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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


    you say your love for me has waned from the storm; any
    #5

    well, I'm a lion in the haze and the lamb in the lightning
    oh, these spears and chains of flames around my neck are tightening

    He appreciates a woman with bite, and his eyes light up as she sasses him, the dual-colored eyes watching her with an increased interest. “You look like many things,” is all he says, shifting his head to the side, watching her with a curious gaze. It was true—she did. Looking at her, there were many things that he could say she was. She looked intelligent, independent, flirtatious; she looked dangerous, like a knife that ended up in your underbelly when you weren’t paying attention. All of his most favorite things.

    One corner of his lip lifts into a charming, crooked smile as she begins to circle him, and he shows no level of discomfort—and why would he? There was nothing for him to hide, nothing for him to feel uncomfortable showing. He held onto his beauty easily, casually—in the way of someone who had always had it and never had a reason to believe it would go away. He had never questioned it, never flaunted it.

    It was as much a part of him as the wildness in his chest, as the restlessness that drew him up.

    As she comes near him again, stopping to face him, his eyes grow devilish, “I think I would rather enjoy that, stranger.” He growls low in his throat at her threat,  the noise built on excitement rather than fear. He loves a challenge—loves the danger of it as it thrills up his spine. “You will find though that I am often what goes bump in the night,” one predator to another, his hidden and locked away within the velvet of his coat. For now, the faeries hold his true nature under lock and key, but eventually—eventually—he would run wild and free again. “My name is Alek,” he finally offers, whiskey voice low. “And you?”

    Aleksandr

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    Messages In This Thread
    RE: you say your love for me has waned from the storm; any - by aleksandr - 03-19-2017, 08:03 PM



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