when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
Heartfire has never been fathomable. He cannot touch her in those places unexposed to the elements. None can. Her strength lies in her ability to express emotion but never to feel it. Wyrm has spent a lifetime suppressing it. Her languid, dark lips imprint against his skin and he feels thick chains tangle in his gut, but he reacts as she would expect: immobile but for the purr of pleasure that echoes in his chest. There’s no equal to her company and he would know, Wyrm’s been everywhere Beqanna has to offer; everywhere and then some.
“Or she’ll find a new reason to despise me.” He scoffs, ears flicking backwards at the thought. Rapture's innocence is a gift neither of them bestowed on her but one Wyrm admires anyways. He would see her, if that was Heartfire’s wish, but his personal ability to sour even the most pleasant of moods left him feeling doubtful about the end result. “You never did reveal this mysterious individual to me.” The green stallion comments, more of an aside than anything. It was her revenge to be had, she could go about it whatever way she desired, but perhaps it would be easier to look for this someone if Wyrm knew what they looked like.
“Or what brought all of this about.” He speaks. One foot pulls away and draws the rest of his body with it, head tilting sideways so that he could glance over his shoulder at her. The shifter isn’t demanding – that would be foolhardy. He is, however, opening a door that she could freely choose to shut. “Don’t mistake me, I appreciate what came of it,” Wyrm explains, an iniquitous smile brightening his face at the thought of their children, “But I’m willing to bet being your own confidant is tiring sometimes.”
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
