09-02-2015, 12:31 PM
else
even angels have their wicked schemes
Hooves crunched in the sand along the shore and she turned quickly in the water to trace the silhouette with a flicker of suspicion burrowing into the mangled notches of her ruined face. It was a familiar shape, and it wasn’t, it lacked the wings she had grown accustomed to seeing, the blood-scent she had grown used to smelling. But it was Caius, she was sure of it. Hastily she chanced one last furrowed glance back towards where the Beach sat in the distant darkness and then hurried out of the waves to meet him halfway on the drier shore. She didn’t want him to know what she’d been doing – not because she had a habit of keeping secrets from him, but because she didn’t want to invite any more ghosts into his restless nights.
Her chest trembled and her skin shivered as she drew alongside him in the dark. Her eye moved immediately to his back, to the twin wounds nestled against the smooth black. Her stomach lurched and bile rose in the back of her throat. The craters reminded her of how the ground looked after a storm uprooted a tree from its resting place. Yet, there was something about the way the blood pooled and congealed in the lip of the nearest wound, about the way flesh had been torn from flesh and now refused to heal that seemed achingly familiar. Her muzzle lifted cautiously to the wound, her nose smearing a thin trail of blood that had seeped over the edge of the wound. It left a stain of burgundy across the scarred side of her nose but she didn’t notice.
“What happened?” Her voice was just a whisper of sound, an apology etched into the darkness as she realized how long she had been gone this time, how much she must have missed.
But she shakes her head at his question, her heart stuttering with quiet anxiety at the way he’s draped in the metallic stink of blood and a sourness that warned of infection. Suddenly her desire to unravel those fragile secrets, the jagged pieces of her past, paled in comparison to the disorienting gore of his wounds. She wants to promise him that she won’t leave again, won’t disappear with the stars when the sun touches the horizon, but there is only a silence laced with guilt when that knotted half-face lifts to his. He deserves something more than her pocked and ugly love, something whole, something that wouldn’t turn ruinous when their ghosts came to find them. But she’s too selfish to tell him, too selfish to push away the realest thing she knows for sure. Instead she takes the tangles of his impossibly dark mane in her lips and buries her cheek against the crook of his warm neck.
Her chest trembled and her skin shivered as she drew alongside him in the dark. Her eye moved immediately to his back, to the twin wounds nestled against the smooth black. Her stomach lurched and bile rose in the back of her throat. The craters reminded her of how the ground looked after a storm uprooted a tree from its resting place. Yet, there was something about the way the blood pooled and congealed in the lip of the nearest wound, about the way flesh had been torn from flesh and now refused to heal that seemed achingly familiar. Her muzzle lifted cautiously to the wound, her nose smearing a thin trail of blood that had seeped over the edge of the wound. It left a stain of burgundy across the scarred side of her nose but she didn’t notice.
“What happened?” Her voice was just a whisper of sound, an apology etched into the darkness as she realized how long she had been gone this time, how much she must have missed.
But she shakes her head at his question, her heart stuttering with quiet anxiety at the way he’s draped in the metallic stink of blood and a sourness that warned of infection. Suddenly her desire to unravel those fragile secrets, the jagged pieces of her past, paled in comparison to the disorienting gore of his wounds. She wants to promise him that she won’t leave again, won’t disappear with the stars when the sun touches the horizon, but there is only a silence laced with guilt when that knotted half-face lifts to his. He deserves something more than her pocked and ugly love, something whole, something that wouldn’t turn ruinous when their ghosts came to find them. But she’s too selfish to tell him, too selfish to push away the realest thing she knows for sure. Instead she takes the tangles of his impossibly dark mane in her lips and buries her cheek against the crook of his warm neck.
and you take that to new extremes