12-31-2016, 03:21 AM
our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves
She cannot decide whether this is the beginning or an end of sorts, if this is to be a clinching closure on what had blossomed on them. After all, Brunhild has never known sweetness to last. She had been born and raised to believe in the everlasting strength of the shadows and for a long while, perhaps too long, had counted herself amongst them. She knew in their enduring power, in their ability to return again and again; she knew that even if they basked in the warmth now, it would never stay this sweet for long.
Still, she did not dwell on it, could not stand to think on it for long. Instead, she turned herself over to the raging tides of emotion swelling in her breast, her clumsy hands unable to hold onto it for long. She leaned into him, her mouth roving over the hard muscle she had seen for so long but never touched, the angles of him foreign and yet intimately familiar to her. She knew him, had always known him.
This was alien but not strange.
“I will stay,” she promises, although she is unsure of its staying power even as it spills from her mouth. Without the jungle, she had no roots; she was lost. She was a tumbleweed in this new Beqanna. For so long, her entire being, her entire purpose, had been swallowed up by her presence in the Amazons. Without that to guide her, she had no idea of what she would do or where she would go. What point was there in serving a kingdom or helping shape a land if the sisterhood would never be what it once was?
Again, she turned from her own thoughts, deftly shutting them away and instead sinking into his next words, closing her plain brown eyes as if she could remember this moment forever. She was not a particularly sentimental mare, but this was writ on her heart and would be forevermore.
Brunhild could not help but laugh though, the sound soft and muffled. “This would have all been so much easier had I admitted it earlier.” She reached up to lip at his mane, to pull at the red silky strands. “But I cannot find it in myself to regret how it happened, only to be grateful it happened at all.” She leans into him, breathes him in. “Where is home now?” Because wherever he lived now, she would follow.