09-14-2017, 03:11 PM
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Dancing+Script|Pacifico" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.DVC_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;height: 990px;padding: 15px;background: #1B1B1B url('https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3a/57/f5/3a57f5737062052a28cf11e813ca7144.jpg') no-repeat center top;border: 0px solid #fff;box-shadow: 0 0 1em #000;}.DVC_container1 {position: relative;z-index: 5;width: 450px;height: 445px;padding: 2px;background: transparent;border-left: 4px solid #F1D3B9;border-right: 4px solid #F1D3B9;margin-top: 520px;border-radius: 50px;}.DVC_container1 p {margin: 0;}.DVC_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 0px;color: #D5B199;width: 400px;height: 350px;overflow: auto;}.DVC_message::-webkit-scrollbar {width: 1px;background: transparent;}.DVC_name {text-align: center;font: 40px 'Dancing Script', cursive;color: #EDE0D0;padding: 0px;text-shadow: 2px 2px 4px #fff;}.DVC_quote {text-align: center;font: 14px 'Pacifico', cursive;color: #EDE0D0;padding: 10px 0;}</style><center><div class="DVC_container"><div class="DVC_container1"><p class="DVC_name">-Diorae-</p><p class="DVC_message">Strange how quick one could become dependent on another. At the same time, she had been in a very dark and lonely place to begin with. He had been there when she had needed him most, almost like he was her personal super hero coming to her rescue. So Diorae – or Marigold as she was called now – doesn’t even think before following when he asks her to come with him.
The longer they walk, the closer she creeps towards him. Though she does trust Longclaw, he kept the watching eyes and darkness that haunted her at bay, she cannot help it but to grow a little uneasy. Something is in the air, sending unpleasant shivers down her spine. She hoped to get rid of the feeling by just be near him. If she only dared to touch him without permission. But no. It had always been up to Longclaw to initiate a touch and Diorae doesn’t want to overstep unspoken boundaries by showing initiative. Her slightly dipped head spoke enough about the dominant and submissive roles between them.
When he stops, she stops too. All the golden mare can do is look at him and shudder slightly under his gaze. The world around them is eerie silent and shadows creep too close for her liking. The darkness still spooked her and the feeling of being watched even more. It makes Diorae eager to follow him, even if he brought her to Hells’ Gates.
It’s his idea of her going in alone that frightens her. Her hazelbrown eyes search his and as tears well up, they shimmer in the darkness. She wordlessly pleads him to not ask this of her. They both know he wouldn’t need to force her.
She finds herself leaning in to the touch, her breath stocking and her eyes are already closed before he actually touches her. The warmth of his breath on her shoulder had been enough to anticipate his touch. Not the burn she gets instead. Diorae sharply inhales and her ears press flat against her skull as manages to stumble a few steps away from Longclaw to look at him with wide shocked eyes. The ‘harm’ was already done though, a fresh scar, or more like a brand, on her left shoulder. It burns, just like her legs and lungs had in the darkness reality that was Beqanna and wasn’t at the same time. Burns like ever watchful eyes in the shadows, burns like the things she had tried to flee from in his presence.
His. She was his. He was willing to share. And Diorae didn’t have a say in the matter. Not that she was able to form words.
For a moment her teary eyes linger on his bluish form. Betrayal, hurt, pain, fear, all swirl within her. But not only that. Hope too, just as he had offered before. Like she hoped he would offer her once this would be over, whatever it would be. She’s not sure what is coming for her, but she knows she’ll go. Simply because he told her to. Just as she will go back to him.
She makes sure Longclaw doesn’t need to repeat himself and enters the lair. Once again, there is darkness all around her, clogging her, wrapping her up. She’s been afraid of the dark ever since she had gotten back to Beqanna. The damp air and horrible sent doesn’t make it any better. Ears flutter around her head nervously and her eyes never stop moving, afraid to miss even the smallest movement.
In a futile attempt to lose the tension that holds her, she snorts.</p><p class="DVC_quote">A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.</p></div></center>
The longer they walk, the closer she creeps towards him. Though she does trust Longclaw, he kept the watching eyes and darkness that haunted her at bay, she cannot help it but to grow a little uneasy. Something is in the air, sending unpleasant shivers down her spine. She hoped to get rid of the feeling by just be near him. If she only dared to touch him without permission. But no. It had always been up to Longclaw to initiate a touch and Diorae doesn’t want to overstep unspoken boundaries by showing initiative. Her slightly dipped head spoke enough about the dominant and submissive roles between them.
When he stops, she stops too. All the golden mare can do is look at him and shudder slightly under his gaze. The world around them is eerie silent and shadows creep too close for her liking. The darkness still spooked her and the feeling of being watched even more. It makes Diorae eager to follow him, even if he brought her to Hells’ Gates.
It’s his idea of her going in alone that frightens her. Her hazelbrown eyes search his and as tears well up, they shimmer in the darkness. She wordlessly pleads him to not ask this of her. They both know he wouldn’t need to force her.
She finds herself leaning in to the touch, her breath stocking and her eyes are already closed before he actually touches her. The warmth of his breath on her shoulder had been enough to anticipate his touch. Not the burn she gets instead. Diorae sharply inhales and her ears press flat against her skull as manages to stumble a few steps away from Longclaw to look at him with wide shocked eyes. The ‘harm’ was already done though, a fresh scar, or more like a brand, on her left shoulder. It burns, just like her legs and lungs had in the darkness reality that was Beqanna and wasn’t at the same time. Burns like ever watchful eyes in the shadows, burns like the things she had tried to flee from in his presence.
His. She was his. He was willing to share. And Diorae didn’t have a say in the matter. Not that she was able to form words.
For a moment her teary eyes linger on his bluish form. Betrayal, hurt, pain, fear, all swirl within her. But not only that. Hope too, just as he had offered before. Like she hoped he would offer her once this would be over, whatever it would be. She’s not sure what is coming for her, but she knows she’ll go. Simply because he told her to. Just as she will go back to him.
She makes sure Longclaw doesn’t need to repeat himself and enters the lair. Once again, there is darkness all around her, clogging her, wrapping her up. She’s been afraid of the dark ever since she had gotten back to Beqanna. The damp air and horrible sent doesn’t make it any better. Ears flutter around her head nervously and her eyes never stop moving, afraid to miss even the smallest movement.
In a futile attempt to lose the tension that holds her, she snorts.</p><p class="DVC_quote">A beautiful face is a mute recommendation.</p></div></center>