01-31-2021, 03:28 PM
chasmata
At first, she thinks that he has called upon the wind. There is no reason for her to think this, really, because he has given no indication that he is a villain in this story. But she instinctively steels herself against it, bracing against its punishing force, her pale glowing eyes rolling as both of their fear spirals through her.
The heat of the wind makes her skin bristle and she fears that she will find her flesh slick with blood if she dares to look. Instead, she presses her eyes tightly closed and sways on her feet as the wind continues to scream past them.
She is only vaguely aware of the sound of her name as it is carried off by the wind and she thinks she must have imagined it. As far as she knows, Tiercel is still standing within feet of her, so it could not have possibly come from him.
It occurs to her that she should flee, put some space between them. If the wind truly is his doing then getting away from him is almost certainly the only way to escape the vicious current. But she cannot convince herself to move, stricken motionless by the anxiety that courses through her veins.
And then, just as suddenly as the wind had picked up, it dies down again. She pries her eyes open and turns to look at him, startled. But he looks equally as disconcerted by it when he turns to face her and this is enough to convince her that the wind had not been his fault.
“I think so,” she pants, glancing down at her chest and exhaling a relieved sigh to find that she has not begun to bleed. She swallows thickly and shakes her head. “What was that?” she asks, a tremor rolling down the center of her question. She grimaces and then remembers to ask, “are you okay?”
The heat of the wind makes her skin bristle and she fears that she will find her flesh slick with blood if she dares to look. Instead, she presses her eyes tightly closed and sways on her feet as the wind continues to scream past them.
She is only vaguely aware of the sound of her name as it is carried off by the wind and she thinks she must have imagined it. As far as she knows, Tiercel is still standing within feet of her, so it could not have possibly come from him.
It occurs to her that she should flee, put some space between them. If the wind truly is his doing then getting away from him is almost certainly the only way to escape the vicious current. But she cannot convince herself to move, stricken motionless by the anxiety that courses through her veins.
And then, just as suddenly as the wind had picked up, it dies down again. She pries her eyes open and turns to look at him, startled. But he looks equally as disconcerted by it when he turns to face her and this is enough to convince her that the wind had not been his fault.
“I think so,” she pants, glancing down at her chest and exhaling a relieved sigh to find that she has not begun to bleed. She swallows thickly and shakes her head. “What was that?” she asks, a tremor rolling down the center of her question. She grimaces and then remembers to ask, “are you okay?”
the moonlight, baby, shows you what’s real
but there ain’t language for the things i feel
but there ain’t language for the things i feel
@[Tiercel]