"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
Look. At. Me. The words clang inside her skull, echoing with the viciousness of his emotions. Still, she refuses to crack her eyes open. She cannot fear what she cannot see (even if she has seen so much worse. Seen beasts more gruesome, more fearsome. This though, is somehow different. He pushes the fear on her like a recalcitrant child, forcing upon her what she most adamantly does not want).
She ignores his words, the deceptively soft kisses upon her cheek. And as she does, a plan slowly - achingly so - begins to form. Even hindered by her fear addled brain, a plan coalesces. She hadn't been chosen queen for no reason, and fear only serves to make bravery stronger.
So she opens her eyes. His visage is beastly, terrifying and disgusting all at once. And when her brother's decaying face flickers briefly over his, she withdraws into herself, preserving herself in the only way she can. Her gaze, though unshuttered, grows distant and unseeing, her mind turning inward.
Perhaps she would find Wyrm. She could take her revenge on this beast herself certainly (death is the only thing she truly has to fear, and this stallion cannot inflict her with it). Once the fairies have seen fit to regift her with her powers, Bruise is the one who should fear. But Wyrm would enjoy it. And she would enjoy seeing this horrible stallion tremble beneath the beast Wyrm could become.
These thoughts of revenge serve to distract her, enough to regain a small portion of her composure. So, she laughs. She laughs in the face of fear. Despite the trembling of her heart and the stiffness of her spine, she throws that in his face. ”Find someone… else to be your… whore,” she grits out, icy blue eyes locking on his. She would never scream for him.
Then, she lunges. It is feeble, but it is the best she can manage at the moment. Besides, it is only meant to serve as a distraction. Something to pull him away from his games enough to allow her to flee. With teeth and hoof, she comes at him, seeking out any piece of skin she can find.
Then she turns and runs, steps stumbling but determined. Before, she never would have considered running. But she knows how to pick her battles, and this is not one she could win.
But she had waited too long. Her limbs are weary, her muscles fatigued from her invisible fight. Still, perhaps he had grown tired of his games. Perhaps he wouldn't pursue.
She doesn't believe it even for a minute.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
He is delighted by her laughter, delighted by the words she barely gets out between gritted teeth. His laughter joins hers, twists through the air and echoes around them, and he continues to laugh as she lunges for him, side-stepping quickly—his motions faster, smoother than any normal horse had the right to be. He escapes unscathed from her attack and twists his head, sighing like a disappointed child as she makes a break for it. “Oh, darling,” he calls after her, twisting the landscape around her—keeping it dark, keeping the path long, the distance stretching onward forever. Let her run and run and run.
Let her think she could ever find escape.
Clucking, tongue pressing against the back of his teeth, he picks up his own pace to pursue her. His speed is alien, cloven hooves skimming over the forest floor as he catches up to her. He loves this game, loves this part, and his heart thrums in his chest, despite the sweat that dampened the sooty gold of his coat. He reaches out for a moment, mouth grazing over the curve of her hip before he pulls back and then comes up along her other side. He speeds up enough to match her weakened pace, finding it easy.
Reaching over, her buries his nose in her neck, drinking in the nectar of her fear and finding that it sated him. But the gift had been given, and he grows bored; she would not break today, and he reminds himself to have patience. Great art did not happen overnight. It took time and effort and patience.
So he opens up the space between them, taking in the sight of her as she runs.
“We will meet again, love.”
Then he draws back, placing another kiss along her hip, and then comes to a stop. His fingers still pull masterfully on the threads of the Fear as he watches her race away, and his laughter rings out around her.
She will only return stronger, harder. More powerful. Even with the discordant laughter ringing in her ears, she can taste the sweetness of freedom, feel the breath of distant light. Hope combats fear in a way little else can. With her anger roiling inside of her, growing with each passing moment, she would be nigh unstoppable.
Her ears are pinned to her nape, heart thrumming a rapid tattoo inside her chest. She nearly kicks out at the first touch to her hip, but she resists, holding herself in check. She would not waste her energy on this cretin.
But then, he seems content to let her go, his last dark promise ringing in her ears as she runs, gaining speed with each step. She is not certain she trusts this reprieve, but she would not look a gift horse in the mouth. She would escape his dark hold, and then he would be the one to regret.
He should never have let her escape.
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts
picture c Petrova Julia.N
I'm not sure if you meant to end it here, but it's entirely up to you if want to reply or not She will have her Vision Manipulation back after this, so we can definitely start anew with that if you would like
She will have her Vision Manipulation back after this, so we can definitely start anew with that if you would like