05-25-2021, 10:22 AM
She doesn't feel the sickening lurch when he drags them back, or when he leaps forward again. She doesn't notice the way the sky is so dark, that the seagrass is wilted and browned by the long night. All Shipka knows when he tears them away from the entity and from the other world is the crushing horror of abject loss that claws at her. This isn't what she'd meant when she asked him to take her back. Not here. The Beast's taunting lure coils in her brain like fire.
No, no, no, no, her soul shrieks, and maybe she does too, she doesn't really know. In the haze of that impossible distance, she's adrift on a sea of anger and hatred and a thousand white-hot emotions she's never known before that make her ears pin back into the galaxy of her mane and make her lash out at him with white teeth bared and snapping. They catch only air though, coming together with an auditory click and sudden confusion. He draws his muzzle away, strange black fluid trickling slow as Death from his nostrils, gleaming and gruesome in the bright light of day, and he asks for forgiveness.
She is not sure what there is to forgive, the sickness in her heart has drained away so abruptly that it leaves her weak-kneed and perplexed. She remembers... No, she isn't sure what she remembers, the ardent need to rejoin with the creature is gone like a nightmare that evaporates on waking. Her sides are slick with sweat and dark, oily, blood, but the disease rages in a different body.
His.
With breath shuddering in lungs that feel half-drowned, she reaches out to him again, more gently than a moment before, brushing faintly freckled lips over the curve of his feverish eye as if with a touch she can take back what he's stolen, but her abilities don't extend so far as his.
"I... I'm not sure what you've done," she thinks he's apologizing for something else, for whatever he's taken from her (and perhaps he is, but they are thinking of different things,) "I'm sure it's not worth apologizing for."
And then, shakily, she grins at him.
"It was probably my fault anyway."
No, no, no, no, her soul shrieks, and maybe she does too, she doesn't really know. In the haze of that impossible distance, she's adrift on a sea of anger and hatred and a thousand white-hot emotions she's never known before that make her ears pin back into the galaxy of her mane and make her lash out at him with white teeth bared and snapping. They catch only air though, coming together with an auditory click and sudden confusion. He draws his muzzle away, strange black fluid trickling slow as Death from his nostrils, gleaming and gruesome in the bright light of day, and he asks for forgiveness.
She is not sure what there is to forgive, the sickness in her heart has drained away so abruptly that it leaves her weak-kneed and perplexed. She remembers... No, she isn't sure what she remembers, the ardent need to rejoin with the creature is gone like a nightmare that evaporates on waking. Her sides are slick with sweat and dark, oily, blood, but the disease rages in a different body.
His.
With breath shuddering in lungs that feel half-drowned, she reaches out to him again, more gently than a moment before, brushing faintly freckled lips over the curve of his feverish eye as if with a touch she can take back what he's stolen, but her abilities don't extend so far as his.
"I... I'm not sure what you've done," she thinks he's apologizing for something else, for whatever he's taken from her (and perhaps he is, but they are thinking of different things,) "I'm sure it's not worth apologizing for."
And then, shakily, she grins at him.
"It was probably my fault anyway."
@[Ten]