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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


    the night's hard to get through, wonder & nightlock
    #1
    choke
    " choke this love till the veins start to shiver
    shut your mouth and run me like a river "

    Being born is a great and terrifying thing. He learns this quickly as his lungs pull his first breath into his lungs. The cold winter air stings against his wet noses, making him whimper as he slides into the snow-covered grass. Each mouth parts slightly to cough while all four eyes blink up at the blurred stars across the sky. The moon hangs fat and milky white above them to witness the birth of a very special kind of monster this silent winter night. He weakly lifts his head as his newborn instincts urge him to find his mother when she doesn’t rise to groom him.
     
    It takes him longer to stand than most and he gives little sighs of frustration until he’s finally up on wobbly little legs. He is all knees and ribs but his faces are each soft and sweet like Capture’s once he spots her. The boy carefully toddles closer to her and gives a small cry for her affections but she is too weak to rise with him now. Capture’s newborn son doesn’t know the word for the red splashed over his body and across her tired hips yet something in his gut makes all four eyes go dewy and scared. Still, his mother smiles when she hears him approach and she uses that last ounce of life in her to pull the water from the snow. It mists across each of his faces and caresses his cheeks the way she’d like to kiss them.
     
    Her mouth opens to name him and confess her undying love for her boy but the last grains of sand spill from her hourglass. Instead, she can only sigh and smile as she passes gently into the night. Four tears run down his cheeks as the mist she’d controlled ceased its careful cleaning and grooming. The droplets fall to the ground and he stands there, shivering and afraid. Covered in blood.
     
    What now? He whimpers once more and blinks the tears from his eyes but his vision remains blurry despite his best efforts. His little jaws open and close as he tries to find some words to make everything right. But it is too cold, too dangerous out here for him to stay, and he must leave his mother’s cooling body before someone else finds them. The boy kisses her face with each mouth before he begins to stumble away. He’d like to tell her thank you but he doesn’t know how much good it would do.
     
    The only sound that comes from him now is a soft weeping that sounds an awful lot like the word ‘choke’.
    @[wonder] @[Nightlock]
    #2

    — I'll break you a hundred different ways —

    It was rare that even the basest need of sexual hunger struck him. He has lived countless years, and only sired one child; that he knew of. But something about Wonder stirred to life everything he tried to keep buried, and even though he has traced nearly every curve of her wound-laced body, something kept him from making her completely his. When he could feel his control slipping, when he could no longer shake away the increasing thoughts of what her bone-armored body would feel like beneath his, he found a substitute.

    He never bothered to learn her name.

    But when he was walking through the depths of Tephra – skeletal and plain, with the light of the moon glinting off the animated bones that somehow still carry him – he cannot mistake her face, even as it lay dead and expressionless on the ground. There is nothing to be found on his own face, of course – just the harsh, unforgiving angles of his bones and empty sockets – but even without the ability to show it, he felt virtually nothing. He had no attachment to her, and the only thing that stirred at all was the fact that she had clearly birthed a child that was nowhere to be found. He stares at her for a moment longer, silent and unmoving, before slowly continuing on his way. A pity, but not his problem.

    It is a good distance away that he finds him, still damp and covered in the blood of birth. Even though he doesn’t want to, he puts the pieces together. The boy had the same green as the corpse he had just left behind, and what are the odds of finding a dead mare and a wandering newborn so close to each other. But the faces...that wasn’t quite right. It is impossible to see, but the scrutinizing way in which he is looking at the child is clearly him trying to find a way to reason that this abnormality was most certainly not his. There was the possibility that the mare had been with another besides him; there was nothing about this boy that looked like him at all.

    And so, much like with the mother, the skeleton stallion begins to walk away.

    — and I'll make you remember my face —

    Nightlock


    @[Choke]




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