05-14-2018, 04:10 PM
the secret of our world is written in the stars
He decides that he would stand there for eternity if that is what she asks of him. He would become a statue beneath the snow and the rain, there to hold her and comfort her the only way he knows how. It is times like these that he wishes for something more than just his wandering heart - could he not have something useful, something to help her? He has no idea what that ‘something’ could be, but Svedka cannot help but feel entirely useless in this moment; whispering sweet nothings will not change whatever darkness has come across her eyes, a comforting embrace could not undo the damage that has already been done. Even now he cannot fathom what has been done to her (he is so innocent, despite his many adventures and lovers), and could not even begin to comprehend what could have happened to make her react to him (a male) in such a way.
So when her voice becomes dimmer, quieter (ashamed?), he leans in closer. His stomach curls with the twisting of ice that pools there, a sense of foreboding washing over him as she speaks to him in short phrases - broken and choppy - that he tries to piece together as quickly as possible.
Using me.
I fell for it.
He didn’t want to...wait.
Svedka’s heart shatters with hers.
He has been many places and with many people, and the ancient dance of love-making is both beautiful and as old as time. He cherishes it with each partner he’s had, to worship the sun and moon with their bodies, to give in to instincts and be truly as you are with another. It is precious to him, and though Ilma does not voice what has happened specifically, he knows what has happened. Someone (something, for he is no longer a person) muddied the beauty that is this ancient dance in a way that Svedka finds utterly repulsive.
And poor Ilma, its victim.
“Oh Ilma,” he breathes shakily, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes fall closed behind tightening lids, squeezing them shut as he presses his face into her mane, imagining her fear, her panic. He should have been there, he should have protected her. Something like anger thrums beneath the surface of his gold-and-white skin, his jaw clenching tightly. “This darkness will not stain you forever,” he tells her, curving his neck around her in a strong and sturdy embrace.
He will not get away with this.
So when her voice becomes dimmer, quieter (ashamed?), he leans in closer. His stomach curls with the twisting of ice that pools there, a sense of foreboding washing over him as she speaks to him in short phrases - broken and choppy - that he tries to piece together as quickly as possible.
Using me.
I fell for it.
He didn’t want to...wait.
Svedka’s heart shatters with hers.
He has been many places and with many people, and the ancient dance of love-making is both beautiful and as old as time. He cherishes it with each partner he’s had, to worship the sun and moon with their bodies, to give in to instincts and be truly as you are with another. It is precious to him, and though Ilma does not voice what has happened specifically, he knows what has happened. Someone (something, for he is no longer a person) muddied the beauty that is this ancient dance in a way that Svedka finds utterly repulsive.
And poor Ilma, its victim.
“Oh Ilma,” he breathes shakily, his heart hammering in his chest. His eyes fall closed behind tightening lids, squeezing them shut as he presses his face into her mane, imagining her fear, her panic. He should have been there, he should have protected her. Something like anger thrums beneath the surface of his gold-and-white skin, his jaw clenching tightly. “This darkness will not stain you forever,” he tells her, curving his neck around her in a strong and sturdy embrace.
He will not get away with this.
(be my escape)
Svedka
@[Ilma] <3