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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


    tell me how the night will be; ivar
    #1
    His charm does not fail him, never has. Or else Ichor is just far too susceptible to it to know otherwise. But his gentle touch is causing quite the uproar in her heart and brain, simple yet functional organs that often only exist for flower-nectar and names. Until he shows his beautiful scaled self to her and Ichor basically forgets how to function properly. Her heart stutters and skips beats, and her brain becomes scrambled as if he is a being of pure light too bright and blinding for her poor moth-made self to behold.

    It is his gentle touch on her side that steers her down the right path; the one of blind trust as she replies, “Okay.” Hypnotic demand or not, he’s been the only constant in her life besides the moon, moths, and flowers. Ivar. Ivar. Ivar. Without the influence of his hypnosis, she probably would have followed him regardless. She doesn’t hear the roar, or has disassociated herself from it because he is subtly guiding her towards the water and this island of his that she is now interested in seeing.

    Ichor couldn’t fly there, her wings would never hold her aloft for more than a couple of minutes. Too frail for a mare’s heft but she supposed they would swim there, since he’d convinced her to use her gills and taught her the basics of swimming. She is so thoroughly convinced though, by the red and yellow and pink, and the sunsets - both contained in a hibiscus bloom and coloring the horizon that she’d have come anyway, anywhere, once he asked it.

    So she steps further into the sea, feeling the warmth of tropic untroubled waters lap at her skin like she is cream on a kitten’s tongue. Her compound eyes fracture the sea back into a thousand sunlit pieces that she easily becomes disoriented and says his name, “Ivar.” It comes out in a cross between a plea and a prayer as Ichor sways in the sea, her wings trailing atop the waves until pulled down - until she is pulled down. Her gills flutter and begin to function in place of her nostrils, filtering oxygen out of the water.

    Here, it begins to get a little clouded by the sand she stirs up before she just hangs there, suspended. She tries his name again but it comes out as a gurgle and Ichor gives up. He was always more masterful at this than she’d ever be, strange creature that she was. Not meant for air or sea, but somehow not of the earth either. Ichor looked to him, blue and gold and dazzling even underwater. She almost sighed, but decided it just might be the death of her.

    @[Ivar] so she decided she wanted to come back out and play. i took some liberties - if that’s okay - and figured they’d end up in the sea. let me know if i need to change anything! ❤️
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