07-14-2017, 01:09 AM
Ellyse
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
Quietly, her hazel gaze is averted away from his own, uncertainty riddled in her once steady, self-assured bones – tracing the delicate feathers, finely preened and gleaming beneath the rising moonlight. Bristling, he is burdened with the weight and uncomfortable presence of them pressed against his own ribcage, and she has never known any such discomfort herself – she had been born with hers, and she could only imagine how strange and peculiar they must feel, carved into bone that had never before felt the weight of anything more than snowfall.
She wondered, for a moment, if he had taken to the sky yet – if he had felt an unruly gale weave its way between his feathers, or if he had let the wayward wind carry him as far as the eye can see – had he flown into the sun; or towards the sea? Had he flown at all?
She does not ask. Instead, her pale lips press against the hollow bone of his wing, tucking a disobedient feather into place, before the golden flecks of her hazel eyes traverse the column of his slender, but heavily muscled neck, to the piercing ice of his eyes, boring back into her own. He is muttering, dismissing any semblance of a possibility that Tephra could be more to him, once again – that the King would see him as fit for anything (the King is far from perfect, himself, and would not fault him for his outburst – but he does not know this).
But she is hardly listening, as her heartbeat is thumping loudly in her chest, and her blood is pumping heavily in her veins, the words lingering on the tip of her tongue –
Why are you saying this now, Ellyse?
”I’m pregnant, Dahmer,” she murmurs then, searching the frigidity of his searching gaze, her own tentative and unsure – and she is only realizing then how little she truly knows him. She does not want her child - their child - to know as little of him as she does. ”and it's yours."
She wondered, for a moment, if he had taken to the sky yet – if he had felt an unruly gale weave its way between his feathers, or if he had let the wayward wind carry him as far as the eye can see – had he flown into the sun; or towards the sea? Had he flown at all?
She does not ask. Instead, her pale lips press against the hollow bone of his wing, tucking a disobedient feather into place, before the golden flecks of her hazel eyes traverse the column of his slender, but heavily muscled neck, to the piercing ice of his eyes, boring back into her own. He is muttering, dismissing any semblance of a possibility that Tephra could be more to him, once again – that the King would see him as fit for anything (the King is far from perfect, himself, and would not fault him for his outburst – but he does not know this).
But she is hardly listening, as her heartbeat is thumping loudly in her chest, and her blood is pumping heavily in her veins, the words lingering on the tip of her tongue –
Why are you saying this now, Ellyse?
”I’m pregnant, Dahmer,” she murmurs then, searching the frigidity of his searching gaze, her own tentative and unsure – and she is only realizing then how little she truly knows him. She does not want her child - their child - to know as little of him as she does. ”and it's yours."
head of war of tephra
daughter of elysium & speck
daughter of elysium & speck
@[Dahmer]