05-26-2021, 11:18 AM
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Targaryen tries to remember the first moment they met, though she makes it very hard for him to think beyond her endless curves and how the steam brushes against her skin. His brown eyes reflect his struggle, the way he fights through the present to reach their past. His very first memory of Cheri is hard to remember in the first place; he had been slowly regaining consciousness when she’d found him on the riverbank. He does remember the way her touch had ignited a fire that blazed through his body, repairing the wound on his leg. Targaryen remembers thinking the fire was his death, assuming he was reaching the end of himself, and how he’d surrendered to it.
Perhaps he wasn’t so far off; meeting Cheri had been the end of himself in some ways. It was the end of loneliness, the end of his rogue lifestyle, the end of his life in the woods. The tobiano has a hundred things to thank her for, and he wonders if he can come up with a hundred ways to show his gratefulness. Cheri ended a period of his life that wasn’t the best, but she also started a new journey that has brought him so much joy. He isn’t sure if he will ever be able to repay her or even put into words what she has done for him.
And the fire Cheri had sparked that day has only grown so that it burns hot under his skin. She guides him toward the waters and he goes willingly, following her as he has since the moment they met. The tobiano pauses for a moment, water lapping at his front ankles. Cheri looks so beautiful, so ethereal, that he can’t help but absorb the view. The steam curls around her body, making her dark skin shimmer and the vibrant green of her hair appear to glow. Her wings illuminate the steam surrounding them with a soft, electric light that dazzles on her jewels. And her eyes — the words unspoken in their emerald depths leave him breathless.
Targaryen can’t wait to press his lips to her skin, to trace the curves that only the steam has claimed so far, to outline the jewels on her brow with his adoration, to brush his wings against hers. “Cheri,” he exhales softly (yet another prayer, another promise, another confession). He doesn’t waste another moment to meet her in the spring, the steps he takes and the look in his eyes confirming the way he feels: he, like Cheri, has never been more sure of anything in his life.
Perhaps he wasn’t so far off; meeting Cheri had been the end of himself in some ways. It was the end of loneliness, the end of his rogue lifestyle, the end of his life in the woods. The tobiano has a hundred things to thank her for, and he wonders if he can come up with a hundred ways to show his gratefulness. Cheri ended a period of his life that wasn’t the best, but she also started a new journey that has brought him so much joy. He isn’t sure if he will ever be able to repay her or even put into words what she has done for him.
And the fire Cheri had sparked that day has only grown so that it burns hot under his skin. She guides him toward the waters and he goes willingly, following her as he has since the moment they met. The tobiano pauses for a moment, water lapping at his front ankles. Cheri looks so beautiful, so ethereal, that he can’t help but absorb the view. The steam curls around her body, making her dark skin shimmer and the vibrant green of her hair appear to glow. Her wings illuminate the steam surrounding them with a soft, electric light that dazzles on her jewels. And her eyes — the words unspoken in their emerald depths leave him breathless.
Targaryen can’t wait to press his lips to her skin, to trace the curves that only the steam has claimed so far, to outline the jewels on her brow with his adoration, to brush his wings against hers. “Cheri,” he exhales softly (yet another prayer, another promise, another confession). He doesn’t waste another moment to meet her in the spring, the steps he takes and the look in his eyes confirming the way he feels: he, like Cheri, has never been more sure of anything in his life.
@[Cheri]