06-21-2021, 02:05 PM
ILLUM
He had vowed not to look at her again, to instead let her feel the ire in his dark expression and allow her be pushed away by it like tides in reverse. Surely she would have no interest in staying when all he offered her were clipped words as cool as the frost on his feathers and a scowl that made his face disenchantingly dour. Only Ryatah had ever stayed long enough to find the seams in a mask that was not quite a mask, but also not entirely him. To find the cracks in his armor and witness the secrets that lay smothered beneath.
It is easy at first because although her voice is something delicate, something like starlight, he is well versed in knowing such things do not exist for him to taint with his darkness. But then in his periphery he can see that change overcome her, the subtle deepening of the moonlight he realizes does more than just pool and reflect from the silver of her skin. He turns to her again before he’s even made the decision to do so, and his deep gold eyes are something dark and searching. He ignores her words, and so the frown on his mouth has nothing to do with her answer but rather the realization that there is something in his gut that draws him to her like gravity.
When he takes a few steps closer he has forgotten his vow entirely, might’ve never remembered it at all if not for the way she flinches away from. He pauses, teeth grinding, and when his gaze returns to her face again his expression is hard and unfeeling. It is the mask he hides behind as though the way her wings tighten to her sides don’t make something inside him - whatever last ounce of good he possessed - roil in a disgust that tastes like bitter bile on his tongue. It is a desperate, basal kind of desire to be something more than the dark others recoil from.
He doesn’t move again, though the gravity of her is something that makes his bones ache, makes his soul burn cold inside his chest. She looks back up to the sky, and he swears that the moment her eyes reach the moon the glow spilling from her skin turns even more molten. Would it do the same if she looked at him like that, with something not unlike desire breaking apart in the gold of those angel eyes. “As do I.” He tells her, though his gaze never wanders further than her face, than the way she is the brightest heart of night. His utter opposite.
He reaches for her without meaning to - not physically, not with steady steps that close the distance between them or with the cool touch of his mouth against her glowing neck. He reaches for her with whatever this night is that lives inside him, with stars and dark and moonlight that is only a whisper of what she is. He reaches for her with the gravity she so carelessly, so unknowingly, has him tethered by. “Why do you look at the moon instead of the stars?” His voice is quiet but his eyes are burning bright, the gold almost completely overtaken by that thin ring of silver around the pupil. “Do you dislike the stars?”
It is easy at first because although her voice is something delicate, something like starlight, he is well versed in knowing such things do not exist for him to taint with his darkness. But then in his periphery he can see that change overcome her, the subtle deepening of the moonlight he realizes does more than just pool and reflect from the silver of her skin. He turns to her again before he’s even made the decision to do so, and his deep gold eyes are something dark and searching. He ignores her words, and so the frown on his mouth has nothing to do with her answer but rather the realization that there is something in his gut that draws him to her like gravity.
When he takes a few steps closer he has forgotten his vow entirely, might’ve never remembered it at all if not for the way she flinches away from. He pauses, teeth grinding, and when his gaze returns to her face again his expression is hard and unfeeling. It is the mask he hides behind as though the way her wings tighten to her sides don’t make something inside him - whatever last ounce of good he possessed - roil in a disgust that tastes like bitter bile on his tongue. It is a desperate, basal kind of desire to be something more than the dark others recoil from.
He doesn’t move again, though the gravity of her is something that makes his bones ache, makes his soul burn cold inside his chest. She looks back up to the sky, and he swears that the moment her eyes reach the moon the glow spilling from her skin turns even more molten. Would it do the same if she looked at him like that, with something not unlike desire breaking apart in the gold of those angel eyes. “As do I.” He tells her, though his gaze never wanders further than her face, than the way she is the brightest heart of night. His utter opposite.
He reaches for her without meaning to - not physically, not with steady steps that close the distance between them or with the cool touch of his mouth against her glowing neck. He reaches for her with whatever this night is that lives inside him, with stars and dark and moonlight that is only a whisper of what she is. He reaches for her with the gravity she so carelessly, so unknowingly, has him tethered by. “Why do you look at the moon instead of the stars?” His voice is quiet but his eyes are burning bright, the gold almost completely overtaken by that thin ring of silver around the pupil. “Do you dislike the stars?”
@[cressida]