05-26-2021, 10:24 PM
BRUNHILDE
I BET ON LOSING DOGS
She'd lost her sense and sheer sense of self to the visions today. It feels as if they come more frequently. If Brun can focus just right, she can see her father's furrowed brow and his lips forming around the question, "Are you going to be okay?" But she focuses that hard, she'll lose herself again. To where the present mingles with the past but never the future.
While Tiberios thinks Brun strange and out of her mind, Brun thinks he is terribly serious and far too still. The stranger may be right about her - how she lives in a reality solely her own - but that is simply the beauty of creating one's own reality: she has no idea he is right, nor care for what he thinks of her. Her perception is her own and for moments like these, her perception is her companion's, as well.
"Because I've seen them all before," she murmurs, mostly to herself, lips lifting to a faded smile. He looks just like her first monster, the golden man with the devilish instinct. They're all the same, these monsters. Every last one of them. And Brunhilde, when lost to fake-clarity of her visions, thinks she can take them all on one by one.
"You're a fool, then, to look a woman in the face and tell her she's never faced a monster." Brunhilde lifts her head to its fullest height, setting a suddenly sharp gaze on the man. A flash of the woman she once was shines beautifully in her face. "To be a woman is to face monsters, monster. I think you might be one for not realizing that," she answers clearly, articulately, tail swishing irritably back and forth.
But it's only a glimmer, a glimpse. A creature she once was and might be again, with perserverance and time.
Brun lets her head drift slowly back down, batting long lashes in a girlish way, quite the learned defense mechanism.
"Your name, monster?"
While Tiberios thinks Brun strange and out of her mind, Brun thinks he is terribly serious and far too still. The stranger may be right about her - how she lives in a reality solely her own - but that is simply the beauty of creating one's own reality: she has no idea he is right, nor care for what he thinks of her. Her perception is her own and for moments like these, her perception is her companion's, as well.
"Because I've seen them all before," she murmurs, mostly to herself, lips lifting to a faded smile. He looks just like her first monster, the golden man with the devilish instinct. They're all the same, these monsters. Every last one of them. And Brunhilde, when lost to fake-clarity of her visions, thinks she can take them all on one by one.
"You're a fool, then, to look a woman in the face and tell her she's never faced a monster." Brunhilde lifts her head to its fullest height, setting a suddenly sharp gaze on the man. A flash of the woman she once was shines beautifully in her face. "To be a woman is to face monsters, monster. I think you might be one for not realizing that," she answers clearly, articulately, tail swishing irritably back and forth.
But it's only a glimmer, a glimpse. A creature she once was and might be again, with perserverance and time.
Brun lets her head drift slowly back down, batting long lashes in a girlish way, quite the learned defense mechanism.
"Your name, monster?"
@[Tiberios]
