Kiss me again
Kiss me until I am sick of it
Loss is an old friend to the young immortal. Just one of the many reasons that motivated him to strike hammer to steel and build the cruel jagged shield around him, piece by hardened piece. He assumes his parents are dead. No, worse, he hopes they are. It was the only acceptable answer for not seeing them for as long as he had. For not knowing where they had gone off, why they had removed themselves from his presence and withdrawn their love and affection. He was just a child. And he was left alone. Even the fae family that had helped him survive had vanished in the end. Sure they had left their gift, a rebirth as one of their own. Yet it doesn’t fill that wide empty ocean that churns within him. It’s not enough.
Sometimes in the long stretches of early morning hours before the sun rises, he finds himself heading towards the southern cliffs to gaze over the shadowed waves of the sea. When he wakes from dreams he would rather forget and the nectar cannot remove the edge, he travels and he watches. He comes often enough that the mist of sand and salt clings to the sleek tendrils of gold and ebony that whip against the metallic highlights of his chiseled face, intertwining into the fragrance of wild jasmine and lavender that mark his residence of the flowered lands. When the black waves foam and rage beneath his hooves, matching the storminess of his mood, he loses himself in the heat of his hatred. Feeds it little strips of paper written in the curled ink of names of everyone that had ever hurt him. Every bad thing that had happened. The flames lick around the edges, curls of mahogany that burn until they vanish into ash. The flame rises as it feasts and he sinks into the warmth of his hatred like a soothing bath. Allows it to wrap around him so for just a moment he doesn’t feel so damn cold. Sometimes he stands for an hour. Sometimes, like today, he’s still there long after the sun comes up.
He hates Cheri more than ever. He has to, he must. If he doesn’t drown in his disdain for her then he will drown from despair instead. One hurts less than the other. The ghost of her kiss still lingers after all this time on his dark honeyed lips and it makes his stomach twist in uncomfortable knots, making the corner of his mouth curl in that smug smile. As if nothing bothered him at all. Aela is a presence that he thinks of with more pleasure but even she is terrifying in her own right. Of the little way she presses against the smooth rings of his chainmail as if she might just be able to slip past the links that hold him together, that make him what he is. The chaos she could cause is overwhelming to think of. He thinks about it often.
There is much he has learned having resided in the Pampas for awhile now. He’s starting to come to know his home, to find the secret paths and hidden secrets that lay buried amongst the flowers. She is one of them, one of the mysteries he has yet to solve. Snatches of monochrome amongst the wild sea of vibrant petals. A glint of gold that bounces off the bright sunlight of the afternoon. She always evades him, a slippery ghost of the rolling hills and unruly meadows. The red-eyed stallion knows there are some that avoid him while still calling this place home. They don’t bother him so he doesn’t bother them. Let them haunt the poppies and hide amongst the hills. They were still his people and he feels a strange sense of obligation to them, a family that chose to stay. One that did not abandon him even if they didn’t acknowledge him.
Her scent is one that he’s come across often but has never been able to locate the face to match. Yet now it floods his senses as a burst of cloudy energy pushes it’s way past from where he stands. For a moment his red eyes simply blink in disbelief at the audacity of her boldness. Obviously she has no clue who he is or perhaps she would be wiser. But then she turns to him, a cold blast of ice amongst the fire of his explosive hatred, with a snappish admonishment to his presence and an even further turn of her nose to his recent activities. Oh, so she does know who he is.
Whatever shock on his face quickly fades as the smug smirk curls wickedly at the corners of his impish mouth, the red of his eyes dark and glittering. Besides the cruel twist of his lips, his features are that of cool disregard for both her presence and her judgements. His gaze wanders along the trails of gold, similar in some ways to the molten markings smeared along his own skull and chest. She holds the dewy beauty that most with immortality have and he doesn’t find the storm of her coat or the stellar patterns along her face unappealing despite the lack of appreciation she had for herself. It wasn’t surprising, he had always been drawn to storms.
“Is that why you avoid me?” He murmurs, curiosity staying his biting tongue briefly although he originally thinks of lashing back at her. Debauchery, well, she wasn’t wrong. It’s not as if he can deny it. “Jealous? If you wanted an invitation all you had to do was ask darling.” He sneers at her, his own expression as cold as the crystal blue of her eyes. “And I believe all of this is actually mine.” There’s a soft hiss to his words, one he hadn’t intended to release, but he doesn’t think much of it. More than likely a simple slip of the tongue.
Obscene
@[revelrie] <3