07-29-2017, 11:57 PM
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
She thought of him often.
There was a small pang of doubt lingering within her - did he ever think of her, too? It most often emerged beneath the descending darkness of dusk - when her mind should be quiet, should be still, and while her heavy eyelids should be closed, and it was ravenous and unforgiving. Each and every time her heavy lashes fall over her golden-flecked gaze, the doubt seizes her heart, stirring her awake and expanding within the hearth of her chest into a loneliness and longing she cannot ignore.
It had been so long since she had seen him - he had made himself scarce, and she could not blame him. He had come to her, to find her, to draw her close and to trace the gentle curves of her body as she longed to touch the hardened ridges of his own - but had found her heavy and expecting another, and though he had sought her out with worry heavy on his brow, he had felt isolated, and unwelcome. Nothing could be further from the truth. It had taken her days, nearly a week, to recover from the difficulty of that birth - his comfort in the earliest hours had been more than she could have asked for; more than she might have been willing to ask for. And yet, he had known.
In a way, he knew her better than she knew herself.
She had clenched her teeth after his departure, feigning indifference at her own frailty, pretending that she did not ache and did not feel the immense burden of fatigue. Dahmer had sired a beautiful son with her, and yet, she could not - would not let her guard down with him, not as she had with Ledger. Though the two had shared a brief tryst beneath a raucous and ravenous river, she had yet to know him, and he had yet to know her.
She could not unveil herself with him, as she had with the one-eyed, brooding man her heart pined for. He knew the anguish her heart had experienced all too well, and it had brought them together, emotionally and intimately. But she had spurned him, too, in the wake of his transformation, and she could only imagine where his mind had been at since. He had gone out of his way to avoid her, perhaps with the wrong impression settled on his mind, and she could not rest easily without knowing if he, too, felt as she did.
Once she is satisfied that her son is safely kept within the darkest crevice of a seaborn cavern, she is one with the night, as the pale moonlight of eventine bathes her in its splendor, gleaming off of the surface of the finely preened, perfectly placed feathers that lay across her wings. She does not take to the sky, for she knew the thick plume of the unpredictable, rumbling volcano would be too much for her, and her unwieldy temper hardly needed reason to rise.
When she does find him, at last, she is breathless, her lungs grasping at the thick air as the darkness of her hazel eyes settle upon his russet skin, tracing the hollow line of his figure (filled out more than she had ever seen it, but it is lean with muscle - he was still gaunt). Quietly, she stands, unmoving, her heart pounding rigorously within her chest. She yearned to touch him, to press her pale lips across the scarred surface of his cheek, but she does not - though she is close enough for her ivory feathers to brush lightly against his barrel, while her breath brushes over the nape of his neck.
”Ledger,” she murmurs, her brow furrowed, uncertain of what to say - she had rehearsed it a thousand times, but none of it seems enough, standing beside him. ”I have missed you.” She whispers, her confession heavy and dense in the humidity of twilight.
There was a small pang of doubt lingering within her - did he ever think of her, too? It most often emerged beneath the descending darkness of dusk - when her mind should be quiet, should be still, and while her heavy eyelids should be closed, and it was ravenous and unforgiving. Each and every time her heavy lashes fall over her golden-flecked gaze, the doubt seizes her heart, stirring her awake and expanding within the hearth of her chest into a loneliness and longing she cannot ignore.
It had been so long since she had seen him - he had made himself scarce, and she could not blame him. He had come to her, to find her, to draw her close and to trace the gentle curves of her body as she longed to touch the hardened ridges of his own - but had found her heavy and expecting another, and though he had sought her out with worry heavy on his brow, he had felt isolated, and unwelcome. Nothing could be further from the truth. It had taken her days, nearly a week, to recover from the difficulty of that birth - his comfort in the earliest hours had been more than she could have asked for; more than she might have been willing to ask for. And yet, he had known.
In a way, he knew her better than she knew herself.
She had clenched her teeth after his departure, feigning indifference at her own frailty, pretending that she did not ache and did not feel the immense burden of fatigue. Dahmer had sired a beautiful son with her, and yet, she could not - would not let her guard down with him, not as she had with Ledger. Though the two had shared a brief tryst beneath a raucous and ravenous river, she had yet to know him, and he had yet to know her.
She could not unveil herself with him, as she had with the one-eyed, brooding man her heart pined for. He knew the anguish her heart had experienced all too well, and it had brought them together, emotionally and intimately. But she had spurned him, too, in the wake of his transformation, and she could only imagine where his mind had been at since. He had gone out of his way to avoid her, perhaps with the wrong impression settled on his mind, and she could not rest easily without knowing if he, too, felt as she did.
Once she is satisfied that her son is safely kept within the darkest crevice of a seaborn cavern, she is one with the night, as the pale moonlight of eventine bathes her in its splendor, gleaming off of the surface of the finely preened, perfectly placed feathers that lay across her wings. She does not take to the sky, for she knew the thick plume of the unpredictable, rumbling volcano would be too much for her, and her unwieldy temper hardly needed reason to rise.
When she does find him, at last, she is breathless, her lungs grasping at the thick air as the darkness of her hazel eyes settle upon his russet skin, tracing the hollow line of his figure (filled out more than she had ever seen it, but it is lean with muscle - he was still gaunt). Quietly, she stands, unmoving, her heart pounding rigorously within her chest. She yearned to touch him, to press her pale lips across the scarred surface of his cheek, but she does not - though she is close enough for her ivory feathers to brush lightly against his barrel, while her breath brushes over the nape of his neck.
”Ledger,” she murmurs, her brow furrowed, uncertain of what to say - she had rehearsed it a thousand times, but none of it seems enough, standing beside him. ”I have missed you.” She whispers, her confession heavy and dense in the humidity of twilight.
head of war of tephra
daughter of elysium & speck
daughter of elysium & speck
@[Ledger]