"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
12-21-2018, 11:22 PM (This post was last modified: 12-21-2018, 11:22 PM by Briella.)
Briella
your eyes are lined in pain, black tears don't hide in rain
Different now than she had been, Briella is a creature of strange beauty: of faerie-like whimsy even now, and of a grace that seemed entirely otherworldly. One who weaves through the wild roses and pink clover, through through the blossoming brush with all their branches bursting with berries and flowers. Vines curl around the trees and plants: strangle whatever they can bind. The low fog lays on the ground and dewy morning air blows through the dense reaches and wild, and Briella drifts through the sunlight piercing the canopy and the nettles: through the fading darkness and all the vast shadows.
Quiet and graceful, she dances for moments- the blonde waves long and curled, and her faux-chocolate coloration faded enough in areas to see where the mutty browns have tangles with the rich earthy chestnut. Long and tall she seems built to run, to move- to fly: her pale blue eyes bright and strange, and she turns them too and fro as she slides through the trees. A tender whistle leaves her lips and for the time a melody is kept, a lullaby from times passed and the ancient ruins of the Chamber.
She stops in mid-step when she hears the sound of someone else, the thudding footfalls and rustling branches and leaves. Those pale eyes watching as she turns herself and staggers for a moment as she feels a tree bumping into her legs. Cautious and wide-eyed she finds him with some note of the golden color of his body: the strength and sheer muscle rippling through him. His face is familiar, the physiology too, and Briella inhales suddenly at the recollection of the man.
His name wasn’t anything uttered, or if it had, she’d forgotten; but nonetheless she remembers the growling faces and anger: the harsh words and all the fury… the chaos. With an uneasy step she slides forward, not towards but almost away- as if she sought to flee; but there is an unintentional misstep and Briella twists in a way that locks her gaze onto his own, that prompts the darkly lined eyes to flutter as she looks away quickly and tries to recover from the way her hoof has slid down the side of a rock.
“Pardon,” she speaks, the old-accent smoky and her voice low. “I hadn’t meant to disturb you.” and with that she walks away from her nemesis the rock and maintains a distance between them, watching and aware of the gleaning ice in her mane and tail, she shimmers of it clinging to the blonde. “You, are…” she mulls over it, thinks and finally is able to speak. “Bruise? I had not caught your name properly before- I am Briella.”
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
He remembers her—although barely.
She had not been but a babe at the time, and he had been more focused on her adoptive mother, more focused on the glee he had felt remembering how Heartfire had felt beneath his hands—how she fought back. And then, well, he had pulled the threads of the Fear slightly too hard and she had reacted just as he had hoped she would, obliterating the land and creating a damn crater in the middle of the island.
A crater.
She was marvelous.
He’d break her some day.
But that’s not what he’s thinking about when he sees the ethereal girl picking her way through the isle. His black eyes brighten with interest but his face remains carefully neutral. She had grown up too fast, he thinks, wondering at what magic must brew in her veins. But, in the end, he doesn’t really care—not really. All he sees is a new project, a new toy, a new something for him to break beneath his palms.
And if that caused auxiliary damage to Heartfire in the process, then all the better.
She apologizes and his lips quirk in the corner. “It’s no problem.” He’s almost dismissive, not entirely curt but not paying special interest. That part was easy for him. He had never been one drawn in by the beauty of others. He didn’t hunger for the curves of a woman or the sweep of hair around her cheek. It never stirred anything in his belly. He only hungered for the way they looked when taken apart.
“It’s Bruise,” he answers, handsome face angling back to her, finally taking the time to study her. He takes his time, forcing himself to be deliberate, to let his gaze wander over the curves of her hips and then down her spine and then up to her face where they come to rest. There is no apology for the brazen look, just a shadow of a smile on his devilish face. “What brings you over to me today, Briella?”
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
your eyes are lined in pain, black tears don't hide in rain
She fails in all ways to understand the darkness around her, the depths of the waters: of the hungry eyes and gnashing teeth before her. Although it is an inadequate description: because he no beast, no, he much worse.
Briella cannot see the emptiness in his eyes, the hunger in his soul- the sickness and shadows in his mind: the precise desire to strip and break, to dissemble whatever his fingers could grasp or his eyes could see… she doesn’t understand the danger or the peril; but instead she sees the magnificent gold and wonderful eyes, the charming way he seems to flirt the line between wanton and gentlemen.
Poised as she may be, her forelegs stand together in an almost perfect ‘v’ and the wavy blonde falls lazily about her eyes and neck, acts as curtain in a way while she peers out at him. Her head lifts and ever gently she watches him with fascination and wonder, with curiosity as the heavily burdened heart beats in her chest. Love, bitter and overflowing: not something only for him but for everyone… an unselfish and naive love, and it shows in her weak smile and in the sound of her voice.
“I-” she pauses, the glittering ice in her mane and tail so sheer and thing it appeared little more than strands of glossy hair. Something that reflected the light of the morning, that exposed the vague areas where the smutty points along her back paled. “I was walking, considering making the trip again to the northern shores. I just, didn’t want…” she’s quick to fade off, embarrassment or something girlish.
Her breath is easy to catch but, she cannot hide the shiver on her skin, and her head shakes as she recalls the wave of fear and the chaos- the vision of loss and of death. “I was worried, for everyone. Are you… sick? Have you managed to avoid it?” she asks, peering up at him with a desire on her face to know or understand. “I hope so.” she blinks and looks away- taking time to study the distance between them and all the wolfish charm he presents.
Part of her cannot understand why she finds a certain desire to stare at the curve of his throat, or to stand and converse: to truly try and find the best in him; but it’s pure naivety, and Briella sighs. “Sorry, still a bit nervous, I think the last time we met was a little less than peaceful and I haven’t quite been able to wrap my head around all of it.”
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
Her naivety is beautiful in its own way, he supposes. It’s a thin, feeble thing, and he wants to hold it up to the light, wants to watch as it filters through it, sheer and sparking. It would be wonderful to watch it fracture apart. Just the right amount of pressure and—ah, it would splinter so beautifully. The idea of it almost puts a softness in his eye that he leverages, dipping his head a little and then looking up through the break in his sooty forelock. One corner of his lip lifts slightly as he catches her gaze and holds it.
“I’m okay,” he says quietly, his voice a little husky, a rumble up his slender, elegant throat. “I’ve managed to steer clear of it for now.” He pauses, lets an artificial concern touch his features, color his eyes into something genuine. He considers whether to step forward, to close the distance for her, but he decides against it—decides to let her come to him. Draw her in slowly but surely.
It’d be so much sweeter if she chose this of her own accord.
“I’m glad you found me,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before he shakes his head, growing quiet as she continues to talk. Something shimmers beneath his expression when she mentions their last encounter and he frowns, looks away to the horizon and lets the silence between them stretch long and thin, the moment growing brittle. Finally, after several moments, he looks back, studying her with a more neutral gaze.
“Your mother doesn’t like me much,” he says with a sigh, hoping he was right about her relationship with Heartfire. He rolls his shoulders, letting something like irritation and embarrassment wash over him. “I don’t know why,” he looks down, the frown deepening as he kicks the ground a little. “You probably shouldn’t stay here with me.” A pause as he glances up. “Although I would really like you to.”
He feels the anticipation build, his veins practically bubbling with it.
“But I’m selfish. So selfish. I shouldn’t want to keep such beauty around me. I’m so undeserving.”
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
