03-09-2022, 08:23 PM
Amet
“I tried to move on with my life, Ciri,” Amet snaps uncharacteristically at the accusation in her voice as his ears flutter backward into their tousled mess of mane, “Jah-Lilah and I tried to move on.” The words are spat through a clenched jaw, his dark pupils narrowed and pinned on the star-wielder before him as he searches for her reaction. Waits, knowing. He hadn’t needed to add that detail in, not when she’s already hurt and volatile, but now, undoubtedly, the damage has been done. There is no question in his mind that he will suffer the consequences of his actions, regardless of Ciri’s absence when they’d tried.
He’d lived a lifetime away from Beqanna, but despite the earlier irregularities that had piqued his interest, Amet finds that he feels just the same now as he had all those years ago, eyes glued to the pain in Ciri’s face and ears pressed away from the rage. He tries to soften again, to present himself as a safe place for her to be vulnerable and set aside her anger, but the damage has already been done.
He’s struck with overwhelming deja vu just before she strikes at him, eliciting a pained grunt from his ajar lips. Ciri’s laughter, loud and laced with venom, rings in his pinned ears. A dissociative thought plagues him, coaxing him to look at how beautiful the light of the crimson stars looks against Ciri’s dark coat and her glowing white scars. The chaos around them continues to build and the golden stallion can do nothing but be - he steels himself against her second assault, and in refusing to fight back against his former lover he feels the joint of his leathered wing snap. The pain is instantaneous, causing him to cry out against the universe that grows around them.
Ciri’s cruel voice only barely registers as he gasps at the unnatural weight of his wing hanging at his side. Even if it had, he wouldn’t know what to say. He’d grown away from those thoughts, but they are still easy to throw out into existence, to draw shame and pain into his heart. Through gritted teeth, the long-forgotten king of Hyaline hisses at the woman who had once held the entirety of his heart and soul:
“Fucking do it, Ciri.”
And then she lunges, her bright eyes as inky black as the universe she has created around him.
You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
@Ciri
