, as their ancestors had. The softened compassion she so often saw fell away, unsheathing hardened resolve beneath. Her slender neck is outstretched, and her teeth nip gently at the ridge of his shoulder. A reminder that she is beside him; that she would follow him anywhere.
And you are all that I need, she had told him.
Adrenaline surging through her veins, the boundary is crossed, and their legs carry them past the charred remnants of a forest ravaged by Offspring. Deeper and deeper into the woodland, and then suddenly, stillness. Her breath is shallow but apparent in soft puffs of fog, as the golden flecks of her hazel eye roves the dark shadow sheathing the thicket in a low-lying but dense mist. Her stare follows his own, tracing the lithe and slender indigo silhouette of a creature both insidious and infamous. She does not say a word – she merely carries Thana’s glowering gaze with intensity (with a glimmer of an unspoken threat; her posture erect and rigid as diamond sheathes her in a glittering armor while spines of bone rise across the bridge of her nose).
Now decide, Dahmer demands, and she is steady and still beside him while the warning of what would come to those who fail to stand down – waiting, should she need to, to make a believer of each and every one of them.
Ellyse
(The nightmare) I built my own world to escape