02-23-2021, 02:00 AM
choke them on the ashes of the dreams they burned
He has never met anyone besides his own family that had anything to do with darkness, but he feels it from her immediately.
He feels her touch him and he is surprised at the way he wants to recoil away from her, wants to pull his shadows all the way inside of himself where she can’t reach, can’t try to control them.
The tendrils do seem to shrink, tightening around him and somehow managing to define the equine shape of him. It is a grotesque thing, nearly skeletal, with the red eyes seeming too large without the dark billowing around them. But his curiosity quickly gets the best of him, and he finds himself moving forward. With what little light there was reflecting from the river there is the barest hint of his form detaching itself from the true darkness—the thick endless night they are in, much to his delight and the despair of most—until the shadows around him are only is own. They have loosened themselves back to their usual relaxed stance, with the long tendrils of mane and tail shifting and rippling in a wind all their own.
He is confused because she wields a power over the darkness and yet she is colored unlike none that he has seen. His family—at least the ones that took after his father—were made of shadows, like himself, though he was another breed entirely (he did not like to think about that; did not like to remember that he was not like his father, not like his siblings—he was something worse).
Ever aware of the differences between himself and Ether and the rest, her accusation of his eyes being the wrong color incites a flash of irritation. The rest of his family’s eyes were yellow, or the very least a warm gold. Even before he had been turned into this nightmare his eyes had been brown—still the wrong color. “I know,” the words snap in the air, surprisingly sharp from his shadowed tongue. But he regrets them, and though he cannot draw them back after they’ve already been spoken some of the smolder to his eyes seems to dim.
“You’re the wrong color entirely,” he decides to tell her, his tone still clipped, though now dulled from its previous knife-sharp edge.
He feels her touch him and he is surprised at the way he wants to recoil away from her, wants to pull his shadows all the way inside of himself where she can’t reach, can’t try to control them.
The tendrils do seem to shrink, tightening around him and somehow managing to define the equine shape of him. It is a grotesque thing, nearly skeletal, with the red eyes seeming too large without the dark billowing around them. But his curiosity quickly gets the best of him, and he finds himself moving forward. With what little light there was reflecting from the river there is the barest hint of his form detaching itself from the true darkness—the thick endless night they are in, much to his delight and the despair of most—until the shadows around him are only is own. They have loosened themselves back to their usual relaxed stance, with the long tendrils of mane and tail shifting and rippling in a wind all their own.
He is confused because she wields a power over the darkness and yet she is colored unlike none that he has seen. His family—at least the ones that took after his father—were made of shadows, like himself, though he was another breed entirely (he did not like to think about that; did not like to remember that he was not like his father, not like his siblings—he was something worse).
Ever aware of the differences between himself and Ether and the rest, her accusation of his eyes being the wrong color incites a flash of irritation. The rest of his family’s eyes were yellow, or the very least a warm gold. Even before he had been turned into this nightmare his eyes had been brown—still the wrong color. “I know,” the words snap in the air, surprisingly sharp from his shadowed tongue. But he regrets them, and though he cannot draw them back after they’ve already been spoken some of the smolder to his eyes seems to dim.
“You’re the wrong color entirely,” he decides to tell her, his tone still clipped, though now dulled from its previous knife-sharp edge.
torryn
@[Beryl]