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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


    lost to the hunt as I was to you; any
    #6

    Rey

    Hah, there’s very little I’m keen on these days. The emptiness of life spans ahead and behind me, Daemron before me, and black oil muck sunken deep, deep beneath me. Whatever had been suspended above me at some point, (that thing which is hope) is now cut loose and forever gone. I never want to see it again.
    So no, I’m not keen on his wolves and I’m certainly not keen on the edge he’s beginning to hone with every word. Only one in particular enlightens me, and that’s his name: Daemron. That word alone has sufficient enough weight to it, so I spare him a nettled glance and let my head drift listlessly aside. “Ahh, don’t tease me. So many shades of red in this world and you focus on only one.” I sigh away from him, as if he were but a statue. Perhaps it’s partially true; I know my arch behavior will fall on stone ears anyways.

    Bloodred, blood root, root brown, rot. I think, quiet and stoic because my comment on shades of red has somehow catapulted me into a memory from infancy. I’d sang the colors to myself, making them up as I went and trying them on for countless crowds of imaginary spectators. Back when hope had tethered itself like a joyous balloon to my heart. “I was born without a name, so call me whatever you want.” Comes the eventual reply, bitter and carved raw from someplace hidden inside of me. I suddenly hate that word: Daemron.

    I don’t know why but he’s the first I’ve ever told this to.

    My coat deepens in it’s color, boils itself ebony and spreads, spots, splotches my skin until I’m a dark smudge with pale eyes and two pinprick canines. I feel the proverbial burn of my markings as evidently as they show themselves. “F*cking around out here like you own the damn forest, threatening me like I’m some common criminal …” I swear darkly, half mutter and half curse. “Just who do you think you are?” I hiss, purging a life’s worth of bottled hate and rage onto the stallion who made himself the “one straw too many” piled upon my back.

    Wanna step to me better think twice, 'cause I look pretty but I ain't that nice



    @[Daemron]
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    Messages In This Thread
    RE: lost to the hunt as I was to you; any - by Rey - 10-27-2018, 07:57 PM



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