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    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


    safe and sound; Stillwater only.
    #1
    Charlemagne
    TOUCH MY OWN SKIN
    AND HOPE THAT IM STILL BREATHING



    Carli had woken up groggy and alone. Her body was broken, sore, and her wings looked like they’d been burned. No longer was she the serene, perfect creature that re-entered these lands. Instead, that creature inside her that licked the boots of Hell had been re-awoken, and the fires of her bitterness had been re-stoked.
     
    She was reminded of why she never came here anymore.
     
    Nothing but pain, and disappointment. She had had her heart broken, ripped out, and stepped on. The canary bows her head, her black masked mouth corroding into a frown as she gets up and shakes the brush and dirt from her golden pelt, looking down at her wings with disgust before placing them on her back—wincing from the bruises that had been placed there.
     
    She turns around and takes a step.
     
    And turns in the direction that she had come from before she had been so rudely assaulted. The stench that peeled off the color changing/gender changing lady was one distinct musk that she sought out. The slippery man.
     
    Stillwater, she growls under her breath, taking a sharp gasp from the pain of her sore muscles and stops at the lake where her memories became hazy. She pauses, knowing he is within the depths, or perhaps within his cave. But her mind is not on his luscious body or the way he walks with a confident sexy swagger. This is the closest water source, and she does not care to mask her motives any longer.
     
    She slips into the water and slides through—clumsily at first, as her magic does not allow her smooth purchase through the water—but she is at home here, closing her eyes, trying to forget her pain. When Stillwater does not immediately appear, she spends her time leisurely in the lake, carefully scrubbing her body of all traces of dirt and grime and sweat and sex. But the smell is still there. The bruises are still there. She scrubs harder, and the bruises become more prevalent.
     
    She looks around. Screams aloud. And then begins to cry.
     
    Didn’t I tell you, Carli girl? They only want you so they can use you.
     
    I HAD A WAY THEN LOSING IT ALL ON MY OWN
    I HAD A HEART THEN BUT THEN QUEEN HAS BEEN OVERTHROWN
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    #2
    Stillwater
    She wasn't gone for long, no more than a day perhaps. The lovely canary returned, and he watched from the depth of Sylva's shadows as she slipped into the dark loch he frequented more often than his own home. He frowned, studying her silently from his distance. She didn't live here, he knew. There was no reason for her to choose this body of water above one that may have been closer to where she roamed. Not unless she had come for him, covering herself in his cool lake, pulling it comfortably over herself like a security blanket.

    Did she think she was safe here?

    It was not as amusing a thought as it might have been another day. His stare pierced the night to remain locked on her. There was a slight catch in her movements, not as fluid and flawless as they had been before, and she scrubbed at herself as though covered in a thick oil only she could see, desperate to wipe away a memory. It was unsettling to see the confident seductress reformed into.. this.

    Then she screamed, began to weep.

    He flinched from the sound, the ring in his ears and the raw emotion swelling her throat. His frown deepened and his eyes hardened as he slipped from the darkness to stand at the edge of the water, his chain whispering softly with his steps. His head was high as he watched her quietly for a while longer before speaking, his voice low, but firm.

    Come out, Charlemagne.
    Come to me.

    His eyes were dark as he waited to examine her, no evidence of the deeply-seated predator that lay beneath the perfect black coat of handsome horse. He wasn't keen on the idea of joining her in the water, finding that it agitated him if he was not the one to guide them to it -or throw them in it. It was preferable if it was on his terms, and he wouldn't be sinking foot in it otherwise. She would have to come to him if she had indeed come back to Sylva for him.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
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