09-14-2021, 05:53 PM
with rushing thread of brazen spindles.
The sensation changes but it does not weaken.
(His anger fades but it does not make him hate her any less, does it? And it is the hate that makes her wilt, the hate that tightens a vise around her windpipe and cripples the insistent heart in the cage of her chest.)
Anger and disgust are not all that different, really. But she draws in a long breath, fighting to keep her bearings, while the vision strobes and darkens and he frowns deeply at her.
She has never known this specific kind of hate before.
Not even the wolf despises her as much as the stallion glaring at her from the shore. She shakes her head but it does absolutely nothing to clear the fog that seems to gather just behind her eyes. She grinds her teeth and the shadow wolf emerges from the darkness he’d hid himself in to stand at her shoulder, looking up at her.
But she pays him no mind.
Too stunned, perhaps, by the stallion’s insistence that he’s not using any magic. And she frowns, too, though hers is nowhere near as dark. Her brow furrows only slightly, her lips parting in wonder. She glances down at the wolf, who says nothing, and then into the copse of trees at the edge of the river. It must be someone else.
She swallows thickly and shakes her head again, shifting her focus back to his face. What kind of game would it be? “There is no game,” she says and the wolf presses its mouth to her knee, bleeding love into her flesh, and when she glances down at it again the black threads between her eyes flicker a pale glow. Love.
Of course.
She smiles, though the heart is still a clenched fist in her chest.
“It is you,” she tells the stallion without looking up from the wolf at her side, “even if you aren’t doing it on purpose.”
(His anger fades but it does not make him hate her any less, does it? And it is the hate that makes her wilt, the hate that tightens a vise around her windpipe and cripples the insistent heart in the cage of her chest.)
Anger and disgust are not all that different, really. But she draws in a long breath, fighting to keep her bearings, while the vision strobes and darkens and he frowns deeply at her.
She has never known this specific kind of hate before.
Not even the wolf despises her as much as the stallion glaring at her from the shore. She shakes her head but it does absolutely nothing to clear the fog that seems to gather just behind her eyes. She grinds her teeth and the shadow wolf emerges from the darkness he’d hid himself in to stand at her shoulder, looking up at her.
But she pays him no mind.
Too stunned, perhaps, by the stallion’s insistence that he’s not using any magic. And she frowns, too, though hers is nowhere near as dark. Her brow furrows only slightly, her lips parting in wonder. She glances down at the wolf, who says nothing, and then into the copse of trees at the edge of the river. It must be someone else.
She swallows thickly and shakes her head again, shifting her focus back to his face. What kind of game would it be? “There is no game,” she says and the wolf presses its mouth to her knee, bleeding love into her flesh, and when she glances down at it again the black threads between her eyes flicker a pale glow. Love.
Of course.
She smiles, though the heart is still a clenched fist in her chest.
“It is you,” she tells the stallion without looking up from the wolf at her side, “even if you aren’t doing it on purpose.”
@Ashhal