[open] somewhere between dust and the stars; open

[rapt]

rapt

rapt.

I need you to be a monster
which is to say, I am trying not to love you

He’s nearly drowned, nearly burned alive, nearly been swallowed whole, but you couldn’t tell it by looking at him. He’s almost bitter about that fact. The only things that suggest the events had been anything other than a dream were the lattice of scars on his foreleg, the scattered constellation on his crest.
Whatever deity or demon had drawn him to that place had spat him back out, and now Rapt finds himself wandering again. He is tired, still, but restless – he wants something, feels it like an itch under his skin.

He doesn’t fear trouble as he walks in the late-afternoon shadows of the forest. Rapt loves monsters, has for quite some time, and he does not fear their harm.
(There is a part of him that craves it, even – had he not been at his happiest when he kneeled before that ram-horned monster, when he had belonged to him?)
Besides, his healing is back – he tested it – so what is there to fear?

Rapt enjoys the solidity of the earth beneath his hooves. Nothing like the shifting sands of the beach. He moves at an easy walk, on a trail whose end is unknown, and he looks ahead, at whatever may come to, or for, him.

which is to say, I am still dreaming of kissing your claws