09-07-2018, 12:47 PM
:
Shiya
Like a moth to a flame, she finds him.
Shiya isn’t sure whether it’s his scent or her desperation that draws her from the treeline. Her legs are moving suddenly, but her joints groan from neglect. She has secluded herself from the world as constant turmoil shadowed every stage of her life. Joy has always been just outside of her reach, taunting her, torturing her. There have been multiple days that she drowned in her own sorrows and solemnity. Eventually, her thoughts somersaulted into a black void that she could no longer escape. It held her there, shackling her legs and forever – seemingly, at least – keeping her trapped in its unyielding grasp. It drained her, but she at least slipped by with her own survival. She ate when she was hungry, drank when her mouth was parched, but her mind was lost, cornered in a secured prison.
Perhaps, then, it was his scent that rattled the bars of her cage. It awakened something deep in her gut, churning her into life and reeling her thoughts toward the distant sunlight. For years, Shiya only knew darkness and despair, but the familiarity brings hope to her blindfolded eyes.
Her nostrils quiver to rattle the musky odor, testing it carefully, before a breath catches in her throat. Vulgaris, she thinks but doesn’t say. She wants to smile, but her eyes are too busy searching for him, wondering if this is just another ploy of her mind, still taunting her. There, surrounded by a blanket of snow, he stands, however, and he is exactly as she remembers. They’ve always looked at one another, near mirror images, and she realizes how impossible it is to forget him.
Everything rushes back to her as she closes the distance, never wanting to again be apart. A smile, jagged but tender, stretches across her lips when she stops to stand in front of him, almost too afraid to touch in case he disappears – incase this is all an illusion. ”Vulgaris?” She whispers into the cold morning air, her breath fanning out in front of her as her slit eyes drink in the sight of him. ”My Vulgaris?” As she draws in another breath, saturated with his scent, her heart begins to hammer against her ribcage, threatening to break free. The allure of him edges her another step closer. Her muzzle begins to reach for him, wanting to feel the touch of his scales across her lips, but she hesitates as her eyes lift to meet his. ”Please tell me it’s you,” she swallows down the lump in her throat, drunk with emotion, ”Please tell me you’ve come back.”
Shiya isn’t sure whether it’s his scent or her desperation that draws her from the treeline. Her legs are moving suddenly, but her joints groan from neglect. She has secluded herself from the world as constant turmoil shadowed every stage of her life. Joy has always been just outside of her reach, taunting her, torturing her. There have been multiple days that she drowned in her own sorrows and solemnity. Eventually, her thoughts somersaulted into a black void that she could no longer escape. It held her there, shackling her legs and forever – seemingly, at least – keeping her trapped in its unyielding grasp. It drained her, but she at least slipped by with her own survival. She ate when she was hungry, drank when her mouth was parched, but her mind was lost, cornered in a secured prison.
Perhaps, then, it was his scent that rattled the bars of her cage. It awakened something deep in her gut, churning her into life and reeling her thoughts toward the distant sunlight. For years, Shiya only knew darkness and despair, but the familiarity brings hope to her blindfolded eyes.
Her nostrils quiver to rattle the musky odor, testing it carefully, before a breath catches in her throat. Vulgaris, she thinks but doesn’t say. She wants to smile, but her eyes are too busy searching for him, wondering if this is just another ploy of her mind, still taunting her. There, surrounded by a blanket of snow, he stands, however, and he is exactly as she remembers. They’ve always looked at one another, near mirror images, and she realizes how impossible it is to forget him.
Everything rushes back to her as she closes the distance, never wanting to again be apart. A smile, jagged but tender, stretches across her lips when she stops to stand in front of him, almost too afraid to touch in case he disappears – incase this is all an illusion. ”Vulgaris?” She whispers into the cold morning air, her breath fanning out in front of her as her slit eyes drink in the sight of him. ”My Vulgaris?” As she draws in another breath, saturated with his scent, her heart begins to hammer against her ribcage, threatening to break free. The allure of him edges her another step closer. Her muzzle begins to reach for him, wanting to feel the touch of his scales across her lips, but she hesitates as her eyes lift to meet his. ”Please tell me it’s you,” she swallows down the lump in her throat, drunk with emotion, ”Please tell me you’ve come back.”
For your love I'd give my last breath