11-16-2018, 04:59 PM
Jinn
I had a dream that we were dead,
and we pretended that we still lived
and we pretended that we still lived
He blinks at her, murky eyes widening in surprise at her abrupt appearance so close to him. He steps backwards, head jerking sharply up, right into a low-hanging branch. He winces, ducking his head down once more before shaking it to remove the sting. His ribs expand with a deep inhalation, ribs protruding sharply against his dull flesh. When finally his jumbled thoughts have settled beneath the calming breath, he peers cautiously at her once more.
She had been lovely in the water, but here, where he can see the entirety of her, she is stunningly beautiful. So far superior to the likes of him, even on the best of days. And today is certainly not one of his better. The light glimmers against her skin, accentuating the golden shimmer and graceful lines of her lithe form. In that moment he becomes painfully aware of the sickly press of his bones against his skin and the dull, patchy nature of his dusky pelt. They are night and day, the two of them. One so terrible of form and the other preternaturally lovely.
He cannot help but stare at her, entranced much as he had been before, when he’d first spied her delicately curved ears rising from the rippling current of the river.
Her question discomfits him however, and he drops his gaze, frowning into the forest floor. Did she truly wish him to say it? Surely she cannot misunderstand why he might wish to hide, could she? One had only to look at him to see that veneer of death, the beastly facade stretched tautly over his bones. Even his own father could not bear to look upon him. And he had been an angel.
Fortunately she does not wait for an answer, sparing Jinn the discomfort of having to voice such an obvious thing. He might recognize the truth, but knowing a thing and uttering it aloud are two very separate things. Her plea for forgiveness however, draws his attention, bringing his gaze swinging back to meet hers. For a long moment, he simply stares at her blankly, as though unable to comprehend what she had just said.
No one has ever sought to apologize for their reactions to him, and it astonishes him that she had come here to seek forgiveness. For a moment, he wonders if this is perhaps a cruel joke of some kind. But his seeking gaze can detect no malevolence in the soft loveliness of her delicate features.
He opens his mouth then, as though to respond, but he closes it before a sound can escape. He takes a breath, brows furrowing as he tries to formulate an appropriate answer. “I…” he starts, before stuttering to a halt once more. He tries again. “Yes.” He clears his throat faintly, uncomfortably. “You are not the first,” he finishes finally, doing his misguided best to assuage her guilt. “I am used to it.”
She had been lovely in the water, but here, where he can see the entirety of her, she is stunningly beautiful. So far superior to the likes of him, even on the best of days. And today is certainly not one of his better. The light glimmers against her skin, accentuating the golden shimmer and graceful lines of her lithe form. In that moment he becomes painfully aware of the sickly press of his bones against his skin and the dull, patchy nature of his dusky pelt. They are night and day, the two of them. One so terrible of form and the other preternaturally lovely.
He cannot help but stare at her, entranced much as he had been before, when he’d first spied her delicately curved ears rising from the rippling current of the river.
Her question discomfits him however, and he drops his gaze, frowning into the forest floor. Did she truly wish him to say it? Surely she cannot misunderstand why he might wish to hide, could she? One had only to look at him to see that veneer of death, the beastly facade stretched tautly over his bones. Even his own father could not bear to look upon him. And he had been an angel.
Fortunately she does not wait for an answer, sparing Jinn the discomfort of having to voice such an obvious thing. He might recognize the truth, but knowing a thing and uttering it aloud are two very separate things. Her plea for forgiveness however, draws his attention, bringing his gaze swinging back to meet hers. For a long moment, he simply stares at her blankly, as though unable to comprehend what she had just said.
No one has ever sought to apologize for their reactions to him, and it astonishes him that she had come here to seek forgiveness. For a moment, he wonders if this is perhaps a cruel joke of some kind. But his seeking gaze can detect no malevolence in the soft loveliness of her delicate features.
He opens his mouth then, as though to respond, but he closes it before a sound can escape. He takes a breath, brows furrowing as he tries to formulate an appropriate answer. “I…” he starts, before stuttering to a halt once more. He tries again. “Yes.” He clears his throat faintly, uncomfortably. “You are not the first,” he finishes finally, doing his misguided best to assuage her guilt. “I am used to it.”
