when the stars threw down their spears and water'd heaven with their tears:
Lupei had told him about this, once. Wyrm can remember the light in his sire’s eyes when he described meeting Zojja for the first time; how every detail had been so precise and beautiful. That had been the one beautiful thing in father’s life - the love he and Zojja had shared that would result in his own existence - and Wyrm can’t help but wonder if that one right choice had meant better luck for the generations to come. Where were the rest of his siblings, if such was not the case? Even with Circinae there’d been a touch of softness in his old sire’s heart, (all this time he’s never understood why) and more than likely it had stemmed from love of her dam, whoever that mare might’ve been.
Is this the key, then? Love?
Once upon a time he felt it in the shape of Heartfire’s body pressing against his own but, since then, the word had grown cold and lifeless once more. Besides, they’d never truly known what it had been, the invisible tie between them. They’d never named it, never pledged themselves as Epithet was pledging now, “You are mine and I am yours.”
When her skin settles on a blushing shade of purple, Wyrm rumbles with pleasure. He’ll hurt her again, and very soon at that, but for the second of peace they have he chooses to offset her color by adopting a matching, darker shade of royal plum. “You are mine and I am yours.” He echoes, and then in a flash he’s laid teeth to her skin in a bold claim. There’s no fear of hurting her - Epithet could match him strike for strike if she wanted - but for the first time in his life Wyrm understands the necessity of the action, the primal need for physical, lasting proof of this Love he thinks he’s found.
“I have to visit Nerine.” He tells her sharply, the acrid tang of her skin still hot on his tongue, “It’s time I leave for good, but I need to put an old deal to rest.” The stallion explains. It rips him apart, to leave her like this, but Epithet is more than the tenderness he’s privy to now; she’s just as much a carnivore as he ever was or ever will be. Pulling apart from her, the shapeless man transforms abruptly into a creature capable of quick flight, hovers near to her lovely face, and then darts away before another word can be said.
It never occurs to him that she might be inclined to follow.
did he smile his work to see? did he who made the Lamb make thee?
@[Epithet] <3 <3 <3