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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    their silent thunder matches mine; any
    #3

    and if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones
    ‘cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs

    Adna has been trained in diplomacy. Her father has taken her along on his diplomatic trips and although he is more warrior that silvertongue, he has guided her through it all the same. Still, the memory of it—that fuzzy thought of her fanged father gently whispering in her ear—is enough to make her flinch and recoil and forget all of it. She wants to lash out and she feels a lightheaded need to do something reckless.

    To be her father’s daughter and sink her fangs into flesh for the first time.

    To gain firsthand knowledge of what he means when he says that they are monsters.

    She is dizzy with the instinctual need and the fear of herself and the warring desires within her and she closes her reptilian eyes against the headache that begins to brew. When she opens again, she is seeing through a predator’s eyes, watching the heat map of the land around them (the child coming looking more like prey and less like a friend) and she gasps, blinking again desperately, regaining her normal vision.

    “Hi,” she says, her voice a little tight, on edge. She doesn’t want to hurt this girl, she reminds herself. She is not her father. Her blood is not cursed. She swallows again and tries to think of her mother, tries to remember that gentleness and tries to remind herself that it is her birthright as much as the serpent.

    It is enough to steady her nerves. Enough that she is even able to choke back the pain when the girl asks about her scales. Bile rises in her throat and she shakes her head. “My dad,” she manages. “I look like my dad.” It was once something she was so proud of—something she practically boasted about at every opportunity—and now she can barely get the words out. “My name is Adna.”

    adna

    we're setting fire to our insides for fun
    collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home



    @[Eurwen]
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    Messages In This Thread
    their silent thunder matches mine; any - by adna - 01-12-2019, 05:00 PM
    RE: their silent thunder matches mine; any - by adna - 01-17-2019, 01:58 AM



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