05-05-2016, 06:31 PM
± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
In this moment everything is broken and mended over and over again. Everything that was wrong or frowned upon about their peculiar predicament was meaningless. He had forgotten what it was like to greet them, fresh and new to this world. So helpless and perfect and small. What was more was that there was only one moment like this, there was no take backs or do overs. In the stillness he watches as she burns in her own way, for a moment when he approaches them both in the quiet of the wood and he utters one word.
There is more to say but they both dare not speak the truths that surely bite at her own lips just as they do his. He had given her what he could and though it was not all of him it was the best he had, the world was such a mess and somehow he had made it even more so. Most importantly she had accepted this without so much of a fight or a scream or a holler and it only made him burn stronger for her. She was understanding where so many others (himself included) were not.
For what it's worth he would never hurt her with intention, just as he had proved that day in the meadow, when she had offered and he had refused. How could harm something so lovely, or wildly beautiful like the untamed vines in a jungle, sprouting with vivid blooms that were poison. Yet still he could not pull away, nor did he want to, somehow he felt whole and complete in the tangled web he had woven. Somehow she made him less beastly, if only she herself believed it so.
A word fills his mind and he realizes she is speaking, naming their child, a small winged-girl who makes to touch him. His burning skin is poison itself and without the quick reflexes of her dam she would surely have burned. "Victra," he repeats, allowing the sound to ingrain itself into the very core of his heart. With that he simmers less, blackening and hardening until rock crumbles and falls to the mossy floor. In its wake it leaves a man, all he's ever been, deep and earthy and bay. Filling his lungs he exhales plumes of blackened smoke from his nostrils as he touches the filly lightly on her shoulder.
"It's is good to meet you. I've waited a long time."
There is more to say but they both dare not speak the truths that surely bite at her own lips just as they do his. He had given her what he could and though it was not all of him it was the best he had, the world was such a mess and somehow he had made it even more so. Most importantly she had accepted this without so much of a fight or a scream or a holler and it only made him burn stronger for her. She was understanding where so many others (himself included) were not.
For what it's worth he would never hurt her with intention, just as he had proved that day in the meadow, when she had offered and he had refused. How could harm something so lovely, or wildly beautiful like the untamed vines in a jungle, sprouting with vivid blooms that were poison. Yet still he could not pull away, nor did he want to, somehow he felt whole and complete in the tangled web he had woven. Somehow she made him less beastly, if only she herself believed it so.
A word fills his mind and he realizes she is speaking, naming their child, a small winged-girl who makes to touch him. His burning skin is poison itself and without the quick reflexes of her dam she would surely have burned. "Victra," he repeats, allowing the sound to ingrain itself into the very core of his heart. With that he simmers less, blackening and hardening until rock crumbles and falls to the mossy floor. In its wake it leaves a man, all he's ever been, deep and earthy and bay. Filling his lungs he exhales plumes of blackened smoke from his nostrils as he touches the filly lightly on her shoulder.
"It's is good to meet you. I've waited a long time."
KILLDARE
magma King of the Chamber
