the glass candles are burning; any

[Wayra]

Wayra couldn’t say what it was about Kirin, but for sure, it was something. She moved a little closer, and her chill moved with her. She didn’t touch him, didn’t get too close, but if she imagined, if she pictured it in her head, she could almost feel what it would be like to touch him. She could almost feel his warmth. And then he spoke of death. Wayra stopped and tilted her head, her face going vacant like a bird’s, or a marble statue.

Oh, Wayra knew something of death. It was, perhaps, the one remaining truth in her life. She had died, the fact that she was living now did little to dissuade her of it. She had died, slowly and painfully, but here she was. The moment felt like it had come full circle, and Wayra smiled, distantly, coldly. The boy with the purple wings and the spider smile knew her better than even he could have realized. They were two very different creatures, but they spoke the same language.

She did not, however, have the means of expressing that, and so she listened, letting his words and silence wrap around them like a cloak. He circled around her, and Wayra let him, hooves rooted to the spot, shard of ice and snow cracking the living earth beneath her. Then he did it, he spoke of family. Wayra was sure he could hear the audible crack that ripped through her chest at the word. Her brand, stamped in the center of her breast burned, and her veins seemed to turn icy and cold. Very, very quietly, Wayra murmured.

“I used to have a family.” She used to have a mother, a sister and a father who loved her. She had clung to them, like a burr clung to a dog. Then she had been taken, her world had been rendered, and now the Wayra that stood before him was not that girl, and had no family. Her glittering black eyes caught his. The sounds that floated to her ears were incomprehensible. It took her a while to puzzle them out, and she turned them over and over, delicately, like a child held a precious heirloom. Finally she understood, finally she saw he was offering her what she had lost, or, at the very least, a shadow of it. Either was better than she had allowed herself to home.

“I’m a resident of the Chamber, being held in the Gates.” Wayra’s eyes twinkled a little then, for it was very funny if you were in the mood to laugh. She was not in the mood, but she could imagine the possibility. Wayra, it would seem, found her way into many a chess game.

“But, in six months, I would like to meet them, your family.” Wayra said the word, family like one might utter a prayer, or a curse. It hurt, the memories of belonging. They were like a physical blow, but Wayra, numb to all but the ice and cold, bore it well. She bore it like another deserved lash across her back. She watched him, steadily, cautiously, for she knew well what could happen in six months. She wondered if she would be freed from the Gates to find him waiting, or if this too, would become another dream. Perhaps this meeting, like the memories of before, would be one more thing for her to turn over in her head, to admire, when nobody else was watching.

Wayra

the glass candles are burning

OOC: Sorry for the delay! I'm on semi-away until the end of the month, but I wanted to get this up.

[Kirin]

SO RICH, SO PRETTY

The arctic follows her, every step she makes. When she moves closer to him, he watches her carefully, and notes the fog that hangs on his maw. His breath becomes accentuated by the cold, each exhale clinging to his whiskers.

Family. A powerful word, and her reaction to it does not go unnoticed. Kirin knew a thing or two about family. Family was forever, it was essential and important. Family sticks together, they look out for their own, and be damned if anyone fucked with his. His Mother had imparted this notion on them all, whether his Father felt the same is unknown, but Killgore insisted he had- and so it was true. His uncle, though strained as he was with them at times, was of the very same learning.

She once had a family, he nods to show he is listening, because this opportunity was one of importance. He had to have her, she was his already as far as he was concerned. He imagined whisking her away to the Cove where he would have use of her, and her talents. Gains, my dear, gains.

It may be curious for some that did not know him well, his immediate venom for her statements. Not the part about living in the Chamber, that was were his uncle stayed- and he held them no ill will. No, that wasn't the problem, it was that last bit. ..being held in the Gates.. Immediately his mind screamed Tioga!, his hazel eyes flashed with anger. Through gritted teeth he responds, "The Gates you say? I thought that..nevermind." His mouth snaps shut and he is silent, it is apparent his mind is working viciously over this information. She's done this to him, he is sure of it, though how she had known of his meeting with Wayra he didn't know.

His lavender head snaps up, staring the blue girl in the eyes with ferocity, "Who, who took you there?" It's a growl, that ripples up his throat, one that snaps and clamps it's teeth. Almost a demand as it bursts from his lips. Soon he is laughing though, and he braces himself to brush her neck with his mouth. "Six months, or sooner." He chants into her skin, before pulling back from the frost, and claiming her eyes again. "I will not simply let this go Wayra, I will not simply let you go." All he knows is that he must have her, all he knows is the Gates is to blame for the inconvenience he's been caused. The Gates and his abjured sister, Tioga.

Soaring sadist of Silver Cove

: ) : ) : ) no problem

[Wayra]

Wayra felt like her ice was cracking. She felt like it might fly to pieces and scatter about. Part of her longed for it to be gone. Part of her yearned to hear the sound of ice shattering. But, she was also afraid, afraid because that ice was her heart. This time, if she died, Wayra did not think she would be brought back. This time, there was no gray god to play games.

Would it be so bad, to just be gone? For a while now, Wayra hadn’t thought so. She hadn’t cared one way or the other. But now he was here, and he was very much alive. He was so very unlike her. Perhaps, here, in this purple boy, was something other than ice and snow and silence. He was fire, and if he burned her, well, at least she wouldn’t be so cold.

And oh, was he burning now. Wayra watched him through dark, unreadable eyes. He was angry, incensed even, and she watched it with fascination. Without even knowing what she did she took a step closer, and her lips parted, ever so slightly. Here was passion, here was fire. She let it wash over her, and she shuddered. It felt warm. She sighed, and it felt like her skin stopped jittering, it felt like her heart beat normally, just for a second. When she opened her eyes she tried to answer.

“I’m not sure. A mare? Wichita I think her name was.” Wayra tried to remember more details, tried to give him something to feed the anger in his eyes but suddenly stopped. His muzzle brushed her neck and the shock of it, the sensation of flesh, warm flesh, on her own caused her to hiss. Her neck went stiff, and she began to recoil, for he felt so warm. She was sure that steam would rise from where he touched.

But then she remembered. The shock gave way to memories, memories of being warm, memories of sunlight, of family. She leaned towards him, her eyes closed, hungry for all that he was and all that she wasn’t. To her surprise, tears began to fill her eyes, and somehow, against all odds, they were hot too. She swallowed them back, for he would leave soon, he would not stay like this forever, with his muzzle on her neck. Soon she would be cold again. She mustn’t get used to anything else. Her expression momentarily shattered into longing, hardened again as she looked into his eyes.

“I’ve heard there are those who achieve their desires.” Wayra paused, thinking about what it would feel like to want something and to get it. She couldn’t believe that she would. She didn’t dare think about that for herself. But for him, Kirin, she could imagine such a thing was possible. He did not seem used to disappointment.

“Perhaps…” She paused, feeling she was dangling over a cliff with nothing but miles of open air below her.

“Perhaps you are one of them.” And so there it was. Hope. A tiny, dangerous sparkling glint far at the back of her eye. Hope.

Wayra

the glass candles are burning

OOC: Woohoo! I'm back and will be more responsive.