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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    i sit at a banquet for traitors; any
    #3

    i’ve been both a saint & a viper

    The darkness crawls across the mottled blue of his flesh, rippling hungrily beneath the fibers of muscle and sinew. He trembles, his jaw clenching tightly as he attempts to still himself, to still his thoughts. The demons run rampant anyway, fluttering through his mind and over his body like raven’s wings, intimate and familiar and terrifying. He cannot control them, and every hour is torture as he tries to keep some semblance of his old self, but it is barely recognizable beneath the blackness that has become his home.

    You’re not safe here, he had told the shadow, but the shadow did not listen.

    Do they ever?

    He braces himself, muscles becoming taut beneath his skin, eyes flickering back and forth towards the cave’s yawning entrance. The scent of bear - thick and musty, wild - fills his nostrils and his ears fall back into the wild tangle of his black mane, the ferocity in his eyes magnifying tenfold while becoming rimmed with white. The stallion rakes a forehoof against the smooth, familiar stone of the cave, the sound grating and rough, vibrating through the air menacingly.

    Balto?

    For a moment, the darkness in his eyes subsides and the demon’s whispers fall silent. His brow furrows, the lines of his face softening into a sort of sad expression, stretching his neck forward to huff confusedly at the toothed mouth that speaks his name. The weight of his burden temporarily lifts, for a moment being able to breathe again, his nostrils shuddering as he inhales deeply. The bear is a stranger, unfamiliar and threatening; but the voice…

    He snorts sharply, the black of his lips pursing.

    “Who are you?” He asks, his voice quiet and uncertain, as if his voice would awaken his seemingly sleeping demons.

    Balto



    @[keeper]
    eeeeee! i'm so glad you caught this <3
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    Messages In This Thread
    i sit at a banquet for traitors; any - by Balto - 05-30-2019, 09:23 AM
    RE: i sit at a banquet for traitors; any - by Balto - 06-08-2019, 09:12 AM



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