10-08-2017, 10:39 AM
.Corvus.
(yes, I am alone)
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
First-to-Fly.
And suddenly, a namesake that had been given so much meaning and depth, felt worthless, empty, and cruel. The bitterness on the tongue of his brother does not go unnoticed. Acrid bile, laced with arsenic and smoother than silk, though his arrogance is stifling and his haughty accusation hardly has the bite he yearns for. His gaze is steady and does not waver – glowering at the one that he had once shared of a womb with, and never anything else. He had loathed him for so long, he could hardly remember a time when his blackened heart did not shrivel up at the mere sight of him – foolish, impulsive, and ignorant, his brother is the epitome of all that he cannot be and he does not long to be like him.
His head does finally lift from its resting place, though his vocal cords are still and silent, as he merely observes Crevan while the jagged edge of his spoken word tries mightily to cut into him – it does not work. He does not thirst for more as he does, and though there is a tendril of his heart loathe to cut itself free from the pulsating heartstring of his mother, he does not yearn for it all as she does. Not by violence, nor by force – Crevan was more like his mother that he could ever imagine; and Circinae – as Corvus had come to know – was far less the martyr she portrayed herself to be.
”I did not come because I did not feel it was my place,” he nearly growls, his deep baritone rumbling with raw testosterone – his youth is fading away and giving way to the masculinity and brute strength of maturity, and it is present most in his tone of voice – harsh and unwavering. ”I am not as foolish as you are, brother, to think that power should be my own at any cost.”
He is quiet, then, hushed by the purposeful force of the mare beside him. His darkened gaze does glance away, but only for a moment, before boring into her own. His long but muscled legs stir beneath him, carrying him to eye level as the inky darkness of his winged appendages bristle and tuck closer to his flank. She has chided them, as she has so often had to do – any moment of solitude shared by the two was often fleeting, and though he does not recoil, his gaze is averted – toward his brother.
Never had he loathed the blood simmering within his veins more.
But Jah-Lilah –
Oh, her words are scathing, digging into his supple flesh to the very core of his beating heart and he is stunned by her accusation, by her reckless twist of tongue. His gaze – wide-eyed, and on the berth of unshed tears – see her and nothing but her, while his wild heart pounds endlessly against its iron cage. He had expected his brother to use his sharp tongue and sharper wit to weave a carefully woven web of untruth (he knew his brother knew him; he knew that he would shy away from the violent conflict that would be inevitable – he had no thirst for authority, for dominion by force) – but Jah-Lilah, his last connection to a kinship he had never quite felt he belonged in –
The thread had been cut; leaving two frayed ends of the same tether –
Betrayal is what is tucked away within the gleam of his hazel eyes, flickering between each of her own, breathless but if only for a moment.
”Not you,” he breathed softly, stunned still. ”I never thought that you would turn on me. You - you, the one who speaks of freedom, of a bond of the Earth and of poetry,” he does snarl now, his ears tightly pinned back against his skull, teeth bared. ”I will not follow my mother, nor my brother, into the pits of hell with you. I will not partake in violence upon others to gain what my heart wants, regardless of who has asked it of me – and if you cannot understand that, Jah-Lilah, you have sold your soul to the devil.”
And as swiftly as he had come, he is gone.
And suddenly, a namesake that had been given so much meaning and depth, felt worthless, empty, and cruel. The bitterness on the tongue of his brother does not go unnoticed. Acrid bile, laced with arsenic and smoother than silk, though his arrogance is stifling and his haughty accusation hardly has the bite he yearns for. His gaze is steady and does not waver – glowering at the one that he had once shared of a womb with, and never anything else. He had loathed him for so long, he could hardly remember a time when his blackened heart did not shrivel up at the mere sight of him – foolish, impulsive, and ignorant, his brother is the epitome of all that he cannot be and he does not long to be like him.
His head does finally lift from its resting place, though his vocal cords are still and silent, as he merely observes Crevan while the jagged edge of his spoken word tries mightily to cut into him – it does not work. He does not thirst for more as he does, and though there is a tendril of his heart loathe to cut itself free from the pulsating heartstring of his mother, he does not yearn for it all as she does. Not by violence, nor by force – Crevan was more like his mother that he could ever imagine; and Circinae – as Corvus had come to know – was far less the martyr she portrayed herself to be.
”I did not come because I did not feel it was my place,” he nearly growls, his deep baritone rumbling with raw testosterone – his youth is fading away and giving way to the masculinity and brute strength of maturity, and it is present most in his tone of voice – harsh and unwavering. ”I am not as foolish as you are, brother, to think that power should be my own at any cost.”
He is quiet, then, hushed by the purposeful force of the mare beside him. His darkened gaze does glance away, but only for a moment, before boring into her own. His long but muscled legs stir beneath him, carrying him to eye level as the inky darkness of his winged appendages bristle and tuck closer to his flank. She has chided them, as she has so often had to do – any moment of solitude shared by the two was often fleeting, and though he does not recoil, his gaze is averted – toward his brother.
Never had he loathed the blood simmering within his veins more.
But Jah-Lilah –
Oh, her words are scathing, digging into his supple flesh to the very core of his beating heart and he is stunned by her accusation, by her reckless twist of tongue. His gaze – wide-eyed, and on the berth of unshed tears – see her and nothing but her, while his wild heart pounds endlessly against its iron cage. He had expected his brother to use his sharp tongue and sharper wit to weave a carefully woven web of untruth (he knew his brother knew him; he knew that he would shy away from the violent conflict that would be inevitable – he had no thirst for authority, for dominion by force) – but Jah-Lilah, his last connection to a kinship he had never quite felt he belonged in –
The thread had been cut; leaving two frayed ends of the same tether –
Betrayal is what is tucked away within the gleam of his hazel eyes, flickering between each of her own, breathless but if only for a moment.
”Not you,” he breathed softly, stunned still. ”I never thought that you would turn on me. You - you, the one who speaks of freedom, of a bond of the Earth and of poetry,” he does snarl now, his ears tightly pinned back against his skull, teeth bared. ”I will not follow my mother, nor my brother, into the pits of hell with you. I will not partake in violence upon others to gain what my heart wants, regardless of who has asked it of me – and if you cannot understand that, Jah-Lilah, you have sold your soul to the devil.”
And as swiftly as he had come, he is gone.
I think maybe it's because you were never really real to begin with.
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
@[Crevan] @[Jah-Lilah]