something has been taken from deep inside of me. || djinni

[Offspring]

something has been taken from deep inside of me;
the secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see.

”One can never be too careful in the darkness of the wood,” he says quietly, his voice a rumbling mumble from the tight confinement of his throat – but there is such an eerie stillness within the thicket, and so it would not be difficult to hear him. He is silent, then, tracing the soft curve of her cheek, the richness of her skin, the faint striping that lay across her legs – and the unusual metal trinkets wrapped around her ankles; the bleak sunlight barely stirs a glimmer from it but nonetheless, it catches his eye. She is unfamiliar to him, and yet somehow, there is an uneasiness settling within the hearth of his chest – perhaps he should know of her – but alas, with the past put aside, he will undoubtedly know her now.
 
   ”Forgive me. It wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

   The burning red of his gaze is settled on the seafoam green of her own, searching the flecks of gold tucked within for any flinching or stirring of fatigue. Finding none, he is cautious – she is lucid, and wide-awake – he is no fool, but nor is she. Her dark, but supple mouth is upturned with a wide, and lovely smile, but his own does not even so much as twitch. He shifts his weight from one leg to another, as the fading sunlight touches the marred, heavily blemished surface of his skin, dipping into the worn, pale scarring, but his eyes never leave hers.
 
   ”I heard movement, and there are worse things to find in a forest.”

   His tone is softened – some semblance of humor interlaced between each word, but he is still guarded. The telltale crackling of magic is not rife within the air, but he cannot be certain as to the extent of her power – or if she is in possession of any power at all.
 
   He does not think that she will care (she might scoff, turn away, or vanish into the thin air of evenfall), but as a symbol of no ill will, his gruff voice rises again, echoing gently off the nearest oak, scratching roughly into the dark inkiness of his flank.
 
   ”Offspring, of Tephra.”
 
   She could take it, turn away from it, or offer her own in return.
   Either way, he would not be discontent. 

wounds so deep they never show; they never go away.
like moving pictures in my head, for years and years they've played.

Offspring

@[Djinni]; um I suck, sorry about the wait. D: