07-19-2017, 01:12 PM
Ellyse
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
Dusk has fallen, and it gives way to a clear, bright sky swathed in darkness - glistening with flickering starlight, illuminating the softly wavering stalks of vegetation with a gleam of silvery light. She bathes beneath it for a moment before tucking herself away from prying eyes at the open mouth of a yawning cavern on the edge of the sea -- a familiar anxiety simmering in her veins.
The icy caress of evening drapes over her as if it were a thick blanket of frothing, salty seawater, but she welcomes it, as any movement now causes her golden skin to break into a sheen of sweat. As her tired and worn body presses against the rough igneous rock that outlines the barrier of the hollow, her legs fold beneath her, laying her to rest against the fertile soil beneath. Within her, there is a stillness – a lack of movement that does not stir any worry in her mind; no – it is a comfort. The time has come.
A tremor of pain surges through her sinewy muscle, pulsating once more. She aches for the sky, for the sea and lands unknown, but she is tethered to the ground, with a thin sheen of sweat coating her golden skin – with soft, pliable clay clinging tightly to her dampened body. She is writhing in agony, but with each slow and steady breath, she is brought closer to an end to her own misery. As the caress of moonlight gives way to the warmth of dawn, a sheen of yellow and periwinkle flood the pallid sands, and with it comes the birth of new life.
Her thick tresses lay wet and damp across her slick neck as she reluctantly presses herself away from her resting posture – her body is still wracked with convulsions from the very depth of her womb, but her instinct is far stronger than whatever urge lingers to remain still. Her teeth tug and pull at the delicate membrane covering her newborn, revealing the pale and gangly youth beneath.
He is beautiful; as pale as the morning dawn, with bold and curious eyes that are not unlike her own. Gently, her tongue laves across the tender skin, cleansing the crevices and corners of his small, delicate body. Her gaze lingers for a long moment on the fragments of bone covering pieces of him – armored plating, not unlike her own bone-bending.
She cannot suppress her smile.
”Smoak,” she murmurs – a name Dahmer had chosen; a representation of the sulfur and ash that had brought them together – that represented a land that both had given a piece of their heart to. "come – you must stand.”
And soon she, basking in the afterglow and the exhaustion of birth, is shaking upon her own slender legs, pressing the bridge of her soft, velveteen nose beneath his chest plate – urging him to shakily stand beside her. Quietly, beneath the rising sun, her soft and crooning voice emerges through the thickened silence of morning, echoing in the warm air – calling for one she knew would not be too far away.
The icy caress of evening drapes over her as if it were a thick blanket of frothing, salty seawater, but she welcomes it, as any movement now causes her golden skin to break into a sheen of sweat. As her tired and worn body presses against the rough igneous rock that outlines the barrier of the hollow, her legs fold beneath her, laying her to rest against the fertile soil beneath. Within her, there is a stillness – a lack of movement that does not stir any worry in her mind; no – it is a comfort. The time has come.
A tremor of pain surges through her sinewy muscle, pulsating once more. She aches for the sky, for the sea and lands unknown, but she is tethered to the ground, with a thin sheen of sweat coating her golden skin – with soft, pliable clay clinging tightly to her dampened body. She is writhing in agony, but with each slow and steady breath, she is brought closer to an end to her own misery. As the caress of moonlight gives way to the warmth of dawn, a sheen of yellow and periwinkle flood the pallid sands, and with it comes the birth of new life.
Her thick tresses lay wet and damp across her slick neck as she reluctantly presses herself away from her resting posture – her body is still wracked with convulsions from the very depth of her womb, but her instinct is far stronger than whatever urge lingers to remain still. Her teeth tug and pull at the delicate membrane covering her newborn, revealing the pale and gangly youth beneath.
He is beautiful; as pale as the morning dawn, with bold and curious eyes that are not unlike her own. Gently, her tongue laves across the tender skin, cleansing the crevices and corners of his small, delicate body. Her gaze lingers for a long moment on the fragments of bone covering pieces of him – armored plating, not unlike her own bone-bending.
She cannot suppress her smile.
”Smoak,” she murmurs – a name Dahmer had chosen; a representation of the sulfur and ash that had brought them together – that represented a land that both had given a piece of their heart to. "come – you must stand.”
And soon she, basking in the afterglow and the exhaustion of birth, is shaking upon her own slender legs, pressing the bridge of her soft, velveteen nose beneath his chest plate – urging him to shakily stand beside her. Quietly, beneath the rising sun, her soft and crooning voice emerges through the thickened silence of morning, echoing in the warm air – calling for one she knew would not be too far away.
head of war of tephra
daughter of elysium & speck
daughter of elysium & speck