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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


    [mature]  we're setting fire to our insides for fun; ophie
    #1

    and if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones
    ‘cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs

    She slips into silence, into the darkest corners of Beqanna. 

    She slips away from her family, from whatever friends she can pretend that she has, from everything that she has ever known. She falls into the undercurrent of her depression, of her rage, and she finds that she can hold onto the diamond core of it there. She can cling to the edges of her fury at the way that her life has turned out and she lets it harden her, she lets it wear away at the soft edges of her until she is her father’s daughter. She lets it strip away her youth until she is a young mare with harsh eyes and no smile.

    It is easier when she can pretend that this is all she is.

    It is easier when she can close her eyes and feel the edges of her fangs against her mouth and let that be the beginning and the end of her. The poison that drips onto her tongue is sweet and she wonders if she could simply drink it down, dose herself, let it rage into every branching edge of her veins.

    Would it bring the darkness?

    Would it pull her under?

    She is not quite ready to know, although neither is she ready to dismiss the possibility altogether, and she instead lets herself contemplate it for a while—moving through the edges of Beqanna but not quite letting herself get trapped within it again. That is, until she sees him, that faint glow of a halo and the gold of him  drawing her forth from the shadows into the proximity of the common lands. She is older than the last time that they had met and while the lines of her face remain as lovely as her mother’s, there is something that sharpens it, an undercurrent of rage that she doesn’t quite turn on him. 

    She walks closer to him, head lowered and just a hint of fang showing against her lip.

    “Ophanim,” her voice sounds strange as it wraps around his name. “It’s been a while.”

    adna

    we're setting fire to our insides for fun
    collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home

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    we're setting fire to our insides for fun; ophie - by adna - 03-31-2019, 12:42 PM



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