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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


    Where in darkness might I find your voice? -- any
    #9


    He longs for the forest; for the forest which, like a sleeping demon, curls at the feet of the mountains and slumbers mightily; he longs for the decay and rot of the leaves, which there dot the grassland, fading into the soil with the coming of winter. Control

    It is a paradox – a contradiction in the swirl of his kohl-black eyes. Khaedrik is ambiguity – a whirlwind of impossibilities and torment, and control has never been something he claims to master. But of course, if control can be counted in times where he has not devoured his companions in shadow and ruin, then maybe he does. There is something to be said about perspectives.

    He is silent as she speaks. It is more unnerving than words, more disquieting than accusations; a soft hiss of air escapes his lips, curling in midair about his nostrils – and still, he says nothing. But there is more than nothing here – and he listens.

    Her words are lullabies to the strained chords of his mind.

    ”Wishbone.” The syllables of her name are clipped and ornery, the accent garbled and curious; it is an accent of monsters, of despair and longing; it is an accent which speaks of darkness and silences in the mornings and lightness in the deeps of night. A warning – and a promise.

    As though guided by some will other than his own (though longing did lurk, tucked below his sternum) he extended his mouth; and brushed it, along the wan plane that was her skin. But such a kiss (for kiss it was: the giving of a heart, from lips to flesh) does not sate.

    ”Thank you” he swallows – as he withdraws, and there´s a sour taste in his mouth, and the fleeting suspicion he has done something terrible. His shadows hiss a warning, ancient and foreboding but his ears are deaf to them.

    ”But I believe I must face them myself.” he continues – ”Though I sure could use some of that bravery of yours…”

    He tries a laugh – suddenly ashamed at their nearness – but it is a hollow laugh, filled with shadow-snarls and hopelessness.


    @[Wishbone] Uhm yes, so I am terribly sorry for the one month wait lol, but life has been crazy!
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    RE: Where in darkness might I find your voice? -- any - by Khaedrik - 04-30-2018, 10:31 AM



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