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    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


    birthing; Leiland, Wrynn, Hestoni, any.
    #2
    Oh look, oh my star is fading
    Roughness.

    That is the first thing she notices, the roughness. She is used to warm and soft, to the gentle press of another body against hers. He is here, she can sense it, but it's so cold, and it's so rough. There is no warmth for her, not here.

    She hears the voice, so cold and angry, and her small eyes settle on the source of the voice. She doesn't know her eyes have been changing, not any more than she knows that her coat is bay, not any more than she knows why she exists. She is too young, too impossibly sweet, to ever understand. She doesn't know it, but they shift like uncontrolled rainbows, a gentle sway of colors, beautiful to watch and terrible for her. Terrible for her mother.

    All that she knows is that this thing, this large thing that was just touching her, is now angry. She doesn't know why.

    She watches with wide eyes, still laying on the ground where she'd been born. She doesn't understand anything, doesn't know where the anger comes from. All she knows is that she wants to soothe it, to take it away. No one should feel that. "S-sorry?" Her voice is so soft, so delicate and gentle. It's a fitting first word for her, a word that will come to define who she is in so many ways. She doesn't know what she's apologizing for, doesn't even know why she is doing it, but she hopes that it will do something – that it will make things better for the angry mare.

    Slowly, tentatively, with great wobbly difficulty she heaves herself to her feet. Swaying and unsteady, she tries to struggle forward toward the angry woman, to touch her and thereby further soothe her. She doesn't understand that this simple attempt will likely make things even worse. "Sorry?" she repeats again, apologizing for all the woes of the world, apologizing for whatever might have happened and never dreaming she might have caused it.

    Many miles away, entirely unobserved, alone on a dune in the Desert, a black magician smiles.
    wrynn


    Messages In This Thread
    RE: birthing; Leiland, Wrynn, Hestoni, any. - by Wrynn - 05-03-2015, 11:12 PM



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