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    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


    i'm not going to change, so stay out of my way. || warrick
    #11
    i'm not going to change, so stay out of my way.
    i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
      The warmth of his breath against her cheek is enough to stir her heart into a beating frenzy; the loss of control wholly unfamiliar to her as his whiskered mouth presses against the crook of her neck. His touches are light, eliciting a shiver that gently plucks its way down her spine – so light, that she cannot help but to wonder if she is merely imagining his skin against her own.

      She does not pause to wonder for long, instead pressing the bridge of her nose against the broad plane of his cheek, feeling the muscle move and tense from the pressure. Her heavy lashes close over her gold-flecked eyes for a moment, as the roaring sea envelopes her with its dull echo, and she is caught in a moment in time – a moment she would inevitably never forget.

      She does not feel the burden or weight of his anguish the way she had so carefully cradled the burden of Magnus – he had been a broken thing, with fissures that persisted long after she had pressed warm kisses to the open wounds; with rifts that would never mend – even with time. Death and loss had ravished him, and it had carefully pulled the tender marrow from his bones and the tissue of his heart away from his ravaged soul, more than once – and he could never love her; not in the way that she had loved him.

      He had never been hers to keep, nor hers to hold – he had been a fleeting thing; an enigma that had drawn her out from the carefully carved out hollow of her own mind. An unforgettable affair, a pervasive companionship that would always hold a piece of her own fractured, dimly lit heart – but he had never been hers to keep.

      But Warrick – his anguish does not have the weight of a thousand lifetimes lived; his heart is not fearful – nor is it barbed in wire, as her own is – and so she can carry him; she does not collapse beneath the heaviness of his broken heart or the weariness of his tired mind. She can feel the thrumming of his blood pounding through his veins, and so she can hear his heart, strong, powerful, and pining, and it soothes the affliction of her own broken heart.

      There is soon tension within the coiled muscle of his cheek, of his shoulder, as her biting words settle in the salty brine of the sea breeze. He does not speak, but he does not need to – she can feel a heavy warmth rising to her cheeks, and she is grateful for the pallid complexion of her skin that he cannot see the bristling heat beneath it. She is flustered, having meant to keep her own bitterness, and her own grief to herself - she had been a fool, and the weight of her own confession threatens to drown her out at sea.

      The silence is heavy (it was a burden; one she did not want to bear) but it does not last for long. Soon, his owns words, whiskey rich and rumbling, fill the hollow stillness, and her hazel eyes are searching the strong features of his handsome face. I cannot keep looking to the stars, and though she longs to ask him what among the stars stirs such a sadness in his eyes, she does not. I have a home. Friends.

      And then, I have you.

      And she is not certain if it is the binding of their two wayward, raggedly beating hearts (broken for very different reasons but broken all the same), or the urgency of the heavy wind pressing her closer to him, but a line is crossed – and her lips press against the corner of his mouth, seeking the warmth of his kiss. It is brief – transcendental; and she is lost in it. He is warmth, and comfort, and companionship – he is the rumbling of the volcano, the roaring of the sea – he is everything, and she is nothing.

      She is nothing of what he needs.

      Her lips part from his own then, 

      ”I,” she begins, but the words are lost on her. She averts her gaze, then, feverishly looking towards the darkening ocean, aching for it to swallow her whole now. ”I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, barely loud enough for him to hear. ”I don’t know what has gotten into me.”

      But as her damp feathers brush against his shoulder, her gold-flecked gaze searches his again, a distant storm of emotion brewing deep within. ”I need time – I need space, to clear my head.” she says softly, finality laced in her tone. "You will always have me, Warrick," truer words never spoken, but - "you deserve so much more."

      And then, with a few deliberate steps and her broad wings opening up to the dark, hazy sky, she is gone.
    Ellyse


    @[Warrick]




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