12-28-2017, 01:33 PM
.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.
”I will bear whatever title you see fit for me, Solace,” he says quietly, as the darkness of his gold-laced eyes search her own. She is wise beyond her years, and yet so touched by her youth that he cannot help but to marvel at the wonder that she is. She is the epitome of light, with an ethereal cadence to her soft voice, and kindness and insecurity (which would fade with time, and cannot be seen by the naked eye – but before him, she is rife with trepidation, desiring so deeply to be what she is expected to be – what he is certain she can and will be).
If her gaze has lingered on him for too long beyond any purpose of curiosity, he does not seem to notice. He is oblivious to the idea that he is anything but a mass of muscle and bone; he had spent so much of his youth in isolation he hardly knew the stirring of attraction in the pit of his belly when it came – often, he blamed it on indigestion, or some sort of malady that could be more simply explained than the irresistible draw to another breathing being. If anything, he is made more aware of himself because she is staring (counting the breaths taken between each carefully spun sentence, ensuring his posture is erect and still, wondering if his tousled tresses of evergreen are too mangled and knotted to be presentable).
”A guard,” he repeats, though not because he is questioning her. The word is heavy on his tongue, and he is left wondering why he had not thought of it before. He alone could not see each end of the jagged mountain precipices, nor through the dense copse of birch, hickory and red maple, where an unfamiliar face could so easily tuck away into the shadows for nefarious reasons. A guard would keep intruders at bay, and it would keep the sanctuary quiet. Tranquil. Untouched.
”Capital idea,” he muses, searching the richness of her wide-eyed gaze with his own, giving inclination of his agreement with a nod of his broad head, disturbing a wayward lock of hair across his strong features. ”I will gather and assemble a guard to monitor the northern, southern, western and eastern border, and report back to you.”
Smoak.
(His grandmother Ellyse had told him of Smoak long ago, when he was but a boy – while Corvus was coming into his own, with an edge of testosterone to shake away the youth clutching to his golden features, Smoak was a small, bleating newborn, with spindly legs and a ravenous appetite. He did not know then that each of their paths would merge; he wondered if he would even recognize him as his own blood.)
”When will he be here?” he inquires, deciding that a discussion of the family lineage could be saved for another time. ”And where can I find him?”
If her gaze has lingered on him for too long beyond any purpose of curiosity, he does not seem to notice. He is oblivious to the idea that he is anything but a mass of muscle and bone; he had spent so much of his youth in isolation he hardly knew the stirring of attraction in the pit of his belly when it came – often, he blamed it on indigestion, or some sort of malady that could be more simply explained than the irresistible draw to another breathing being. If anything, he is made more aware of himself because she is staring (counting the breaths taken between each carefully spun sentence, ensuring his posture is erect and still, wondering if his tousled tresses of evergreen are too mangled and knotted to be presentable).
”A guard,” he repeats, though not because he is questioning her. The word is heavy on his tongue, and he is left wondering why he had not thought of it before. He alone could not see each end of the jagged mountain precipices, nor through the dense copse of birch, hickory and red maple, where an unfamiliar face could so easily tuck away into the shadows for nefarious reasons. A guard would keep intruders at bay, and it would keep the sanctuary quiet. Tranquil. Untouched.
”Capital idea,” he muses, searching the richness of her wide-eyed gaze with his own, giving inclination of his agreement with a nod of his broad head, disturbing a wayward lock of hair across his strong features. ”I will gather and assemble a guard to monitor the northern, southern, western and eastern border, and report back to you.”
Smoak.
(His grandmother Ellyse had told him of Smoak long ago, when he was but a boy – while Corvus was coming into his own, with an edge of testosterone to shake away the youth clutching to his golden features, Smoak was a small, bleating newborn, with spindly legs and a ravenous appetite. He did not know then that each of their paths would merge; he wondered if he would even recognize him as his own blood.)
”When will he be here?” he inquires, deciding that a discussion of the family lineage could be saved for another time. ”And where can I find him?”
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)
@[Solace]