[private] We still have everything [Malis]

[Killdare]

± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±

The cold, he can really feel it now. Winter’s chill creeps up gently on the back of autumn’s cool breeze and the Chamber King must once again endure it.  It is not that the cold is unbearable, it is not that he is unable to deal with  the crisp air that threatens snow with each passing day, it is only that he must- he has no choice anymore. The Chamber King had made a mistake, had chosen the wrong path and in return he had been punished, they had all been punished. Perhaps King’s are only people too, they are not exempt from the consequences of their actions, nor do they always know the correct turn to take on the road of life. Still, he can’t help but miss the familiar fire that once coursed through his earthy skin, especially now that the seasons were turning.

Alas, instead of focusing too heavily on the loss of his gift, Killdare instead takes heed of what is still familiar- what is still left to him. The worn path on which his heavy feet tread for example, the dirt cleared of grass long ago and barren from use. It is something small like this that he can set his mind on to keep himself from outright grief. He had so much left still, like a Kingdom, a family, a herd. A passing crow catches his eye, the oil sleek feathers catching the light just right as to go from black to blue. Bruising in color with the assistance of the sun’s rays and that reminds him of the best things left to him. Malis and his children.

Of course the indigo mare had been keen on him, thank the Gods, else the bay stallion would have lost his mind. He was lucky to have her, to have found her even in her unfortunate circumstance that day, even heavy with child- a child that was not his own. That’s not to say that he hadn’t treated the girl with a regard as if she weren’t his own blood, each passing year he saw until she had grown into a fine woman, just as he would for any of them. It seems the focus of familiarity is also something to bring a gentle persuasion of memories this day, ones that make him frown and smile. It’s when he is smiling that he finds the end of his course, the woman that plagued his thoughts in all the good ways just ahead. He couldn’t help but to stop for a while, to simply stand and watch her from a distance, enjoying the simplicity of this privilege.

If ever the Gods made someone’s match she was his, even if on the outside they were like night and day. Inside they were fire and air and fed each others souls in ways Killdare could not begin to explain. He called to her then, gently coaxing a greeting from his broad chest to rumble forth. It had been ages since they were alone, at least to him, just she and he together without their children. For some time he had been trying to find a moment to be with her, to spend an evening without the burdens of ruling on their shoulders. “Malis,” he wondered after her in his deep baritone as he drew closer to where she stood.

KILLDARE

King of the Chamber

its not great ;-; sorry.ily.

[Malis]

"we pull apart the darkness while we can"

She basks in the cold, in the ice of a world that promises winter will soon be upon them. The trees with leaves are now golden and brown, bare in some places, and the branches remind her of the long spindle bones she had seen gleaming from the carcass of a mare in the forest. They are knotted and uneven, dark and brittle, and when the wind rises among them they sway and reach like hands for the blue of her indigo skin. The pines are in stark contrast though, ever strong, ever solid, ever green. They stand like sentinels along the borders, peppering the forest and the edges of the clearing.

Her face is as dark as it ever is, blue and black and pooling with the shadows that spill over from nightmares and impossibilities. Grumblesnakes had found her again, played with her like a toy until by some chance she had broken the magic that bound them together and denied him his fun. It had felt like a victory, albeit a small broken one, but where before he had held her trapped and ruined, where before he made her blue and immortal wholly changed, this time she had left unchanged. Unchanged physically – her soul had not gone unscathed, but what difference would a few new holes make in something already torn wide open. But then Pollock had found her again too, that watery gold stallion with great curving horns atop his skull, and she had remembered that her life held no victories. They would always find her, they would always break her. It was the only life she deserved.

The sound of something in the near distance draws her attention like the snap of a whip. For a moment her eyes are dark and wild, feral while they sift through the shadows that pool beneath the trees. It is only when his scent finds her in the wind, dust and pine and winter all mixed together, that her expression changes, softening, and something like a smile winds across her dark mouth. He calls out to her and the rumbling sound of his voice feels like electricity sparking beneath her skin. Her body responds before she can, eager, instinctive, and in an instant she is at his side. She pushes her mouth against his neck, hungry for the soft flutter of his pulse against her lips. There is too much in her world that has been false, too many nightmares and impossibilities, too many things to make her ever take this sliver of perfection for granted. But his veins beat in time with the pounding of his heart  (will it beat faster now with the heat of her mouth pressed against him) and it is enough to convince her of his utter realness.

She shifts at his side, turning languidly so that the point of her hip is pressed to the hollow of his flank, and the hollowed out line of her shoulder is flat against his. She is so greedy for this closeness, so ugly for the affections he willingly gives – ugly, because she does not deserve him. Where he is whole and perfect, she is ruined and twisted, and the fear that one day she will taint him sits like a stone in her chest. But is has been so long since they were last together in a moment untouched by worry or regret or guilt, so long since she had last traced those thick, curving lines of muscle and sinew with the soft of lips the color of deepest night. So she stays with him, beside him, ruining him with the dark in her heart because she is selfish and she is broken, and he is everything.

“Killdare.” Is all she says in return, touching her mouth to the curve of his dark jaw with a smile only he is capable of coaxing out of her. There is a moment, a very brief one, where her face darkens and her eyes flash like cold stones because she knows she must tell him about Pollock. He is the King of their home, the father of her children, he needs to know when the devil comes sniffing around. But curled together like this, alone in the quiet of the Chamber’s trees, she traces the peace on his face and finds she cannot tell him. Not now. Instead, in that quiet way she finds with their bodies pressed together, she says, “I have missed this.”

MALIS

makai x oksana

texture © hexe78

ilyyyy <3 <3 <3