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    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


    [mature]  what a cunning foe we've met; sabra
    #9

    i’ve been both a saint & a viper

    The sky and the ground vibrates with the echoes of thunder, reverberating in his hooves and through his very marrow. His lids close momentarily as another roll of thunder breaches them, the soft pitter patter of cold rain against his blue skin. He shivers, feeling alive beneath the force of nature that is above him and the one beside him. It’s enough to distract him from the terrible demons that prowl in the shadows, salivating and snapping their jaws just by his ankles.

    She steps closer and he does not move, indifferently watching her as she hesitates forwards and back. There seems to be clarity in her eyes now - but, as he looks there, he only sees the stain of the blood on her face that the flames gratefully illuminate in their fierce dance. Balto snorts sharply, watching the pearlescent woman and the way his shadows clamor over her, drawn to her sickness just as they were drawn to the one in him.

    She demands him his name and he is not one to disobey, even without a threat. “I am Balto,” he informs her wearily, wondering if she would see that he is really no one at all. “At least, I still am. For now.” Each day left him questioning how much of him was truly left. He blinks slowly at her as her next words confirm his suspicions - his demons are her demons, it seems. “Leave me or save me, there is no escaping them.” His voice is even and flat, filled with a defeat that only years of darkness and loneliness could create. There is nowhere he could go to escape them and their monstrosities - even death did not separate him from them.

    How soon, then, would he let them in?

    How soon would she?

    They slither across his hide as slick as oil, their insectile legs clicking and catching on his skin. He wonders if she can see them, or if hers appear to her in a manner far different than his own. He continues to watch the fire glow illuminate her and the surrounding darkness, trying to ignore the sound of salivating hounds in his ears.

    “Will you tell me your name? Or will they tell me?” They seem to know her as intimately as they know him.

    Balto




    @[Sabra]
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    Messages In This Thread
    what a cunning foe we've met; sabra - by Balto - 08-01-2020, 06:09 PM
    RE: what a cunning foe we've met; sabra - by Balto - 08-29-2020, 08:59 PM



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