12-16-2019, 02:22 AM
sometimes I'm terrified of my heart;
of its constant hunger for whatever it is it wants —
She is easily taken by pretty things and he is no exception.
The sunlight glints off the edges of him, and yet also filters through, and in an instant she is captivated. He reminds her of water, and how the sun can make the surface glitter like diamonds, but still send ribbons of light streaming into the shallows. And she wonders if he is fragile like water – if he could be displaced by a simple touch, or if he was stronger, like ice, and could withstand a harsher blow.
Not that she would ever actually try; there was something twisted in her curiosity, but she was still too kind to ever execute anything.
Shedding the shadow of the tree that she had been resting beneath she strides towards him, the yellow sun seeming to warm the otherwise impersonal blackness of her eyes. She is young, likely around his age, with skin covered in stardust that melts across the curves that have begun to emerge from the once baby-softness. The sharp angles of her face lend an edge that should perhaps not be present in one so young, but the smile that laces across her lips manages to soften the severity of it. Everything about her seems to be at odds with each other; with a body that was trying to mature into the weapon it could be but a mind that was still too innocent to use it.
“Hi,” she breathes once she is close enough, but instead of stopping she presses flush alongside of him. Without hesitation her muzzle reaches out to touch the smooth, glassy surface of his skin on his shoulder, reveling at how the sun had warmed it, and she laughs in delight. “I saw you, and all I could think about was touching you,” and it is only because she still possesses that childish sweetness that there is no covert meaning lying within that phrase.
It was just a touch; just her being inquisitive. She wanted to touch him the same way she touched the dew that laced the tall grasses of the meadow in the morning, or the pointed tip of an icicle that hung from a branch.
She withdraws her muzzle from him, and her lips still tingle pleasantly with the warmth until it fades away. “My name is Desire.”
The sunlight glints off the edges of him, and yet also filters through, and in an instant she is captivated. He reminds her of water, and how the sun can make the surface glitter like diamonds, but still send ribbons of light streaming into the shallows. And she wonders if he is fragile like water – if he could be displaced by a simple touch, or if he was stronger, like ice, and could withstand a harsher blow.
Not that she would ever actually try; there was something twisted in her curiosity, but she was still too kind to ever execute anything.
Shedding the shadow of the tree that she had been resting beneath she strides towards him, the yellow sun seeming to warm the otherwise impersonal blackness of her eyes. She is young, likely around his age, with skin covered in stardust that melts across the curves that have begun to emerge from the once baby-softness. The sharp angles of her face lend an edge that should perhaps not be present in one so young, but the smile that laces across her lips manages to soften the severity of it. Everything about her seems to be at odds with each other; with a body that was trying to mature into the weapon it could be but a mind that was still too innocent to use it.
“Hi,” she breathes once she is close enough, but instead of stopping she presses flush alongside of him. Without hesitation her muzzle reaches out to touch the smooth, glassy surface of his skin on his shoulder, reveling at how the sun had warmed it, and she laughs in delight. “I saw you, and all I could think about was touching you,” and it is only because she still possesses that childish sweetness that there is no covert meaning lying within that phrase.
It was just a touch; just her being inquisitive. She wanted to touch him the same way she touched the dew that laced the tall grasses of the meadow in the morning, or the pointed tip of an icicle that hung from a branch.
She withdraws her muzzle from him, and her lips still tingle pleasantly with the warmth until it fades away. “My name is Desire.”
Desire