like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had, and what you lost
Discomfort was an understatement – with each passing day, the life within her grew, outstretching its spindly legs along the confines of her womb, nudging the hardened line of her rib cage and weighing heavily on her spine. Though the broad expanse of her wings had done well to hide away the sight of her bulging belly for many months, she was too far gone to conceal it now, as heavy with child as she had ever been. While the ache of her weary and tired bones often left her agitated, and frustrated, the gentle stirring of the little one within her soothed her each time, reminding her that in time, it would come to an end.
The bright light of day rouses her from her slumber, bleary-eyed and restless, as the golden flecks of her deep hazel eyes search the clear, vivid horizon. Beside her, there is nothing – Magnus, the source of the warmth that she had so easily tucked herself into as the sun fell, no longer remained, and she wondered how long she had slept that he had pried himself away (she had never missed a sunrise before, and yet, here she was rising midday). A low chuckle rumbles within her breast as her teeth gently pluck and preen her delicate flaxen feathers, before finally emerging from her place of rest.
It did not take long to find him – a vision of dappled gold, perched along a shallow hillcrest, the sea breeze entangling itself within his dark tresses. She can hardly hold back the faint smile tugging at the corners of her pale mouth; he had always held the heart and nobility of a King – and though he shied away from the title, she could hardly see him as anything but. A beacon of hope; a pillar of strength.
A grimace surfaces along her features, scoffing inwardly at herself – when had she become so soft?
Soon, she is among the many – the many that thrive within the hazy borders, bathing beneath the brilliant sun of day, lulled by the rumbling of an ever-active volcano. Her hazel eyes search the hardened line of Magnus’ handsome face, quietly observing the mirth bubbling within the endless sea of his gaze. A brief mention of her own name is made, and then Lucrezia’s, and her eyes search for her.
A brief nod is given, both to her and to those standing around her, and her own voice rises then, ”Thank you, Magnus. Should any of you desire to train with me, it can be arranged. We can always be more prepared, and I’ve grown tired of being stagnant,” and the hollow bones of her wings flex in reaction, growing taut along the swell of her belly. ”and with any luck, I will not be with child for much longer. Seek me out.”
