03-07-2021, 04:33 PM
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The heartsick fool does not stir until the faeries appear.
(Although there is some strange, troubling electricity in his chest that hums in time with a pulse that does not belong to him -- it belongs instead to the stark white mare, someone he’s never met but whose life force charges through his veins.)
He lifts his weary head and finds their glow through the honeyed haze of his tears, swallowing hard against the ache in his throat. It makes no difference to him what the monsters are made of when they have taken from him the only thing in the world that matters but he has no voice to object. He drags in a shaky breath and merely listens, the sick, sick heart crying out for Plumeria.
<i>Take me,</i> it cries, <i>please, take me</i>.
(Strangely he feels some distant pang of pity for these monsters, their fear and loneliness, lost, aimless. Is that not all he has been reduced to now? Is he not precious little more than a fragment of a shattered soul separated from the best part of himself?)
These names (the magic entities the faeries list) are not familiar, though they should be. Jarris has been foolish, immersed in this near-perfect life he and Plumeria have built over the last several years. These last several years in which he has stayed, where he has done nothing but love her the way she deserves to be loved.
The faeries separate then, one will rescue and one will distract. A choice that is no choice at all for the gray stallion wearing his crown of thorns, his cheeks burned with gold. He moves to join the first fairy and those who have already gathered around it, including the white mare whose life force pulses in his veins.
He still has not recovered his voice, so he simply bows his head.
He will be part of the rescue, but it is not the entities that he’s after.
</div><div class="jarris_title">I WAS READY TO DIE FOR YA, BABY
DOESN’T MEAN I’M READY TO STAY</div></center>
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The heartsick fool does not stir until the faeries appear.
(Although there is some strange, troubling electricity in his chest that hums in time with a pulse that does not belong to him -- it belongs instead to the stark white mare, someone he’s never met but whose life force charges through his veins.)
He lifts his weary head and finds their glow through the honeyed haze of his tears, swallowing hard against the ache in his throat. It makes no difference to him what the monsters are made of when they have taken from him the only thing in the world that matters but he has no voice to object. He drags in a shaky breath and merely listens, the sick, sick heart crying out for Plumeria.
<i>Take me,</i> it cries, <i>please, take me</i>.
(Strangely he feels some distant pang of pity for these monsters, their fear and loneliness, lost, aimless. Is that not all he has been reduced to now? Is he not precious little more than a fragment of a shattered soul separated from the best part of himself?)
These names (the magic entities the faeries list) are not familiar, though they should be. Jarris has been foolish, immersed in this near-perfect life he and Plumeria have built over the last several years. These last several years in which he has stayed, where he has done nothing but love her the way she deserves to be loved.
The faeries separate then, one will rescue and one will distract. A choice that is no choice at all for the gray stallion wearing his crown of thorns, his cheeks burned with gold. He moves to join the first fairy and those who have already gathered around it, including the white mare whose life force pulses in his veins.
He still has not recovered his voice, so he simply bows his head.
He will be part of the rescue, but it is not the entities that he’s after.
</div><div class="jarris_title">I WAS READY TO DIE FOR YA, BABY
DOESN’T MEAN I’M READY TO STAY</div></center>