[private] wont be coming to church on sunday; ivar

[Kensa]

for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

Kensa is foolish, without a doubt, it goes hand in hand with her brazenness, but as she looks upon the Kelpie she is not stupid enough to think him just a fin bedecked equine. As they talk she notices the structure of the fins that he flares. She thinks of lionfish. Of catfish and their sharp edged and stinging fins. His teeth are sharper than hers, a glittering threat behind inviting lips. Beneath his scaled skin, lengthened, sleek muscles draw her eyes. The little mustang has spent a great deal of time looking at the world, and in spite of the instincts so artfully confused by his incredible beauty she recognizes with a slow and delicious intrigue that Ivar is adapted to predatory perfection. Designed for a purpose, not just a random collision of genetic variations. It is beautiful, danger more alluring to the adventurous girl than illusions could ever be.

She cannot possibly know how dangerous he is, doesn’t suddenly try to scramble away divining some incredible impending violence. Kensa only recognizes that Ivar is a predator, in this form if not all his forms and her interest in him is compounded.

“Getting to know Ivar appeals to me, maybe there’s something we could enjoy together.” Kensa paws at the surf, taking a step forward under the guise of resettling hooves that had begun to be sucking into the soft, wet sand. His name on her lips, her voice a strong rich plum wine. Dangling herself like pretty bait, the primitive depths of her mind scrambled by this aberrant behavior. Kensa’s curiosity and lust creating a dangerous cocktail that inspires her to tempt an attractive monster.

kensa

for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.

@[Ivar]