01-27-2020, 01:33 AM
dove
LOVE COULD BE LABELED POISON AND WE'D DRINK IT ANYWAYS.
He notices her, and she feels like her throat might close in anxiety. She didn’t seek out the company of others often, because she was afraid. Not of being hurt; for some reason that has never occurred to her. She is afraid instead of their rejection, their disappointment. That they might see the shy, quiet girl and think about how she may be pretty, but surely she would never amount to anything. There wasn’t a place in the world for mild girls like her – except to be in the shadows of those that shone as vibrant as the sun.
She feels like he might be one of those. That maybe the sparks that she caught glimpses of had the ability to light up the sky, if he wanted, and with that vibrant coloring he could command the attention of anyone he wanted.
But he’s looking at her the way she is looking at him – like he’s trying to decide if he should be cautious of her, like she might somehow warp into a nightmare and eat him alive. And she is looking at his wings, flared and poised, and then again to his mane, hoping to see a spark like she had before.
He moves towards her and she does not shy away, even though her muscles are taut and her dark blue eyes watch him uncertainly. A part of her is too shocked that he actually seemed to want to walk up to her that it does not occur for her to leave; even if she is afraid, even if he hurts her, she is far too captivated to move. She wonders if he can hear her heart pounding like a prisoner against her ribcage, and when she sees his nose reach for hers, her breathing suddenly stops.
She waits, until he touches her – just barely, merely a whisper of touch against the sensitive skin right there – and then she releases a slow, trembling exhale. “Hi,” she says in that soft, shy way of hers. She is afraid to look at him, and she’s not sure why. Like maybe if they look at each other for too long he will see right through her and decide he doesn’t want to stay, because like everyone else he will be unimpressed by what he sees. “My name is Dove.”
She feels like he might be one of those. That maybe the sparks that she caught glimpses of had the ability to light up the sky, if he wanted, and with that vibrant coloring he could command the attention of anyone he wanted.
But he’s looking at her the way she is looking at him – like he’s trying to decide if he should be cautious of her, like she might somehow warp into a nightmare and eat him alive. And she is looking at his wings, flared and poised, and then again to his mane, hoping to see a spark like she had before.
He moves towards her and she does not shy away, even though her muscles are taut and her dark blue eyes watch him uncertainly. A part of her is too shocked that he actually seemed to want to walk up to her that it does not occur for her to leave; even if she is afraid, even if he hurts her, she is far too captivated to move. She wonders if he can hear her heart pounding like a prisoner against her ribcage, and when she sees his nose reach for hers, her breathing suddenly stops.
She waits, until he touches her – just barely, merely a whisper of touch against the sensitive skin right there – and then she releases a slow, trembling exhale. “Hi,” she says in that soft, shy way of hers. She is afraid to look at him, and she’s not sure why. Like maybe if they look at each other for too long he will see right through her and decide he doesn’t want to stay, because like everyone else he will be unimpressed by what he sees. “My name is Dove.”
@[Saphris]