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  • Beqanna

    version 22: awakening


    LILLIANA -- Year 206


    "There is still something of himself - something of the Wolfbane who would always love her - that rallies against the slime. It says, 'lie in the bed you’ve made'. So he gathers the covers and tucks himself in." -- Wolfbane, written by Calcifer

    don’t love me, I’m quicksand - abysm
    A different kind of prison; that’s all the time spent between ash colored rocks had amounted to.  Coiled and placid in the embrace of downy, grey drifts, the realization settled into her slumbering mind as the warm cinders settled over her body.  In an attempt to find freedom within the depths of the ocean, she’d found nothing but profound isolation and a prison of her own making.  What difference did it make, to have a cell made of water or lava; it was all the same in the end.  And now, just as it had then, a forgotten part of her cried out to be acknowledged, desperate and longing to unravel the paralyzing bonds of fear rooted in a past beyond her control.

    It moved her, that voice, metaphorically and literally towards the drag and expansion of the framework so distinctly serpentine into her form more vulnerable.  But the grey of her eyes would refuse to bleed away from the yellowed eyes of the predator.  Using the signatures of heat to guide the fluid steps down a foreign path, Tephra dissolved into the horizon at her back and towards the only one who’d spiked her fear and given her a taste of hope in the same span of a heartbeat.

    The splash of alabaster and pale gold call her forward, as her vision shifts in turn.  Time had passed, and where she’d once known a boy enlightened by the brilliance of a sunny day, she would now find the angular features of a young man grown.  For as much as he’d changed, she had done little, save for the equid body his gaze would fall upon today.  And if he would spare a harder glance, he’d recognize the brightness of intelligent eyes once seen before in a slender, banded guise.

    “You” she starts then pauses, choking over both words and fathoming the possibility alike, “you had asked me before if I could have freedom for a little while, if I would take it.”  That moment so deeply etched into her mind and tainting everything else since then replayed effortlessly behind her slitted eyes.   “Do you remember?”

    Abysm has always believed serpents have their own brand of cold reptilian intelligence about them. He’s conversed with serpents made of darkness and dream, and even one very real and very feminine seeming snake that summed herself sleepily in a rock. Of course he hasn’t forgotten that! Couldn’t, because he sensed an otherness about her - a shapeshifting brightness to her eyes that suggested she might be more than just a snake. 

    Sometimes he dreamt of meeting her again, or one just like her. On a rock. In the sea. Having conversations, feeling her slither up a leg and onto his back… ah, but these are only dreams! But dreams are the substance he feeds on. The dreams should be what draws him out this day but they’re not. It is the season and the snakes that wind their way across the ground.

    So naturally, he looks for a banded sea-snake far from the sea. Instead he finds snakes in all manner of colorful and drab dress, and none of them have the keen intellect that shone out of the predatory yellow eyes. He’s too busy sussing out the snakes to notice the mare of slate and snow, painted like him but dainty in that way that he finds most mates to be - beautiful, disastrous, alluring.

    It isn’t until she hails him and he looks up and around to her, finally noting more than slate and snow that color her fur. Her eyes pin him to a standstill as recognition, shock, and a hot burst of triumph (a shifter as he’d suspected all along!) roll through him. “Little snake,” he drawled as he sidles closer, moved by the familiarity of her eyes. It is enough to make him remember, because oh! - how could he forget?

    “Do you seek that freedom now?” and he cannot help how his mouth seeks out her neck. He is curious as his plush nose descends to meet the plushness of her fur, as if he had expected her to be scaled somehow even in this more delectable form.

    Kerrigan sorry it has taken me forever to reply! ❤️
    i would do anything for love,
    but i won’t do that 

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