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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    this is your kingdom, this is your crown; a laura pony
    #4

    I'm wasted, losing time; I'm a foolish, fragile spine
    I want all that is not mine; I want him but we're not right

    The problem with Adaline is she is so easily hurt by the things that she loves—and she loves so freely. She was born into a family that was both enamored by and destroyed by love. They gave their hearts, buried their souls into the bones of each passing stranger, and yet they gladly walked into the ocean when love came to call. They did not fight against the tide that pulled them into the sinking, swirling sediment of the passing storm—they simply reared back, took a breath, and leaned into it. So when she glances and sees the bruises of her half-sisters eyes, all she can do is lean into the fray once more.

    “Marvel,” she murmurs in her breathy voice, even the syllables of her tongue wispy and soon forgotten on the breeze that winds and wraps between them. Tilting her head back, she considers the wide expanse of sky that blankets the pair of them. For a moment, perhaps two, she remains silent. She simply concentrates on the fluttering of breath from her lungs, the delicacy of motion so vital to her existence and yet so forgotten by most.

    (She could never forget though. Such life-giving acts were precious to her.)

    Finally, she brings her slender, alien head back down, slanting it toward the roan mare by her side. “I suppose that you are.” It was not meant to be a spun-sugar lie or falsehood—it was simply how Adaline saw the world and always would. Taking the smallest of steps (or, the largest of movements, depending on your perspective), she comes to Marvel’s side and leans against it. With an exhale, she drops her cheek to the mare’s shoulder and closes her eyes, resting against her side. Her papery skin prickles with the touch, her nerves alive with the sensation, and she just concentrates on the stolen warmth.

    “I am sorry,” she whispers, but the truth is she is not sorry at all for the intrusion.
    “I can leave if you want,” although she has no desire to part from the mare.

    in the darkness, I will meet my creators
    and they will all agree that I'm a suffocator

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    RE: this is your kingdom, this is your crown; a laura pony - by adaline - 12-01-2015, 03:31 AM



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