She fails in all ways to understand the darkness around her, the depths of the waters: of the hungry eyes and gnashing teeth before her. Although it is an inadequate description: because he no beast, no, he much worse.
Briella cannot see the emptiness in his eyes, the hunger in his soul- the sickness and shadows in his mind: the precise desire to strip and break, to dissemble whatever his fingers could grasp or his eyes could see… she doesn’t understand the danger or the peril; but instead she sees the magnificent gold and wonderful eyes, the charming way he seems to flirt the line between wanton and gentlemen.
Poised as she may be, her forelegs stand together in an almost perfect ‘v’ and the wavy blonde falls lazily about her eyes and neck, acts as curtain in a way while she peers out at him. Her head lifts and ever gently she watches him with fascination and wonder, with curiosity as the heavily burdened heart beats in her chest. Love, bitter and overflowing: not something only for him but for everyone… an unselfish and naive love, and it shows in her weak smile and in the sound of her voice.
“I-” she pauses, the glittering ice in her mane and tail so sheer and thing it appeared little more than strands of glossy hair. Something that reflected the light of the morning, that exposed the vague areas where the smutty points along her back paled. “I was walking, considering making the trip again to the northern shores. I just, didn’t want…” she’s quick to fade off, embarrassment or something girlish.
Her breath is easy to catch but, she cannot hide the shiver on her skin, and her head shakes as she recalls the wave of fear and the chaos- the vision of loss and of death. “I was worried, for everyone. Are you… sick? Have you managed to avoid it?” she asks, peering up at him with a desire on her face to know or understand. “I hope so.” she blinks and looks away- taking time to study the distance between them and all the wolfish charm he presents.
Part of her cannot understand why she finds a certain desire to stare at the curve of his throat, or to stand and converse: to truly try and find the best in him; but it’s pure naivety, and Briella sighs. “Sorry, still a bit nervous, I think the last time we met was a little less than peaceful and I haven’t quite been able to wrap my head around all of it.”
@[bruise]