12-09-2018, 06:44 PM
when the light came through,
i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you ;
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If there had been an ounce of apprehension still left in her, it is chased away by the gentle touch of the tentacle-appendage against her cheek. Still so naive, and so desperate to believe everyone is good, her doubts are easily soothed by the story-telling mare, and even if the fever is leaving her vision blurry and her mind hazy, she still manages to smile at her new companion as she accepts the kind gesture.
But there is a frown that mars her pretty face at the next part to her story, where she broke and tore off her own wings. It makes her think of her Rhae’s wings — the silken feathers that she was so fond of touching, and how as a little girl they had been the first thing she noticed about him — and the idea of someone, or himself, destroying them made her heart clench, for him and for the sea-mare, too. But she doesn’t say anything, only watches her with a quiet contemplation, listening to the tale she has woven in silence.
It is a tremulous smile she offers her, when she comments on how she seems to be fearless. Chryseis does not think herself fearless or brave — a little foolish, perhaps, but hardly brave. Something stirs inside of her though, a desperate need to make the mare with such a troubled past to not feel so alone. She closes the gap in between them, pressing her fever-hot body into her side, ignoring the writhing tentacles as she says softly, ”I’m your friend, Yidhra.” There is something a little delirious about her laugh, the way it trembles from her lips and she shakes her head in disagreement to part of the statement, ”I’m not that special, though. I’m nothing, actually.” Beqanna is full of legends and powerful horses, ones that make a difference and etch their names in history — some permanently, and some only for a short time before their names are forgotten. Chryseis doesn’t think herself likely to fall in either category, but the gold-blazed girl is determined to make her mark somewhere, on someone.
She touches her satin-soft muzzle to her companion’s neck, sniffling back blood that begins to drip from her nose. ”I’m full of not good ideas,” It is said with a wry smile, emitting a laugh that turns into a cough. ”Nerine has been quiet, though, and Icicle Isle was too cold right now.” With a curious tilt of her head, she asks her friend, ”Where do you live, Yidhra? You can come to Nerine with me.”
chryseis.
and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
@[Yidhra]