10-23-2015, 08:03 PM
she talks to angels
Death remains an elusive concept to the young vixen. In fact, life barely seems real to her. Four (five? Six?) years have lead the woman to no great conclusions, dramas or revelations. Were she to know of Magnus’s bloody resurrection, perhaps a sliver of her polished skin would crack. Despite his light coat and handsome gold-flecked eyes, Magnus carries a weight upon his shoulders. And while Cinzia may not be the most experienced in the matters of liveliness, she does pick up on his subtle darkness.
At his soft musing she nods solemnly, unwilling to elaborate on the subject. Loneliness is a disease well known to her, and while the doctor prescribed her drugs, she has finally chosen to get better. The first step? Magnus.
“No sir, the honour is mine,” she says lightly, though her eyes glimmer. “I couldn’t have imagined a finer companion.” Brushing the tips of her wings together behind her, the mare holds his gaze steadily, sure of herself despite antecedent factors. And instead of blushing again at his comment of worthiness, the blue-steel woman echoes his sublime laughter, allowing a smoky smile to distort her clean-cut face.
Believe me, you’re worthy.
Before she may speak again however, the rugged man falls into thought. While his lips press together, she studies his image, appreciating the slope of his whithers and the plains of his breast, the divots in his ankles and the tautness of his muscles. One might comment on the forwardness of her mind and eyes, but alas she knows no better. Observation remains her best communication, even if all there may be to observe is simple and sweet.
Sensing his reluctance, Cinzia smiles at his gentle proposal. Moving elegantly towards the stallion, she scoops behind him before coming parallel to him on his left side. Unfurling her right wing and gesturing daintily forward (like the guiding palm of an outstretched hand), she says, “Care to lead?”
Smiling pleasantly, the young woman tilts her head away from the gold stallion, eyes flicking from the lonely tree to fluttering butterflies to the whisper of wind in the long grasses. Parting her velveteen lips, the young lady snaps her gaze back to Magnus, eyes mischievously aglitter.
“So, Magnus. I have some questions for you.” Her features turn mock-stern before collapsing into a large, easy grin. “What is… Hmm… Your favourite colour?” Tail swishing, she rushes on before he may answer. “And where did you grow up? It must have been somewhere nice.” Her voice has regained some maturity, though her mischievousness dims not. It’s been too long since she’s had true companionship – he could not blame her for desiring to know even the most trivial things.
At his soft musing she nods solemnly, unwilling to elaborate on the subject. Loneliness is a disease well known to her, and while the doctor prescribed her drugs, she has finally chosen to get better. The first step? Magnus.
“No sir, the honour is mine,” she says lightly, though her eyes glimmer. “I couldn’t have imagined a finer companion.” Brushing the tips of her wings together behind her, the mare holds his gaze steadily, sure of herself despite antecedent factors. And instead of blushing again at his comment of worthiness, the blue-steel woman echoes his sublime laughter, allowing a smoky smile to distort her clean-cut face.
Believe me, you’re worthy.
Before she may speak again however, the rugged man falls into thought. While his lips press together, she studies his image, appreciating the slope of his whithers and the plains of his breast, the divots in his ankles and the tautness of his muscles. One might comment on the forwardness of her mind and eyes, but alas she knows no better. Observation remains her best communication, even if all there may be to observe is simple and sweet.
Sensing his reluctance, Cinzia smiles at his gentle proposal. Moving elegantly towards the stallion, she scoops behind him before coming parallel to him on his left side. Unfurling her right wing and gesturing daintily forward (like the guiding palm of an outstretched hand), she says, “Care to lead?”
Smiling pleasantly, the young woman tilts her head away from the gold stallion, eyes flicking from the lonely tree to fluttering butterflies to the whisper of wind in the long grasses. Parting her velveteen lips, the young lady snaps her gaze back to Magnus, eyes mischievously aglitter.
“So, Magnus. I have some questions for you.” Her features turn mock-stern before collapsing into a large, easy grin. “What is… Hmm… Your favourite colour?” Tail swishing, she rushes on before he may answer. “And where did you grow up? It must have been somewhere nice.” Her voice has regained some maturity, though her mischievousness dims not. It’s been too long since she’s had true companionship – he could not blame her for desiring to know even the most trivial things.
cinzia
phaedrus x oswyn
I am so sorry I take forever