Sabra
The brittle-boned sails of my wings rustle against the cold that permeates inside and out as I regard the cruel lines of his face. It's not so different from his equine one. There's the touches of regal indifference that would sit the same on any skin he could choose to wear.
There's an understanding between us. The familiarity borne of shared experiences, even if many of those had pitched us against one another. Still, there had been good times, even if the good often came at a price. There had been joy in each other's pride, before we had known it would be our downfall.
My nod is curt in response to his addition, the joke of mortality a stark thing. It is only natural then, that he would wonder about such a thing that he might never find. I shrug at the question, take a long moment to consider just how to describe it. The act of death.
(Better off dead)
My lips peeled back in disdain of the voices, eyes focused on the internal battle. My voice, when it came at last, was toneless. "It was lovely. Freeing. When I had driven away any and all who might have once cared for me? It was a blessing." Now I'm back, and adrift once again. The thought of yet again having to carve out a place for myself in the world is an exhausting one, but there's little choice, is there? Existence is battle.
(You were never a worthy opponent)
I watch with muted curiosity as he shakes and the bronze tint of his ridged spines bleeds across the rest of him. Fun little party trick. My brow arches as he speaks, and it seems I'm to get the abridged version of his history circa since we last parted ways. Not even a history, it is merely an overview of the ways life has not changed him. My expression goes a bit feral at the idea of him heart being ripped out. "Surely they'd have no complaints if you offered your heart to them. But then again, what have they done to deserve such a thing as a dragon's heart?" I think very little of the fairies.
It's none of my business though. He can rip his own heart out and feed it to the wolves in front of my own eyes, and it would still not be my business.
(You wish it was)
He's as haunted as I am, even if the voices aren't so clear.
"I wouldn't be so sure." I look away, tail whipping erratically against my hocks. The weight of his gaze draws my eyes back to his, when they follow the line of his sight to where it rests on the rod of wood nestled in the muscle of my chest. It's growing more blood stained where it meets my skin, the porous material absorbing the burgundy liquid hungrily.
The memory of the deepest caves, of the eldritch nightmare, where teeth and hateful memory were forced down my throat. A shiver of nausea coursed the length of my spine. "Oh. Well. You know me," the words were quiet when they fell from my tongue. "I just can't seem to shake my knack for getting on the wrong side of monsters."
Maybe I hadn't learned as much as I'd thought.
I wanna be Immortal, like a God in the sky
I wanna be a silk flower, like I'm never gonna die
Photo by Kareva Margarita
@[Castile]