stillwater;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails They are fire and gasoline. They are so wrong for each other and yet Nayl thrives on moments like this. Her eyelids drift shut as a lungful of air is drawn through her body. She can nearly taste him (and the other women who have pressed their bodies against him) and that, too, enthralls her. Just as he wants to tame her and take her beneath him, Nayl wants to seize him and make him want no other. The hunger burns in his eyes, luring her and still keeping her fairly near. Despite the rejection and her reluctant step away from his side, she can’t tempt herself further. Nerine is through those woods and across the wasteland of Pangea. It’s only a few hours’ walk. Certainly she can find an excuse to leave now and protect her crumbling walls – fortify them with space and time – but when she turns her head and sees him still watching her, Nayl freezes. Air hisses through her clenched teeth, frustrated, afraid, vulnerable. She regards him in confusion as her thoughts tumble back and forth, roiling like the tumultuous tides from home. I belong to no one, he growls. In response, Nayl forces an amused smile to crawl across her lips to conceal the pang of regret that is slowly besting her. She isn’t one to grovel or beg or demand attention. She has a kingdom, if not a consort; she has responsibilities even if it doesn’t include courting or conceiving children (foul creatures they are). Even if he doesn’t want her, she at least has Nerine to distract her. The coast slithers to the forefront of her mind and tries desperately to smother his words, but they are already etched in her memory, engraved and burned. Nayl weighs them and considers them before she hears herself speaking with a voice of stone. ”Nor do I.” Because no one can truly own her or control her. No one knows her for what she is or what she can do. No one can subdue her fiery soul. The torrent of her frustration coils behind her mask of granite as she now turns to face him, drinking in the sight of his resolution. ”We’re dangerous,” she admits as her tongue sweeps idly across her lips. She has seen his rage and frustration, but not to its full power, and he has yet to truly witness her in full. Nayl is more than a shielded mind and a falsified image of youth. Alone, they are perilous. Together, they are volatile. ”We are wrong for each other,” because they both want to be on top with whips and chains, never wanting to be submissive, ”and yet we can’t get enough of each other.” Nayl edges closer and searches his steely gaze, feeding off his reactions. ”Why is that, Stillwater?” Her muzzle creeps along the curve of his jaw and takes pause as she closes her eyes, shuddering at being so near again. ”Tell me…” she whispers. Nayl covet and myrina's creation