06-07-2021, 01:56 PM
He asks if she likes stories, and she has only one beat of her already drumming heart to realize that this question is rhetorical and he means to tell the story regardless. It’s good, probably, because he may not have had much patience for her answer if she’d had time to give one. That she liked some stories but had found not all of them were worth hearing. Yet somehow she is sure this one will be different, though she isn’t certain why.
She is surprised to find that he is a good story-teller though, that his voice is the perfect kind of evenness, his tone it’s perfect match. She watches his eyes flash like rubies, the surfaces so bright it almost feels like they are reflecting everything but the truths hidden away inside them and she finds she cannot look away. He has her enraptured in a way very few things can, and for several long moments her delicate gray and gold face is as open to him as any evening sky. She listens to his story, and there are moments where a smile starts to curl in the corners of her mouth only to disappear again at what can only be a reflection of things that seem not quite right - a love story in every way except the secret truths only the boy knew.
There is no question in her mind that the boy is Obscene, for he is certainly not the King of Fire and who else would know this story so intimately.
She feels so quiet inside when the story is done, and there is a gentle kind of frown on her lips that pulls furrows into her delicate brow. “Maybe it’s better that they left,” and she pauses there, torn for a moment between saying you and him. But she chooses the word he had used because the implication of you holds an unbearable kind of weight even on her tongue. “Better that they left him behind with just a story, so that he could find something more than the weight of their legacy. Find a family of his own choosing.” She frowns, and for a moment the story burns through her like a fury to which she knows no equal. “No. He deserved more than that. They should have done better.”
But then she is quiet, fighting a storm inside her chest as wild as the one that rages around them and hides her face beneath a fury of whirling golden mane. In the growing storm-dark her tattoos glow even brighter, almost as vivid as the lightning flickering across the bellies of the clouds as she glares up at them. It is only the sound of his voice that pulls her back to him. She turns, and her eyes are bright and burning, an aching blue every sky in every world would be jealous of. For a split second she thinks he’s calling her obscene, and she rankles at the insult until she realizes that this word is his name. Obscene. Suddenly this word is more than an insult, more than ugly, it is a beautiful dark face with jewel-bright eyes and a cunning smile that lights fires inside her chest. “No.” She says, and she’s half shouting over the wind and rain as it darkens them both. “I’ll wait to decide that until I know you better.” And in the wildness of the storm she doesn’t realize that this is like a promise to stay, a promise to know him if he’d ever be brave enough to let her try.
It is too hard to be guarded when the storm that unfolds around them is the twin to the living pain inside her chest. She steps closer to him, lifts her mouth near his ear where he can hear her voice over the thundering gale. She ignores the way he smells like summer and salt and something that must be distinctly him. “Sometimes I wish I had wings so I could just jump.” She tells him, and her eyes are as alive and wild as the lightning flickering in her periphery. “Sometimes I think I might jump anyway. Maybe I'll become a bird and fly away, or a fish and swim.” She steps away from him so that her toes are at the very edge of the cliff and she is looking down at the dark, frothing waves below. “Maybe I’m lightning and the storm will take me with it when it leaves.” But he’ll only hear that last part if he had been foolish enough to follow her to the edge. She turns to him, searching his face with that unspoken question, her face almost beautiful in the wild carefree way she watches him. Is he brave enough to jump with her?
She is surprised to find that he is a good story-teller though, that his voice is the perfect kind of evenness, his tone it’s perfect match. She watches his eyes flash like rubies, the surfaces so bright it almost feels like they are reflecting everything but the truths hidden away inside them and she finds she cannot look away. He has her enraptured in a way very few things can, and for several long moments her delicate gray and gold face is as open to him as any evening sky. She listens to his story, and there are moments where a smile starts to curl in the corners of her mouth only to disappear again at what can only be a reflection of things that seem not quite right - a love story in every way except the secret truths only the boy knew.
There is no question in her mind that the boy is Obscene, for he is certainly not the King of Fire and who else would know this story so intimately.
She feels so quiet inside when the story is done, and there is a gentle kind of frown on her lips that pulls furrows into her delicate brow. “Maybe it’s better that they left,” and she pauses there, torn for a moment between saying you and him. But she chooses the word he had used because the implication of you holds an unbearable kind of weight even on her tongue. “Better that they left him behind with just a story, so that he could find something more than the weight of their legacy. Find a family of his own choosing.” She frowns, and for a moment the story burns through her like a fury to which she knows no equal. “No. He deserved more than that. They should have done better.”
But then she is quiet, fighting a storm inside her chest as wild as the one that rages around them and hides her face beneath a fury of whirling golden mane. In the growing storm-dark her tattoos glow even brighter, almost as vivid as the lightning flickering across the bellies of the clouds as she glares up at them. It is only the sound of his voice that pulls her back to him. She turns, and her eyes are bright and burning, an aching blue every sky in every world would be jealous of. For a split second she thinks he’s calling her obscene, and she rankles at the insult until she realizes that this word is his name. Obscene. Suddenly this word is more than an insult, more than ugly, it is a beautiful dark face with jewel-bright eyes and a cunning smile that lights fires inside her chest. “No.” She says, and she’s half shouting over the wind and rain as it darkens them both. “I’ll wait to decide that until I know you better.” And in the wildness of the storm she doesn’t realize that this is like a promise to stay, a promise to know him if he’d ever be brave enough to let her try.
It is too hard to be guarded when the storm that unfolds around them is the twin to the living pain inside her chest. She steps closer to him, lifts her mouth near his ear where he can hear her voice over the thundering gale. She ignores the way he smells like summer and salt and something that must be distinctly him. “Sometimes I wish I had wings so I could just jump.” She tells him, and her eyes are as alive and wild as the lightning flickering in her periphery. “Sometimes I think I might jump anyway. Maybe I'll become a bird and fly away, or a fish and swim.” She steps away from him so that her toes are at the very edge of the cliff and she is looking down at the dark, frothing waves below. “Maybe I’m lightning and the storm will take me with it when it leaves.” But he’ll only hear that last part if he had been foolish enough to follow her to the edge. She turns to him, searching his face with that unspoken question, her face almost beautiful in the wild carefree way she watches him. Is he brave enough to jump with her?
REVELRIE
it feels like falling, it feels like rain,
like losing my balance again and again
@[Obscene]