divine places to die in; jenger-pony

[exist]

while collecting the stars, I connected the dots.
I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m not.

She has enough sense to think that this gesture should scare her, that dark lips peeled back over flat, pale teeth are meant to frighten little girls with earnest faces. But no one has ever shown her their teeth before, never buried them in the soft angles of skin the shade of rust and pale copper, so she does not recoil from him. Instead she watches, brow deepening to a frown beneath that dark red forelock, with eyes like cool, smooth jade against his face – and when the bared teeth fade to a sneer and the sneer fades to the ghost of a smile, she knows she will not be afraid the next time either.

Still though, some part of her is ruffled, offended, and she steps away from him so that the cold air filters in to the place where once she warmed with her body. Her wings lift from her withers but they do not unfurl to their full and arrogant length, hovering instead over the small of her narrow back. Rapidly, the russet feathers melt together, thinning and stretching to form the deep gold membrane of dragon wings. The bones that slash through the gold like the veins in leaves are the same shade of deep apricot that darkens the rest of her skin, and they end in the gleaming curve of a steel grey talon.

She shifts where she stands, turning first away and then back towards him, the effect much like pacing – though her eyes never leave his face. It is only when he offers a word, his name, that she stills again and finds herself perched at his shoulder with eyes that narrow in indecision. “I could be wrong though.” She says at last, softening, and there is a smile on her lips that pulls at the edge of her frowning mouth. “Maybe you’re not a friend.” It is an accusation on any other lips, but from her the words are not pointed, not sharp like the edge of a steel blade. “Maybe I’m the friend this time.”

This time she doesn’t reach out to touch his neck- though the impulse is strong. Instead she falls in beside him, careful to tuck the red and gold of her newly taloned wings against the curve of her ribs so that they do not brush his side. And then, in a voice that is equally soft and stubborn, “Where were you headed Mandan, I’ll come too.”

Exist