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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


    [open]  I will never be your hothouse flower - any
    #8
    Merida
    from the ashes, a fire shall be awoken
    Merida continues to watch the painted mare carefully, her burning red gaze openly staring into that middle eye. Giodhe takes her time in answering, causing Merida’s head to tilt slightly, red tendrils spinning around the long angles of her face and neck. She maneuvers around Merida without truly moving; glancing at her with different slow blinks and hums. 

    Merida’s ears flick backwards with sudden uncertainty beneath Giodhe's stare, bringing her chin close to her chest in thought. Maybe she did not want to know what Giodhe could see in her; maybe she was not ready to hear what truly lies beneath her ebony skin and her muscles warm with blood and oxygen, beneath the bone and tissue. The black mare snorts sharply, a flick of her tail whipping red against her smooth, black flank. 

    Fire.

    Merida’s chin releases from her chest, the tight curve of her neck disappearing as the muscles stretch her head forward, elongating her appearance as she steps closer to Giodhe. Her head tilts curiously, a single brow rising in amusement. Her interest swells once more, growing and surging beneath her. “Curious…” she says softly, her voice a mere whisper on the dry and crisp autumn air. What an amazing feature, she thinks. To be able to lift a veil and peer beneath, exposing what hides (albeit broad) beneath the surface. 

    “Feel? You can see feelings? Things that were meant to be touched, to be felt? Her voice is quiet yet light, pricking with fascination. Truly intriguing. She asks Giohde but one question, though a million begin rage in her head, begging to set loose from her onyx lips.  

    She waits, though, worried that too many questions at once would lead to too many answers that would lay beyond where her mind could follow.
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    Messages In This Thread
    RE: I will never be your hothouse flower - any - by Merida - 06-23-2017, 02:18 PM



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