stillwater;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails She should have run. She should have fled when the opportunity presented itself, but she is too fucking stubborn. It had been a bluff. This wasn’t supposed to escalate, but it is. When she regards Stillwater it’s with an underlying want that shudders through her entire body. Curiosity is consuming her. Nayl half-expected him to be unyielding and still demand her to leave. It was to be his last chance; she would have left if he asked only once more. Her corded muscles quivered in anticipation of fleeing his touch and obeying his wishes. But he doesn’t. The words that Nayl anticipated – go home, leave me – never come. She hears her name spoken in a low whimper, but nothing yet follows. Her ears strain to hear him as he keeps his head and eyes turned away from her as though she were too grotesque, too painful, to even consider. Another step closer and another slow blink underneath her unruly forelock. Another demand is formulating on her tongue to make him look at her, but then he does without warrant. A hooded glare, a primal hunger, and a sickening lust. Run now, she muses, but her legs are still rooted to Sylva until she receives the answer that is holding her prisoner. The need to understand him is far greater than her judgment to retreat. Give me answers, the statement chokes her and immobilizes her much like Stillwater’s steady gaze. Suddenly, she can’t speak. Her inner-strength is dwindling the longer she is with him – wanting him – and that alone frightens her. He is draining her, depleting her energy to be strong and formidable. As the minutes (or has it been hours?) swim past she knows that she is crumbling. Then he tells her to come to him. With her strength gone, she obeys. But when she approaches him, it isn’t with a drooped body like a reprimanded hound. It’s with confident steps and a fiery gaze that closes the distance between them. They are so close – his heat fans across her skin – and she almost reaches to touch him, but stops. It won’t be her that will cave despite how starved she is for his attention and for the curiosity that thrums in her veins. Will she shatter under his touch? Will her power as a Queen be undermined by this? The questions churn relentlessly, but this time she doesn’t reel away from him, afraid. She stands alongside him with an occasional side glance, her ears swiveling in desperation to hear his voice in a time of uncertainty. ”Stillwater,” her voice is hardly a whisper, caressing him like a lover. Nayl covet and myrina's creation