• Logout
  • Beqanna

    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


    [private]  velvet gloves, you're still a stunner;
    #1

    i'm a geyser, feel it bubbling from below
    hear it call, hear it call, hear it call to me, constantly

    “Bub,” Brunhilde murmurs, winding her serpentine neck around his chest. She nips at the skin where his chest meets his shoulder and a pleased little flame glows upon her nose. The heat flashes close to her lover’s skin and fear pulses even hotter in her throat. If he is displeased with her slip up she may feel the sharp bite of his disgust; so she instinctively winces and presses closer to his chest, sputtering:

    “. . . sorry . . .”

    Autumn is beginning to fade into winter in Beqanna, with the breeze’s bitter bite growing crueler by the moment. Hildy shivers and tucks her wings tighter to her side. The Hyalinian air isn’t even the coldest aspect of her life, but that is a reality she allows to keep her frigid. 

    Butterflies of all colors land peacefully upon the pair. To an onlooker, they might look like God’s most blessed angels. Angular and beautiful, as sharp and unforgiving as the scream of dueling swords—she knows what they must appear to be, and that leaves an aching tear in the woman’s chest.

    She is his sunset and he her sunrise, endlessly tethered and chasing the other.

    “Are you cold?” she whispers to him, eyes closed against his might and the cold air.

    and hear the harmony only when it's harming me
    it's not real, it's not real, it's not real enough

    Brunhilde

    @[beelzebub]




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)