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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


    [private]  the one who speaks in whispers
    #1

    Molech

    Loneliness, the young stallion decides, will certainly be the death of him.

    If anything were to take him, it would be desolation. However, he does not plan on allowing the solitude of the forest to steal his breath - instead, he will take any and all as his company. The gentler, the meeker, the better. He always seeks out a certain type; ones that are malleable and swallow his lies as if near starvation. Those were the ones he enjoyed the most, for even though the process is much slower, it is all the more satisfying when they succumb to his wishes (that they have been lead to believe are theirs). Some are not that way, of course, but he will find other uses for them. He would much rather have them bend to his requests willingly and with undying loyalty, but as he grows older, he realizes that there might not be anything that would make him hesitate to use force.

    There is Clementia (his dear, sweet, Clementia) and then Aero, but he finds that their company, however pleasant and soothing, is not enough. Especially as he wanders the forest alone, feeling the dark tendrils of night beginning to weave in between the silent, judging trees.

    There is a steady chill that presses in tightly to the evergreen, gold, and ivory of the patched stallion. His tri-colored wings are kept close to his sides, warming the skin beneath their downy feathers. Molech looks as young as he is; his legs are still long and lean, his golden mane not yet looking full and appearing somewhat gangly as a colt would normally. There is no questioning his handsomeness though, despite his youth. Perhaps it all comes down to those pastel lavender eyes that seem almost out of place.

    His tongue - black, thin, and forked - slips out of his golden lips thoughtlessly, tasting the cold of the autumn air before it disappears back into his mouth. His lips twitch as he walks rather unhurriedly, coming to an unbothered halt just as the last few colors of dusk begin to retreat into darkness.
    YOUR PRECIOUS LIGHT IS FADING



    @[phaetra]
    Reply
    #2

    open hand or closed fist would be fine

    --rosemary

    the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

    Still effervescent with the innocence of a girl, Rosemary finds she can no longer resist the shadows of the forest despite her father's warnings. Days pass and Rose, for all her concern and quiet devotion, leaves the warm clutches of her parents more and more. Living tucked into the warmth of her father's shadows has taught no lesson Litotes thought it would; instead, Rose seeks out the darkness even more, desperate to know the comforting touch of a stranger's nuanced, twisted magic.

    Flippant with youth and the confidence of a beautiful, pursued girl, the smile on Rose's face is wide and untarnished. She steps with a sway and a flick of her tail, so certain of herself without the barren, hollow arrogance that often accompanies youthful breeziness. So full of life, that Rosemary, so unaware of the monsters that would love nothing more than to swallow her innocence like a heartily seasoned meal.

    For all that innocence, that fervent appetite for life, Rose's affinity for darkness manifests quite plainly. Dying in a Halloween quest and carrying magic she does not know of has not changed her attitude, but it has given her power she has yet to learn lessons from. And isn't that where innocence finds danger? When naivety and power collide? To see others so clearly and call them so easily - perhaps she will grow old with mistakes, with accidentally broken hearts and the weight of strangers' secrets.

    But she doesn't know that suffering - oh, that clear and precise lack of suffering. It shows in her proud head and wickedly beautiful smile.

    So, when she stumbles upon Molech and senses the weight and sees the stormy haze surrounding him, she doesn't turn away. The sensation settling upon her shoulders is comfortable. Not yet too much to carry. He reminds her of the monsters she loves, their fascinating lack of morality - their darkness. She doesn't question her magic, not yet. She simply folds into it:

    "Hi," Rose purrs, so very pleased, "Are you out at night because you like it, too?"
    Reply
    #3

    Molech

    It is quite possible that it is the darkness that draws them in, but the young stallion begs to differ. He baits them, brings them out from beneath their shadows and so generously shows them the light, high off of youthful beating hearts and the promises that are made in secret in the light of a full winter’s moon.

    This one, however, lacks the shyness and uncertainty that he has become so familiar with. His intense lavender eyes flash to hers with a grin, matching that same smile across her beautiful lips on his own. It comes easy to him - this mimicking their behavior, their attitude - and immediately relaxes beneath the brightness of her sparkling eyes. However, he cannot control the way his own eyes trickle away, pulled to her body to gently peruse the intricate markings that draw attention to themselves. She’s beautifully stunning (as they all are, for he cannot see beyond skin deep), and being in her presence only heightens his intention to possess her as his own.

    Call it equine instincts, or the hormones of a growing stallion, or the darkness that she can see hissing and around him.

    Either way, he sees her as his.

    “Hello there, little shadow,” Molech replies with a mischievous grin, giving her a namesake that he hopes she would find endearing as his eyes finally drifting back to hers. He does not play the wounded lamb - not for this girl - and rolls his evergreen and white shoulders as he casually tips a back hoof to rest. “It’s the only time I can find clarity,” he offers her with a purse of his golden lips, thoughtful as the truth spills from him for it seldom does. “I also like to see what the darkness brings out for me.”

    Molech pauses, tilting his head slightly so that the deep gold of his forelock falls across the sharp blaze of white down his face. “The night has yet to fail me.” He grins at her.

    “I’m Molech.”
    YOUR PRECIOUS LIGHT IS FADING



    @[rosemary]
    Reply
    #4

    open hand or closed fist would be fine

    --rosemary

    the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

    Oh, she loves him. Loves him immediately. Loves him to the marrow of his bones.

    Molech is so dark and striking and that black gleam he gives off reflects in the sparkle of Rosemary's eyes. She wants to wrap herself in his silvery aura, inhale it until it poisons her lungs and leaves her breathless, lifeless. She wonders if he wants her to drink him up, to choke on the shadows surrounding him. And what she thinks as she imagines dying on the forest floor before him: oh, how Father wouldn't approve and mother would worry.

    "Little shadow . . ." Rose purrs back at him, batting long, navy eyelashes at his nickname. Her cheeks grow hot but not with some true bashfulness, no. The little gemstone sense their game, plays her naivety like a chess piece. (If only she knew - if only - how her knowledge of games dwarfed compared to his.) Rose tilts her head to the side and smiles, flicking her head just enough to throw a piece of mane out of her eyes.

    "How I would hate to disappoint," she murmurs, holding Molech's gaze with the steady daring of a petulant girl. If only she knew how she sounded like her father - she might be disgusted. She might toss her head and turn away, finding out her parents have lives and personalities and years of mistakes she can't begin to understand; but she doesn't know, unfortunately for her, and she tumbles into the darkness like her father did years and years before. (Though Litotes never knew something so sinister, such innocent desire for darkness, and he'd weep for his daughter if he could.)

    "I'm Rosemary. It's such a pleasure to meet you, Molech," Rose answers confidently, lifting her head and shaking out the soft tendrils of her mane. The locks fall like feathery waterfalls, glittering and fluffy. The tickling against her nape makes her giggle to herself and a jolt of arrogance presses her a few steps closer to the dark stranger.

    "I can see your aura, Molech. It's black and it glitters. What do you think that means?" Her question is coy, followed by an almost teasing tilt of her head. She smiles, small and suggestive, lips curling hesitantly like she's keeping a secret.


    @[Molech]
    Reply
    #5

    Molech

    Her thoughts are his - private moments all for him, orchestrated like a melody. The smile that adorns his face is one of satisfaction; he likes when the games are easy, but with her he can already tell that despite the ease in which she falls into him, there is something that rests in her eyes that he has not often seen: she has no fear. Her thoughts are poisonous as his and she does not care - she knows his darkness (though maybe not his intentions, only that it is dark and twisted and broken) and she wants to drink it up, much like he wishes to drown in her light.

    “I’m sure you would,” Molech replies smoothly, his lavender eyes growing sharp beneath the evergreen of his eyelids. His golden tail flicks idly at the ivory of his ankles, tilting his head slightly and flexing the large wings that rest proudly at his sides. “Rosemary,” he repeats fondly, his smile growing smug on his handsome face as a single thought crosses his mind: he’ll tear her to pieces, and judging by the little smile on her dark lips, she’ll beg him to do it.

    Molech matches her steps with his own, gracefully coming to position himself squarely before her. He turns his head gently to get a better look, those delicious lavender irises glancing up and down. Her next words elicit his forked tongue from his mouth almost angrily, flickering from his lips and tasting the air. “Is that so,” he muses, his voice turning dark. His gold-tipped ears are lost within his luscious mane, his mouth quirking into something of a snarl; he would not save his charms for her, not when it is so apparent she already knows every inch of him. 

    Then she smiles like she knows a secret and it sends him into motion. He steps closer now and in quick succession, their faces suddenly within inches of each other. He crosses boundaries and comfort zones without a thought by nearly tracing her dark and glittering jawline with his lips, his breath wavering on her skin. “I think you already know what it means, Rose,” and there is darkness in his voice, sinister yet somehow equally affectionate, dripping with pride.

    She tempts what she does not understand.

    Or, maybe, she does.

    “Is it what draws you to me? Could you live, little shadow, without seeing it again?”
    YOUR PRECIOUS LIGHT IS FADING
    Reply
    #6

    open hand or closed fist would be fine

    --rosemary

    the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

    The liquid in Rosemary's stomach churns and curdles, twists her innards into fairy knots. The way her name sounds so dark and lovely on his tongue - the upset stomach is pleasant, almost. An ache Rose welcomes like the embrace of an estranged loved one.

    Molech offers what feels like praise and the little shadow is so very keen to purr and curl beneath his affections. Her dark lashes flutter with delight while a pleased, girlish gasp passes from her slightly opened lips. The sneer on his face startles but does not frighten her (in fact, she finds it devilishly handsome, that quick snap). Rose's eyes roil and darken as she studies each twitch of his emotions, eyes glued to the curl of his mouth and flick of his tongue.

    Rose doesn't expect Molech to close the last bit of space between them, but she isn't taken aback. Instead, her pulse hammers so loudly in her throat she is she he can hear it. He seems to feed on her desire, however it may manifest, and Rose wants so terribly to be his favorite meal. Her eyes dart everywhere: the plants around them, the swirling darkness, the arch and roll of Molech's neck as his breath traces her jaw. She isn't breathing now, the air in her lungs so still that even slightest unsettling might send it exploding out of her mouth.

    "No," she whispers on that explosive breath, stumbling forward to push her nose into the tangles of Molech's mane. Her chest heaves up and down and she hopes he doesn't pull away each time it brushes quiverlingly against his. "Are you going to leave me?" she asks, barely audible. It's a silly question to ask: of course he'll leave her. It's a certain fate for them.

    But the thought of that ache, the missing his darkness when he is not around, warms her.

    She longs for it.

    "I've never met anyone like you."


    @[Molech] she is IN LOVE WITH HIM SORRY
    Reply
    #7

    Molech

    She does not flinch from his closeness or the darkness that has settled over his features. She is a curious thing to him - a creature nearly vibrating with excitement, so unlike the other pieces of treasures that he’s collected. Her appearance fits the part most perfectly - beautiful, lovely, enchanting. The way she responds to him, however, is far beyond what he’s experienced. She’s captivated, it seems, by the terrible shadows that quake inside him; attracted to that darkness that breeds out of his need for adoration, for physical touch, to be in control.

    Unlike the others, she seems to know his intentions - all of them - and still remains, not needing to be preened and encouraged.

    It is delicious.

    She gives in to him in a whirlwind of emotions, placing herself against him in heated and desperate breaths. Behind her head he finds that dark grin spreading across the gold and white of his mouth, pleased. 

    “Never,” he replies with a finality in his voice, resounding and commanding. He inhales her scent deeply then, nostrils fluttering. As long as you do not give me a reason to, little shadow. The thought he presses into her mind is nearly violent, shaking with the threat. But his actions do not match that dark thought as his lips smooth the beautiful ombre of her mane tenderly and lovingly. He is already so attached to her.

    Molech grins into her mane, enthralled with the unusual and beautiful color of it. She is perfect.

    “And you never will,” he echoes her thoughtfully, pausing. Quietly, low and dark into the obsidian skin of her warm neck, he adds: “remember that.”
     
    YOUR PRECIOUS LIGHT IS FADING



    @[rosemary]
    THATS FINE cause he wants to keep her forever
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