02-27-2017, 02:07 AM
elysium
His dark eyes watch the bleak shadows of morning, knowing the sun will soon break through the amass of clouds traveling overhead - their shadows would soon be brushed aside by light, and though it pained his sensitive eyes to see it, he would savor its warmth and absorb its sweet embrace. A gentle stream of light begins to crawl across the plain tucked away from the line of pines, illuminating the bright, untouched snow in its glory. At last, he is drawn forth from his place of stagnation, pulling himself from broad boulders and dried out bark and descending from the hills and out into the sunlight.
As the warmth envelopes his aching body, he pauses - antennae stirring on top of his skull as his dark eyes peer around, desperate to analyze the landscaping before him - before a dark, albeit slender figure pieces itself together before him. He steps forward - he is graceful, if nothing else, with his four forelegs and two hind legs – he had taken their strangeness for granted, and it felt like an undeniable ecstasy to be within his own skin again.
Something pulls him out of his mindless reverie; Ik-er! Ik-er! His heartbeat suddenly becomes irregular; adrenaline coursing through his silver-lined veins as his memory mulled over the familiar tone – he would know her voice anywhere. His complex vision vies to focus on the bleak, bleary image of something small and fleeting amble across the dry, brittle plain, and some semblance of a smile tugs at his powdery, whiskered lips. Quietly, he descends, his vivid, transparent wings settled neatly against the curve of his spine as his many limbs propel him forward. His skin is soon touching hers, the length of his body pressing against the smoothness of her own as he emerges beside her, tasting the salty brine from Karris’ skin.
After a long moment, his eyesight focuses – the faint, but discernable image of a daughter – as vivid and as gilded as he, but lacking much of what had always made her whole. What had made her like him, and his heart ached – he knew too well the weight of loss; the burden of being ordinary. Moving several of his limbs forward, the flattened line of his temple presses against the hardened line of her cheek. He longed for the familiarity of her; to see the lined gills along her neck and to share the lurid absurdity that is their condition. His gilled moth-child is perfect, nonetheless – she is so much more than the boring, lackluster skin she wore.
”Karris, Ichor –“ he breathes, ”I have longed for this day.”
As the warmth envelopes his aching body, he pauses - antennae stirring on top of his skull as his dark eyes peer around, desperate to analyze the landscaping before him - before a dark, albeit slender figure pieces itself together before him. He steps forward - he is graceful, if nothing else, with his four forelegs and two hind legs – he had taken their strangeness for granted, and it felt like an undeniable ecstasy to be within his own skin again.
Something pulls him out of his mindless reverie; Ik-er! Ik-er! His heartbeat suddenly becomes irregular; adrenaline coursing through his silver-lined veins as his memory mulled over the familiar tone – he would know her voice anywhere. His complex vision vies to focus on the bleak, bleary image of something small and fleeting amble across the dry, brittle plain, and some semblance of a smile tugs at his powdery, whiskered lips. Quietly, he descends, his vivid, transparent wings settled neatly against the curve of his spine as his many limbs propel him forward. His skin is soon touching hers, the length of his body pressing against the smoothness of her own as he emerges beside her, tasting the salty brine from Karris’ skin.
After a long moment, his eyesight focuses – the faint, but discernable image of a daughter – as vivid and as gilded as he, but lacking much of what had always made her whole. What had made her like him, and his heart ached – he knew too well the weight of loss; the burden of being ordinary. Moving several of his limbs forward, the flattened line of his temple presses against the hardened line of her cheek. He longed for the familiarity of her; to see the lined gills along her neck and to share the lurid absurdity that is their condition. His gilled moth-child is perfect, nonetheless – she is so much more than the boring, lackluster skin she wore.
”Karris, Ichor –“ he breathes, ”I have longed for this day.”
this way or no way- you know i'll be free
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