10-10-2018, 08:39 PM
Nearly a full year has passed since I had returned to Sylva. It doesn’t seem possible, and yet the humid summer air is undeniable. My pale eyes are fixed on the blue sky overhead, framed by the golden leaves of the birch thicket around me. This had been one of my favorite places in Sylva as an adolescent, and I had been elated to find it whole upon my return. My circumstances have changed drastically, but it is easy to forget that I am no longer a child. This is not a pleasant sensation for me, of course, and I am quick to blink away the tears before I turn to face the horse I hear walking up to me.
By the time I turn my face is schooled in a perfect smile; there is no indication of my earlier emotions. The blue-grey of my eyes widens slightly as I recognize Arthas, but the smile doesn’t falter. It isn’t his fault we are falling apart, after all. I draw nearer to the familiar stallion and pause with a few feet remaining between us. The wind is in my favor, and I find that he has been with Rey recently. The thought of the color changing mare is a pleasant one, and that reaction works to further my certainty. I am unperturbed by his liaisons with the other mares, and while I had always thought that was because I do not believe in monogamy, I have recently come to find that it is because of something else entirely.
I have always considered Arthas a friend. I have known him since I was little more than a child. The dappled andalusian has been the most constant face in all my life. I had made the mistake of trying to make constant something that was bound to change. I was not a besotted teen for long, yet I had convinced myself for years that it was Arthas I loved. That thought had kept me alive through Sylva. To let go of it feels wrong, somehow, as though I suffered in vain.
These realizations are all recent things, things I have come to known in the time we have been apart. We had parted on ill terms before my departure to Ischia, and this is the first time I have faced him since. I have much to tell him as a queen and diplomat, and it is not so simple to push the memory of what I must tell him as a wife to the side. That can come later, I tell myself.
“Arthas,” I say, closing the distance between us. I act without thinking, finding the familiar glow of emotion in my chest and spinning it into the finest of fibers. This is my skill, after all, the craft I have been practicing since I before I could talk. The dappled stallion won’t know that it is not his own emotion. It starts small, and grows at the touch of my muzzle to his jaw, stirring more deeply as I press my dark face against the smooth sweep of his shoulder in an embrace.
Planting lust in men is easy.
Keeping them on course with it is a bit more difficult, but that too is a blade I have honed since Arthas first sent me as asacrifice gift to Sylva three years ago.
The dappled stallion will feel it rise in him. It is not unexpected, after all; I know he desires me even with my recent disinterest. I pull away after a moment, but I do so slowly, rather sure that that smoke-tinted man will try to resist the distance between us. Though I had planted only a seed of emotion I have come to know Arthas well, and know that he is likely to wish a reunion between us rather than a deepening of the divide.
@[Arthas]
so that turned into a novel haha
By the time I turn my face is schooled in a perfect smile; there is no indication of my earlier emotions. The blue-grey of my eyes widens slightly as I recognize Arthas, but the smile doesn’t falter. It isn’t his fault we are falling apart, after all. I draw nearer to the familiar stallion and pause with a few feet remaining between us. The wind is in my favor, and I find that he has been with Rey recently. The thought of the color changing mare is a pleasant one, and that reaction works to further my certainty. I am unperturbed by his liaisons with the other mares, and while I had always thought that was because I do not believe in monogamy, I have recently come to find that it is because of something else entirely.
I have always considered Arthas a friend. I have known him since I was little more than a child. The dappled andalusian has been the most constant face in all my life. I had made the mistake of trying to make constant something that was bound to change. I was not a besotted teen for long, yet I had convinced myself for years that it was Arthas I loved. That thought had kept me alive through Sylva. To let go of it feels wrong, somehow, as though I suffered in vain.
These realizations are all recent things, things I have come to known in the time we have been apart. We had parted on ill terms before my departure to Ischia, and this is the first time I have faced him since. I have much to tell him as a queen and diplomat, and it is not so simple to push the memory of what I must tell him as a wife to the side. That can come later, I tell myself.
“Arthas,” I say, closing the distance between us. I act without thinking, finding the familiar glow of emotion in my chest and spinning it into the finest of fibers. This is my skill, after all, the craft I have been practicing since I before I could talk. The dappled stallion won’t know that it is not his own emotion. It starts small, and grows at the touch of my muzzle to his jaw, stirring more deeply as I press my dark face against the smooth sweep of his shoulder in an embrace.
Planting lust in men is easy.
Keeping them on course with it is a bit more difficult, but that too is a blade I have honed since Arthas first sent me as a
The dappled stallion will feel it rise in him. It is not unexpected, after all; I know he desires me even with my recent disinterest. I pull away after a moment, but I do so slowly, rather sure that that smoke-tinted man will try to resist the distance between us. Though I had planted only a seed of emotion I have come to know Arthas well, and know that he is likely to wish a reunion between us rather than a deepening of the divide.
@[Arthas]
so that turned into a novel haha
