12-03-2017, 10:28 AM
Don't say I'm out of touch with this rampant chaos; your reality.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
No expanse of time could dim the flame that remained lit and burning in his absence; she had found a kindred soul in him, and he had brought out the best of her (the softer side of her) when she had thought it lost to the abysmal despair of her broken heart long ago. He had been uncertain and unsteady himself, then, but he had given her a distraction – a way to forget about her own worries, by focusing on his own. He drew her out of herself - a feat unto itself! She had since seen him break out of his own shell, no longer tethered to the weary, broken heart that weighed him down like an anchor to sea.
Age suits him, as it does her – maturity, it would seem. She cannot stop from staring at him – from tracing the darkness beneath his eyes, nor can she keep from examining the way each muscle lining the strong features of his masculine face twitch and crease as the heaviness of her own burden is settled onto him. So much has changed, and yet nothing has. A plethora of emotion flickers within his gaze, steadied upon her with ire, with dismay, curiosity, and finally, disbelief. Astounded, as the gravity of what she is asking of him swathes him in a cloud of thought.
”There is no one else that can see the vision that is Tephra as Offspring did, nor as Magnus did –“ (the name is bitter across her tongue; time could not heal all wounds – not completely) ”– not as you can.”
She moves closer then, aligning her shoulder with his own as the bristling ivory feathers lining her own wing interlock with the deep cobalt of his own, as her gaze is turned toward the vast and ravenous sea. She is lost to her own thought for a moment, but then she is clutching to his every word, while the golden flecks of her hazel eye seek his own. She held no doubt that he would take the role, and bear the weight of it with head held high. She had always known that if, that when Warrick returned to the volcanic island, it would be his and his alone, and he would carry it with the grace and warmth and humility that she, herself, lacked.
And she would be his backbone – his strength; the power and might behind the façade of diplomacy and peacekeeping. She would be whatever he would need her be, for as long as he would need her.
(yet she knows that one day, he will not need her)
(he would become strong, and confident, and he would be revered and respected by so many)
(and when he no longer does need her, she would slip away beneath the salty ocean brine)
But for now, with her cheek pressed beneath the crook of his jaw, she is content to promise him what she can.
”I will be here for as long as you need me, Warrick,” she says quietly, and if not for the closeness shared, he might not hear her over the crash of the high tide against the jagged precipice of stone below. ”I cannot promise you always – surely you have seen the wrinkles beside my eye,” she teases, feigning lighthearted banter, but there is a darkness and a certainty beneath the careful lacing of her words. She would not live forever. She could not promise always. ”but I will serve you to the best of my ability for as long as I can, in whatever capacity you need of me. Long live the Overseer,” she muses with a soft nip to his jaw.
And so, the crown of thorns is his.
Age suits him, as it does her – maturity, it would seem. She cannot stop from staring at him – from tracing the darkness beneath his eyes, nor can she keep from examining the way each muscle lining the strong features of his masculine face twitch and crease as the heaviness of her own burden is settled onto him. So much has changed, and yet nothing has. A plethora of emotion flickers within his gaze, steadied upon her with ire, with dismay, curiosity, and finally, disbelief. Astounded, as the gravity of what she is asking of him swathes him in a cloud of thought.
”There is no one else that can see the vision that is Tephra as Offspring did, nor as Magnus did –“ (the name is bitter across her tongue; time could not heal all wounds – not completely) ”– not as you can.”
She moves closer then, aligning her shoulder with his own as the bristling ivory feathers lining her own wing interlock with the deep cobalt of his own, as her gaze is turned toward the vast and ravenous sea. She is lost to her own thought for a moment, but then she is clutching to his every word, while the golden flecks of her hazel eye seek his own. She held no doubt that he would take the role, and bear the weight of it with head held high. She had always known that if, that when Warrick returned to the volcanic island, it would be his and his alone, and he would carry it with the grace and warmth and humility that she, herself, lacked.
And she would be his backbone – his strength; the power and might behind the façade of diplomacy and peacekeeping. She would be whatever he would need her be, for as long as he would need her.
(yet she knows that one day, he will not need her)
(he would become strong, and confident, and he would be revered and respected by so many)
(and when he no longer does need her, she would slip away beneath the salty ocean brine)
But for now, with her cheek pressed beneath the crook of his jaw, she is content to promise him what she can.
”I will be here for as long as you need me, Warrick,” she says quietly, and if not for the closeness shared, he might not hear her over the crash of the high tide against the jagged precipice of stone below. ”I cannot promise you always – surely you have seen the wrinkles beside my eye,” she teases, feigning lighthearted banter, but there is a darkness and a certainty beneath the careful lacing of her words. She would not live forever. She could not promise always. ”but I will serve you to the best of my ability for as long as I can, in whatever capacity you need of me. Long live the Overseer,” she muses with a soft nip to his jaw.
And so, the crown of thorns is his.
Ellyse
(The nightmare) I built my own world to escape
@[Warrick]