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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


    [private]  What goes around, comes around [Bruise]
    #2

    I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
    (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)

    He has no loyalty to this land—no ties.

    There is no reason for him to be here except a deep, perverse boredom that has begun to tattoo itself onto his bones, pressing into him with little regard for his sanity. It has left him irritable, hunting down whatever fanciful thing could pass the time. For a while, he toyed with those who passed by in the forest, feeling the tendrils of Fear in their wake and tugging on it haphazardly. Some had resisted the lackluster efforts, frowning and perhaps moving faster, but nothing else. But, others, oh—they were delightful in their weakness. They had bent without further pressure, breaking into a sweat, tears and spit falling.

    He hadn’t needed to do anything further; he simply lounged in the shadows, his dark eyes glittering with pleasure as he watched them undo themselves, taking their minds apart stitch by stitch.

    But such pleasures were shallow and not nearly satiating enough for his voracious appetites, so they had not kept him for long. Eventually, such prey became nothing more than a distraction, and he eventually peeled himself from his spot amongst the shadows, his cloven hooves finding the trails through the brush and the rabble until it had spilled out onto this land. Once occupied and now quite dead—the bones of it still echoing with a history too fresh to be called legend. It was still nothing but a bruise on the land.

    This, too, would have been a waste of time had he not felt her, the pressure of her rising in the back of his mind. Interested, he follows her, not bothering to hide himself or cover his tracks. Instead, he lets his own hooves beat steadily, his heavy-horned head swinging from side to side as he watches her move throughout the land, her motions too smooth, too quick to be natural. When he has had enough from the sidelines, he moves into her field of vision, handsome face smooth and blank.

    “Hello, love,” one corner of his sooty mouth rises. “Why all alone?”

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    RE: What goes around, comes around [Bruise] - by bruise - 08-22-2018, 12:02 AM



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