when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
Suddenly, all of the eyes that could not seem to tear away from him are directed elsewhere. Anywhere else. “Sneaky kids.” The shifter mutters to himself, but Rapture’s clear unwillingness to reveal her tender secret is not a concern he’s willing to pry further into. Sometimes, it’s best not to know things. “Then it’ll remain as nothing.” He tells her slowly, though the words are doubly-meant. She could hoard her privacy, but Wyrm would neither be able to understand nor help her should she seek comfort down the road. It does, however, remind him sharply that she was part of him. Wyrm wouldn’t have divulged either.
With a mild turn of his head he peers between them. Levi, who cannot seem to decide on any one thing, so muddled is his face (determination, however, is painted over his features and set into those eyes as they hold Rapture’s likeness) and Rapture, coy now in her wish to be invisible -or, at least, invisible in her discomfort. He’s reached the precipice of his usefulness here. “You should visit your brother, you know.” He tells her, louder now that the change of subject isn’t so dark. “He has things he doesn’t tell me just like you.” The angular stallion sighs, even though his wild gaze flickers with secrets of its own.
He turns his head, directs his attention back to Levi, and offers a soft grin. “Stay safe.” The shifter cautions. From his shoulders two black wings sprout as his body shrinks, legs coiling beneath him. His tail and skin grow feathers like ink; his nose hardens, curves into a beak that protrudes from rounded, beady eyes. Wyrm the raven hovers with a few, lazy flaps mid-air, quorks throatily, and rises to coast away.
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
