10-02-2020, 07:43 PM
CrownS
The curse would always find a host so long as the bloodline carried on. Ghaul’s insanity and inevitable death were only ever an inconvenience. Now, while the veil between worlds is still so paper thin, it flexes. It moves like a fog through the Tephran jungle, mingling with the humidity here and drifting ever further between the trees. That reptilian curse drifts over Sabbath and considers her for a while as wisps like fingers caress her face. But she is hellbent on her own mission - an unsuitable breeding ground for the chaos it wants to foster.
Slowly, inch by inch, it coils around her infant child. Crowns is eager. More importantly, he is hungry and without direction. He would devour whatever he is given. The darkness seeps down between his gently parted lips and gathers in the pit of his stomach. The sapphire and bay colt wakes with hacking coughs that draw his mother to his side despite the shroud of exhaustion clouding her vision.
“Crowns? Are you alright?” she asks as she gently noses at his cheek. He nods and continues his coughing.
“I’m okay. I just,” he pauses, wheezing, “I just need some.. water.”
He fights to breathe around the burning sensation in his throat. The boy stumbles up onto his small hooves and wanders from the warm den. There is a stream just past a few trees, he knows, and so he slinks toward the sound of running water. Crowns drinks and drinks but he seems unsatisfied despite how cool the water feels over his parched tongue.
Another cough escapes him as he lifts his small head. Perhaps he’s running a fever? He whimpers feebly at his discomfort and gingerly eases himself into the waters now. A little hiss slips from between his teeth when the cold water splashes up onto his thighs and belly. Steam sizzles and bubbles where the stream meets his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too preoccupied with keeping his balance against the gentle current.
Slowly, inch by inch, it coils around her infant child. Crowns is eager. More importantly, he is hungry and without direction. He would devour whatever he is given. The darkness seeps down between his gently parted lips and gathers in the pit of his stomach. The sapphire and bay colt wakes with hacking coughs that draw his mother to his side despite the shroud of exhaustion clouding her vision.
“Crowns? Are you alright?” she asks as she gently noses at his cheek. He nods and continues his coughing.
“I’m okay. I just,” he pauses, wheezing, “I just need some.. water.”
He fights to breathe around the burning sensation in his throat. The boy stumbles up onto his small hooves and wanders from the warm den. There is a stream just past a few trees, he knows, and so he slinks toward the sound of running water. Crowns drinks and drinks but he seems unsatisfied despite how cool the water feels over his parched tongue.
Another cough escapes him as he lifts his small head. Perhaps he’s running a fever? He whimpers feebly at his discomfort and gingerly eases himself into the waters now. A little hiss slips from between his teeth when the cold water splashes up onto his thighs and belly. Steam sizzles and bubbles where the stream meets his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too preoccupied with keeping his balance against the gentle current.
he's a sick lil baby and i feel bad