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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


    [private]  like wild fire, it starts in my chest; laura pony
    #3

    that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried

    Firion does not sleep often anymore—finds that he does not need it. There are times when he does, if only to hunt through a dreamworld that now opens to him (lush and expansive and too vast to easily find that which he hunts), but he does not visit it for long. It is too great of a relief to live in the night as he does now. Too great of a relief to be able to travel through it wholly as himself. He does not need to succumb to the curse any longer. He does not need to lose himself as the sun sets. He does not perish.

    Instead he becomes more during those evening hours.

    His magic swells, rising like a tide in him, and his golden eyes gleam with the untapped power.

    He consider it a great joke—and the fact that he now glows a faint gold during those dark hours does not lose its humor on him either. At least he has that, he thinks. At least he is able to cling to his humor even as the world gives him this gift and then molds it as a weapon, taking his curse and reshaping it.

    His laugh is bitter and under his breath as he continues, moving through shadows half as himself and half as darkness himself, his companion trailing after him—its thoughts bubbling against his conscious. For now, he ignores it, only pausing when he sees the comet streak across the sky. Curious, he pauses, angling his head and narrowing his eyes before opening a portal of that same darkness and stepping through.

    When he comes out the other side, he shakes the dust from his shoulders and straightens.

    His gaze sweeps around him before he settles on the copper and gold girl who strides forward, the smell of ash lingering. “You’re still on fire,” he deadpans, nodding a heavy-jawed head toward her tail.

    And then he grins, wolfish in the moonlight.

    so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried




    @[firena]
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    Messages In This Thread
    RE: like wild fire, it starts in my chest; laura pony - by firion - 04-07-2021, 11:19 PM



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