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+---- Thread: [private] tired of feeling lost; marlyn. (/showthread.php?tid=13023)
tired of feeling lost; marlyn. - Ashley - 01-08-2017
He had run.
His very blood predicated that he would not return, either. His mother had run. To his knowledge, she was still running. She had never been a parent to him, other than giving him life, and he had very much done the same with his own offspring. That he was considering changing his ways this late in life—after all he’s done—well that was not to be thought of. He refused.
Upon the beach, flopping about as a fish, gasping for air, he had left Marlyn in his cave, looking beyond him, hoping for… something. Something that was not his to give. Something he no longer had possession of…
Because unwittingly, he had given it all to her.
And in his fear, he had run like hell.
And in his wake he had left a gift. One night in the peace of their limestone cave, he had left a part of himself that would stay with her. He knew by now she must be aware that she was to give life to their child, whatever he may be. Ashley could not fathom the depth of his failure that he had dropped the ball on her.
But dammit if he couldn’t get her from his mind.
She plagued him as she always had—those soulful, trusting eyes that looked to him as if he held the world in his metaphorical hands. He was nothing more than the warrior who held a sword and watched over the kingdoms. Ischia was his home, his lifeblood. He had never meant to steal a queen from her throne.
His was a story not to be repeated, and yet he had done just that very thing.
He takes a chance, stepping out of the trees and into the sun, hoping above all hope that he would not find her here. However, there was business he had that would take him to the mainland.
God help him if he ever sees Marlyn again.
He would never be able to let her go.
ashley
I walked the path, it led me to the end.
@[Elle Belle]
RE: tired of feeling lost; marlyn. - Marlyn - 01-10-2017
RE: tired of feeling lost; marlyn. - Ashley - 01-12-2017
censored censored censrored
ASHLEY
He should turn. He should run.
A century—he has lived more than a century. He has had love before in his time. Love is easy to find. He has had women. He has even had a great love. Oh, Murphy. How his heart hurt when he thought of Murphy. The days bled together until there was nothing left of the world. And then Charlemagne, that wicked child, had sealed him up… it all went black
But even then, he had his wits about him. He never lost himself in the eyes of another. He was always in control—he’d had to be. First general, and then King—and then Lord. His duty first was to the land. It had always been, and Ashley was determined to make it always be. So when he hears his name being called out as an echo, he knows he should turn and run.
But he is frozen to his spot, as if his hooves have melted him to this patch of land—or as if the very roots of the earth had dug up and grabbed him about the ankles. He was well and truly stuck; and he knew it.
Even his magic could not save him this time.
She approaches him from behind—he is not hard to spot against the snow. Reddish buckskin, amber eyes, and deep ginger hair. He is shorter than she is, but older; rugged, powerful. But oh so tired. He can smell her; flowers and saltwater. It is enough to send him over the edge. She smells like the ocean and he finds that he even lacks the ability to turn around. He hears her say his name again. His eyes narrow, and his heart freezes in time. He was a warrior. A King. He could not be swayed. He could not be conquered.
He does not move. A gentle breeze picks up and sweeps his hair behind him, and he drops his head to the snow, nosing it with a velveteen muzzle, his ears reverting backwards. Ashley stops—breathes.
In a low dulcet one, he speaks few words. Few, but precious. “It’s a boy, isnt’ it?”
A century—he has lived more than a century. He has had love before in his time. Love is easy to find. He has had women. He has even had a great love. Oh, Murphy. How his heart hurt when he thought of Murphy. The days bled together until there was nothing left of the world. And then Charlemagne, that wicked child, had sealed him up… it all went black
But even then, he had his wits about him. He never lost himself in the eyes of another. He was always in control—he’d had to be. First general, and then King—and then Lord. His duty first was to the land. It had always been, and Ashley was determined to make it always be. So when he hears his name being called out as an echo, he knows he should turn and run.
But he is frozen to his spot, as if his hooves have melted him to this patch of land—or as if the very roots of the earth had dug up and grabbed him about the ankles. He was well and truly stuck; and he knew it.
Even his magic could not save him this time.
She approaches him from behind—he is not hard to spot against the snow. Reddish buckskin, amber eyes, and deep ginger hair. He is shorter than she is, but older; rugged, powerful. But oh so tired. He can smell her; flowers and saltwater. It is enough to send him over the edge. She smells like the ocean and he finds that he even lacks the ability to turn around. He hears her say his name again. His eyes narrow, and his heart freezes in time. He was a warrior. A King. He could not be swayed. He could not be conquered.
He does not move. A gentle breeze picks up and sweeps his hair behind him, and he drops his head to the snow, nosing it with a velveteen muzzle, his ears reverting backwards. Ashley stops—breathes.
In a low dulcet one, he speaks few words. Few, but precious. “It’s a boy, isnt’ it?”
and the girls caressed me down ughhh that's that lovin' sound
HTML by Call
RE: tired of feeling lost; marlyn. - Marlyn - 01-13-2017