09-25-2017, 09:09 PM
** this thread takes place before the current quest hosted by Carnage
Ellyse
I have the tendency of getting very physical,
so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
Her breath catches in her throat, a hitch that interrupts her own voice as she trembles so suddenly against the rock-laden precipice, staring down onto the solemn shore. She had ignored the pangs of pain for too long - (she had known that her time had come when the immense waves of anguish began to pull away at her sanity like the salty ocean tide to the bay) - eager for resolution, desperate for solace. Yet now the rippling pain that echoes through every frayed nerve within her gilded body nearly cripples her. A low, guttural groan escapes her where words might have lain as she finally submits to her own pain, as her legs collapse under her within the dark and briny cave, her gaze flickering to Ledger for only a moment - he had yet to leave her side; he is the only semblance of comfort she can manage to cling onto.
Agony spreads across her as if it were a flame to kerosene, igniting every untouched nerve and leaving her raw and trembling. She had been through the experience of childbirth many times before, and yet, each time seemed more frightening than the last. A shuddering sigh emerges from her parted lips as the endlessly painful contraction engulfs her in anguish, though she attempts to muffle it by hardening the lines of her mouth. Labor had begun long ago, though she had tirelessly attempted to drown out the shockwave of rippling, harrowing pain. She had pushed herself too far, urged herself to the very edges of a darkening, twilight-painted Earth and now the trembling pain that has surged up through her sinewy muscles, pulsating once more.
She aches for the sky, for the sea and lands unknown, but for now she sweats and cries for the child bursting forth from her womb. Soon, the caress of moonlight gives way to the warmth of dawn and a sheen of yellow and periwinkle flood the wavering stalks of greener, and with it comes the birth of new life.
First, a winged colt – mottled ivory with the same deep, vivid russet of his father, beautiful and blinking wide-eyed as her teeth pry away at the sac enveloping him. She can hardly breathe in the beauty of him, nor can she wholly appreciate his curious stare, his deep, lively breathing, before her body is wracked with another excruciating contraction, tightening around her mid-section in a way she had not felt in many years – not since Canaan had been born, since she had lost his sister to stillbirth – not since Magnus.
And then, with a shuddering gasp, the second comes – a winged filly, buckskin – and the sight of her is nearly enough to unravel her, to expose the devastating loss she had endured so long ago, under a pale moon not unlike the one glistening across the delicately sifting grains of sand. But the filly is not still; she is breathing, and she is beautiful – absolute perfection, so much so that she cannot see nor reason that the daughter that looks to her with wide, gleaming hazel eyes has the color of her past, of Magnus. She can only feel her rapidly beating heart, the relief seeping into her very bone, as her pale, whiskered mouth pulls and gently cleanses her son and daughter of their afterbirth.
”Joplin,” she murmurs softly to her, and then to him, ”and Joaquin.”
And then, finally, the golden flecks of her eyes search for Ledger's own in the dark, dimly lit cave, a warmth chasing away the darkness that had long since settled within her chest - with a faint, fleeting smile.
Agony spreads across her as if it were a flame to kerosene, igniting every untouched nerve and leaving her raw and trembling. She had been through the experience of childbirth many times before, and yet, each time seemed more frightening than the last. A shuddering sigh emerges from her parted lips as the endlessly painful contraction engulfs her in anguish, though she attempts to muffle it by hardening the lines of her mouth. Labor had begun long ago, though she had tirelessly attempted to drown out the shockwave of rippling, harrowing pain. She had pushed herself too far, urged herself to the very edges of a darkening, twilight-painted Earth and now the trembling pain that has surged up through her sinewy muscles, pulsating once more.
She aches for the sky, for the sea and lands unknown, but for now she sweats and cries for the child bursting forth from her womb. Soon, the caress of moonlight gives way to the warmth of dawn and a sheen of yellow and periwinkle flood the wavering stalks of greener, and with it comes the birth of new life.
First, a winged colt – mottled ivory with the same deep, vivid russet of his father, beautiful and blinking wide-eyed as her teeth pry away at the sac enveloping him. She can hardly breathe in the beauty of him, nor can she wholly appreciate his curious stare, his deep, lively breathing, before her body is wracked with another excruciating contraction, tightening around her mid-section in a way she had not felt in many years – not since Canaan had been born, since she had lost his sister to stillbirth – not since Magnus.
And then, with a shuddering gasp, the second comes – a winged filly, buckskin – and the sight of her is nearly enough to unravel her, to expose the devastating loss she had endured so long ago, under a pale moon not unlike the one glistening across the delicately sifting grains of sand. But the filly is not still; she is breathing, and she is beautiful – absolute perfection, so much so that she cannot see nor reason that the daughter that looks to her with wide, gleaming hazel eyes has the color of her past, of Magnus. She can only feel her rapidly beating heart, the relief seeping into her very bone, as her pale, whiskered mouth pulls and gently cleanses her son and daughter of their afterbirth.
”Joplin,” she murmurs softly to her, and then to him, ”and Joaquin.”
And then, finally, the golden flecks of her eyes search for Ledger's own in the dark, dimly lit cave, a warmth chasing away the darkness that had long since settled within her chest - with a faint, fleeting smile.
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone;
you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.