10-11-2019, 01:12 AM
It is a curious sensation - her thoughts without projected emotion to color them. It is not one she has felt in a while, not with the constant internal pressure to smile, to laugh, to stay positive. The emotions of the well-remembered past few months are a brassy yellow, but Lepis has never claimed to be perfect in her magic. She had been aiming for gold, after all, the bright and burning gold she’d taken for granted until he left.
The gold had been real. Lepis had never needed to fake happiness with Wolfbane. But she’s been doing it for nearly a year now, and the unexpected sight of him after all this time has stilled more than her physical movement. She projects nothing, but the emptiness, the colorlessness, of her mind slips further toward bitter sapphire with every sour word her husband spits at her. Her blue-grey eyes are shadowed by the bangs of her navy white mane, and they flash dangerously as she takes a step forward. The sinuous line of her feathered wings have unconsciously flared partially away from her shoulders, as though she might intimidate him with their size. When she realizes what she’s done, she pulls them in with a deepening of her own scowl, but she keeps stepping forward until she is face to face with the taller stallion, until she can stare up at his unfamiliar black face and feel the angry hiss of unspoken words hot against her own cheek.
”You.” she hisses back, the flatness entirely gone from her voice to be replaced by glittering lapis sharpness. ”You do not get to come into my home after nine months with no word and act like I’m the one to blame. You. Do. Not.”
There are other things to say, accusations she might be justified to make after what he insinuates (as if the red-gold boy lurking behind the redwood could belong to anyone else!), hurtful words that might cause him to experience the same ache she feels. She could even force him to feel it, to live through that, through her sadness, her despair and abandonment and finally that deep stabbing wound when she’d finally admitted to herself that maybe he was never coming back. That she could do so easily, with less effort than unfurling her wings. She could.
She doesn’t.
Lepis has a great many less-than-angelic attributes, but she is not cruel. She cannot hurt Wolfbane, not with intent. And she cannot believe the man she loves is any different, even with his bitter words and the fury in his voice as he looms ahead of her. But the Wolfbane she knows would never say those things, and though she will not show doubt in front of the son that has just appeared beside her, Lepis feels a cold finger of doubt along her spine. The Wolfbane she knows, though, had long ago begun to change in a myriad of little ways, since the day he faced down Wyrm.
”This is Wolfbane,” she says to Elio, glancing down at his brightly colored face and the now-concerned mask that is a golden replica of his sire’s. ”Your father.” Is added almost as an afterthought, but it is not said for Elio. Her son knows the name, she has told him all the stories. It is meant instead for Wolfbane himself, as is the challenge in her glittering eyes while she waits for a response.
@[Wolfbane]
@[Elio]
The gold had been real. Lepis had never needed to fake happiness with Wolfbane. But she’s been doing it for nearly a year now, and the unexpected sight of him after all this time has stilled more than her physical movement. She projects nothing, but the emptiness, the colorlessness, of her mind slips further toward bitter sapphire with every sour word her husband spits at her. Her blue-grey eyes are shadowed by the bangs of her navy white mane, and they flash dangerously as she takes a step forward. The sinuous line of her feathered wings have unconsciously flared partially away from her shoulders, as though she might intimidate him with their size. When she realizes what she’s done, she pulls them in with a deepening of her own scowl, but she keeps stepping forward until she is face to face with the taller stallion, until she can stare up at his unfamiliar black face and feel the angry hiss of unspoken words hot against her own cheek.
”You.” she hisses back, the flatness entirely gone from her voice to be replaced by glittering lapis sharpness. ”You do not get to come into my home after nine months with no word and act like I’m the one to blame. You. Do. Not.”
There are other things to say, accusations she might be justified to make after what he insinuates (as if the red-gold boy lurking behind the redwood could belong to anyone else!), hurtful words that might cause him to experience the same ache she feels. She could even force him to feel it, to live through that, through her sadness, her despair and abandonment and finally that deep stabbing wound when she’d finally admitted to herself that maybe he was never coming back. That she could do so easily, with less effort than unfurling her wings. She could.
She doesn’t.
Lepis has a great many less-than-angelic attributes, but she is not cruel. She cannot hurt Wolfbane, not with intent. And she cannot believe the man she loves is any different, even with his bitter words and the fury in his voice as he looms ahead of her. But the Wolfbane she knows would never say those things, and though she will not show doubt in front of the son that has just appeared beside her, Lepis feels a cold finger of doubt along her spine. The Wolfbane she knows, though, had long ago begun to change in a myriad of little ways, since the day he faced down Wyrm.
”This is Wolfbane,” she says to Elio, glancing down at his brightly colored face and the now-concerned mask that is a golden replica of his sire’s. ”Your father.” Is added almost as an afterthought, but it is not said for Elio. Her son knows the name, she has told him all the stories. It is meant instead for Wolfbane himself, as is the challenge in her glittering eyes while she waits for a response.
@[Wolfbane]
@[Elio]
