11-18-2018, 09:08 PM
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Beqanna
Assailant -- Year 226
"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
however bent and badly drawn; malis
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11-18-2018, 09:08 PM
12-08-2018, 07:42 PM
Her life has moved through too many cycles, too many events forced into just one lifetime when there is enough to be strung through the lives of so many generations. But there is only her, just the one mare with her broken mind and her broken heart and body that refuses to be so fragile.
She remembers him, but it is not with the same weight that he remembers her. His memory of her - or the memory he has bound her to - has a gravity all its own, drawing everything to it as though it is the only aspect of his life that still matter. But she is her own gravity, drawing more than just one defining dark to the soul she has become. Malis, he says, and she is struck suddenly by a sense of nostalgia that displaces her in time, takes her back before the loss of her children, her husband, any home she has ever known. To a time where she had not known how love could change her so, make her better. Except it hadn’t, not really. She had ruined that too, killed him and everything still left in her heart with a doom that followed her as devotedly as her shadow. Until she had grown fat again, heavy with children she might’ve expected to resent. Children from a dark god she did not love, a man who was not a man at all, and certainly not the one she had given herself to. But in them she had found hope again, found a peace she did not deserve, a happiness that snuck up on her in fleeting smiles in one corner of her mouth, a flash of amusement when her daughter so gently outmaneuvered all of her wild twins efforts to bully her. They were everything in her that had ever been, and would ever be, good. But looking back into this face, this shade of purple so impossibly dark, so unmistakable as it claws to the surface of her memories, she thinks of nothing but her furthest past. Of a girl with plain brown skin and wings in her heart, of the faith she had held in such a gentle, loving world. So protected by parents who still loved each other so easily. And she finds herself asking, the muscles in her tense jaw drawing furrows in her cheeks, “Who would you have been, if the choice had not been made for you?”
12-09-2018, 09:25 PM
12-13-2018, 09:40 PM
She has grown and lived and loved in this time that stretches so vastly between them, makes his face so much less familiar than it might’ve been years ago. But it was less so the decision to be something, to become, than it was the consequence of being trapped in the flow of time. Always forced onward and forward and into things she had no business experiencing.
This Malis, this creature of gleaming indigo, with horns in a cascade down the bridge of her nose, a body that refuses to acknowledge the mortality she had once known, she should never have become a mother. Should never have found such love and meaning in a life that only wanted to ruin her. All she had managed to do was to bring that ruin down on others, break hearts and families and eventually the only man she had ever truly loved. Perhaps it would have been better for everyone if she had done nothing, become nothing. She is surprised by the nature of his answer, can feel the furrowing of her brow beneath the whorls and tangles of a dark and indigo mane. It had never occurred to her that he might have started their adventure no better off than when he finished - that while she had been something soft and wild and unnoticed by the wickedness of the world, he had already begun to be unmade. She softens, and it is so subtle, so slight, that the only indication of it is in the way she lifts her nose to his, breathing him in with a sharp flare in her chest. It is the scent of him that unlocks more of the memory he had been trapped in within her mind. More of the fear and the fury and the unknowingness of what had happened, and why it would have happened to them. She takes a step closer, forgetting him, forgetting herself, forgetting everything but the urge to lean into the pain this lances in a wound across her chest. Pain is something she understands. This dark horror is easier than anything else. She opens her mouth against his neck, breathes hard against him as she runs her teeth from the soft place behind his ear all the way down to the hollow of his shoulder. She is hardly seeing, hardly aware, hardly there at all until the sound of his voice again draws her back to him. Her mouth pauses against his shoulder, and then she is leaning back to see his face, withdrawing from him with a shadow spreading across those ragged emerald eyes. “I find it hard to believe there has never been anything you have wanted that wasn’t already laid out for you.” Her teeth grind shut, lines of tension appearing in those dark indigo cheeks as she watches him with eyes that are both quiet and skeptical. “I think you must have some idea of who you would want to be, even if you don’t yet know how to be it.”
12-22-2018, 07:33 PM
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