01-02-2021, 06:53 PM
The light that meets the dark
Cheri thinks, though she can’t be sure, that something wonderful has happened. Her head is light as a feather, spinning spinning spinning off into the stars and sky where it leaves her body giddy on the shore. Her knees hardly feel the indent of so many stones pressing into her skin; only a tingling sort of sensation remains, like the fuzz of a sleeping limb awakening to life again.
She is the stranger on the shoreline now, and he the odd voice without a face. Targaryan’s features - once so lovely under the dappled moon - are shapeless and distant as the fog that prowls throughout Taiga. Cheri can hear his voice, but the meaning behind it can’t be serious. She giggles, eyes fluttering against the threat of sleep, and only nods at his question. For her effort she’s granted a blanket of satin; the stallion’s wing arcs above her and her ears flick up at the motion, and then the feathers have blotted out the world for a moment as they cradle her in their soft embrace. Cheri thinks she must be in a dream, a dream where the clouds have come and enveloped her, so her nose takes the liberty of running along their seams and shadowy edges.
I think you saved my life, He tells her.
The clouds dim and sharpen; Cheri’s eyes blink steadily and the spinning slows around her. She doesn’t like the way her gut clenches and threatens to flip over itself, or the way she feels hot and in need of fresh air.
“Yes I - I’m alright.” Cheri frowns, turning her face away from the scrutiny of Targaryen’s interest. Full of bile, she swallows a mouthful of water and steadies the pounding in her head by focusing on the gravel pricking her from underneath, how it doesn’t move and by that fact alone the tiny stones might be able to anchor her to reality as well. “You were so quiet, and you were bleeding…” She murmurs.
“I only wanted to help.” Cheri explains. A moment passes and then she looks up, afraid of something she can’t explain or even begin to understand - she only knows that she’s afraid, and for some reason the sight of Targaryen’s long face in the shadowy night seems to dispel the unnamed fear. “You’re better now, yes? You won’t die will you?” Cheri cries piteously like the child she is. She won’t have his death if she can keep it at bay, she’ll hound it back to the afterlife where it belongs, again and again if she has to.
Fate strums her lovely fingers on the harpsichord of Cheri’s past, present, and certain future, all at once assuring the girl of her life’s purpose thanks to this stranger she’d met on the shore. Targaryen’s fiery awakening, her stroke of unusual power, they were connected weren’t they? Her eyes, bright as a summer dream even in the moonlit dark, stray down to the offending leg that would’ve been his undoing and Cheri sucks in a breath at the sight of it fully healed.
In her heart, she can hear the music thrumming.
She is the stranger on the shoreline now, and he the odd voice without a face. Targaryan’s features - once so lovely under the dappled moon - are shapeless and distant as the fog that prowls throughout Taiga. Cheri can hear his voice, but the meaning behind it can’t be serious. She giggles, eyes fluttering against the threat of sleep, and only nods at his question. For her effort she’s granted a blanket of satin; the stallion’s wing arcs above her and her ears flick up at the motion, and then the feathers have blotted out the world for a moment as they cradle her in their soft embrace. Cheri thinks she must be in a dream, a dream where the clouds have come and enveloped her, so her nose takes the liberty of running along their seams and shadowy edges.
I think you saved my life, He tells her.
The clouds dim and sharpen; Cheri’s eyes blink steadily and the spinning slows around her. She doesn’t like the way her gut clenches and threatens to flip over itself, or the way she feels hot and in need of fresh air.
“Yes I - I’m alright.” Cheri frowns, turning her face away from the scrutiny of Targaryen’s interest. Full of bile, she swallows a mouthful of water and steadies the pounding in her head by focusing on the gravel pricking her from underneath, how it doesn’t move and by that fact alone the tiny stones might be able to anchor her to reality as well. “You were so quiet, and you were bleeding…” She murmurs.
“I only wanted to help.” Cheri explains. A moment passes and then she looks up, afraid of something she can’t explain or even begin to understand - she only knows that she’s afraid, and for some reason the sight of Targaryen’s long face in the shadowy night seems to dispel the unnamed fear. “You’re better now, yes? You won’t die will you?” Cheri cries piteously like the child she is. She won’t have his death if she can keep it at bay, she’ll hound it back to the afterlife where it belongs, again and again if she has to.
Fate strums her lovely fingers on the harpsichord of Cheri’s past, present, and certain future, all at once assuring the girl of her life’s purpose thanks to this stranger she’d met on the shore. Targaryen’s fiery awakening, her stroke of unusual power, they were connected weren’t they? Her eyes, bright as a summer dream even in the moonlit dark, stray down to the offending leg that would’ve been his undoing and Cheri sucks in a breath at the sight of it fully healed.
In her heart, she can hear the music thrumming.
@[Targaryen]