12-12-2021, 05:37 PM
poseida—
She, too, had felt it.
The violent upheaval.
The way it echoed in the bones, jarred the teeth.
But she had not felt any impulse to investigate. It was not fear that kept her beneath the water’s surface but something else entirely: the understanding that no good could come from it. The understanding that whatever had caused the shift would not be a pleasant thing and so she had kept to herself.
She remains there still, in the cradle of the kingdom, lulled by the sea’s embrace. And she sees him from some great distance, the prince, just as he sees her. It is the smile that softens her to him, it has always been the smile, the light in his eyes so bright so as to almost seem electric.
If she were to flee, would he follow?
Would he laugh? Would she?
But she does not flee, merely watches, one corner of her pale mouth tied up in the very beginnings of a much softer expression.
Lurking.
Is that what this is?
Like a thing waiting to breach some unseen surface, patient and hungry.
Perhaps she is lurking.
She shakes her head, the tangles of her mane sprawling like reaching fingers.
“I cannot think of anything the new world has to offer that cannot be found in Baltia,” she counters, fighting to maintain an aloof expression before she loses her grip on it and her face collapses around a grin.
“Besides, you know how I feel about new things.”
The violent upheaval.
The way it echoed in the bones, jarred the teeth.
But she had not felt any impulse to investigate. It was not fear that kept her beneath the water’s surface but something else entirely: the understanding that no good could come from it. The understanding that whatever had caused the shift would not be a pleasant thing and so she had kept to herself.
She remains there still, in the cradle of the kingdom, lulled by the sea’s embrace. And she sees him from some great distance, the prince, just as he sees her. It is the smile that softens her to him, it has always been the smile, the light in his eyes so bright so as to almost seem electric.
If she were to flee, would he follow?
Would he laugh? Would she?
But she does not flee, merely watches, one corner of her pale mouth tied up in the very beginnings of a much softer expression.
Lurking.
Is that what this is?
Like a thing waiting to breach some unseen surface, patient and hungry.
Perhaps she is lurking.
She shakes her head, the tangles of her mane sprawling like reaching fingers.
“I cannot think of anything the new world has to offer that cannot be found in Baltia,” she counters, fighting to maintain an aloof expression before she loses her grip on it and her face collapses around a grin.
“Besides, you know how I feel about new things.”
—i came from the sea,
from the arms of the waves
@Mesarez