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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    down in the valley with whisky rivers; djinni
    #3

    have you ever thought about what protects our hearts?
    just a cage of rib bones and other various parts

    Djinni is, as always, everything that he is not.

    She is made of pure magic, she is bright, she is welcoming, she is sneaky. He has long since come to love these things about her, to appreciate them, but never to fully understand them. He does not understand how she appears so suddenly in front of him, how her emotions can zip from immediate suspicion to joy, how she can so quickly press her muzzle to his jaw, stripping away the distance between them.

    He does not understand, but that doesn't stop the warmth that spreads in his chest in response.

    He is relieved that she makes the first step, that she is the one to bridge the gap, because he knows that he never would have been able to. Still, he leans slightly into the touch, his russet head turning against it. He doesn’t reach for her himself, but his gray eyes are a little brighter when she pulls back and finds him.

    “I am tricky prey,” he rolls his shoulders, a rare humor in the curve of his mouth, “and an inept predator.” It wasn’t the best combination, but it had been the one handed to him—the one he was forced to handle. “So, no, I have yet to find myself.” He does not think that he would ever find himself, not truly. The barriers that he had erected over the years were formidable, even to him. He had walled himself off long ago.

    She doesn't seem to mind though—she never did. Despite the fact that his face was impassive more often than not, despite the fact that his gray eyes were too often solemn, she didn’t treat him as the boring lump he was. In her presence, he even felt more…interesting. More lively. Even if it was dim in comparison.

    “How is the family?” he finally asks, the words rusted and difficult to pull from his throat.

    He isn't sure he wants to hear the answer.

    so it's fairly simple to cut right through the mess
    and to stop the muscle that makes us confess

    ZAI
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    Messages In This Thread
    RE: down in the valley with whisky rivers; djinni - by zai - 02-18-2017, 05:40 PM



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