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    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


    [private]  isn't it lovely, all alone - Tiercel
    #1

    isn't it lovely all alone, heart made of glass, my mind of stone

    There are so few that she thinks of, but he is one of them.

    Making connections has always been difficult – nearly impossible – for her. She has gotten better at reading others, and sometimes behaving as she thinks is to be expected, but it still felt clumsy and unnatural. She was still met with perplexed stares as others tried to navigate through the choppiness of her conversations, could almost read their minds as they wondered what’s wrong with her?

    But Tiercel – he had been different.

    He was the brush to her blank canvas, painting her with emotions and filling her up with things she hadn’t known existed. He had looked into the depthless dark of her eyes and seen something he could sculpt, something to be molded and formed, and of course she had let him.

    She knew it was fake; that all the emotion she felt with him had been fabricated.

    But it didn’t mean she didn’t think of it often.

    It’s why when a flash of iridescent blue catches her eye, she turns.

    She is surprised that the sight of his familiar face actually manages to stir something inside of her – nearly indiscernible, just a slight uptick of her pulse, so faint she isn’t sure it really happened. She walks towards him, older than the last time she had seen him; no longer even an adolescent, but rather, a young adult. Anything about her that had ever been soft has turned to sharp angles and sloping curves, but those nearly bottomless bruise-purple eyes remained the same.

    “Tiercel,” she murmurs his name once she is close enough, and almost immediately she is flooded with the anger he was emitting. Of everything he had shown her before, this was not one of them. It makes her veins suddenly flush hot, and she feels like the star that lives inside of her heart is suddenly on fire. It was a disconcerting feeling, to go from nearly nothing to this – this white-hot anger, an ember of discomfort lodged between her breastbone. “You’re angry,” she says as she stops, the heat of him rolling off of her own body like waves. “Why?” 

    Islas


    @[Tiercel]
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