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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


    with shortness of breath, i'll explain the infinite; stillwater
    #1

    gleam

    i will rearrange the stars
    pull them down to where you are

    She knows she is dreaming when the world starts tremble. But she leaps up anyhow, those wide eyes turned to the walls of the cave as they weep rock and clay down their vibrating sides. She is no stranger to the oddness of nightmares, to the fear that builds, even now, in the pit of that wasted, delicate belly. These nightmares curl around her in the dark as her brother should have done, would have done, if they had not been pried apart by warring parents - by lies and greed and wickedness,betrayal, she had seen swirl in strange color across their skin.
     
    She means to wait until this strange quivering stops, until the ring of dusk at the mouth of this cave is still and solid instead of fuzzy with motion.Until mother comes and prods her awake so that those quiet whimpers can fade back to a guarded silence in the depths of her chest. But it does not stop and mother does not come, so she steps outside and into the dimness of deep evening to find the only world she has ever known writhing in its death throes.
     
    Not a dream.
     
    The ground heaves, a breathing giant she cannot fathom, spires of dust and dirt rising like red from a severed artery. There is no one around, there never is. Only she and mother and the ancient stars that cling to her skin - the ones mother fusses over and runs lips across until something darker pulls her away again. Except now it is only she and the stars and a buckled wasteland come undone.
     
    Another shudder in the rock beneath her feet throws her forward and she falls hard, a tangle of pale silver and tawny, delicate and gangly and avian in her frailty. She whispers a breathless sound, a soft oomph with the echo of a whimper that contorts her face as she struggles to stand again, lurching awkwardly when the world groans and heaves again. A word lodges in her throat, a cry swallowed for its irrationality. Mama. But she remembers being forced into water when she barely knew how to walk, remembers the burns across her belly, being herded back into the cave alone when there should have been two.
     
    The word dies on her lips, broken and brittle and turned to dust.
     
    Instead she turns, runs, finds that the mountains seem lower or maybe this heaved and dying place is buckled higher, because nothing is where she remembers, nothing where she left it.
     
    The mountain scoops her up into the night sky, plucks her from Pangea even as the land pitches and sinks and water swells and swallows her entire childhood. Horror bubbles in her belly at so much dark and wet, at the roiling waves that lick and churn and consume. “Mama.” She does say this time, the whisper of starlight, silver and trembling and sinking through dark She couldn’t lose mama, couldn’t be the only one left. Not when she had lost her twin as he crumpled unnoticed in the sand behind them, not when father had chased them (mother) back, telling them (her) to get out. She darted forward searching for that flash of gold and burning wings, but the water continues to rise, still hungry, still searching, and she is forced back and turns again, running until she has crossed the mountain and half-raced, half-fallen back down the other side and into the kind of world she has only ever known in her dreams.
     
    There are trees everywhere, trunks wider than she is long, and she can make out the gleam of orange and red and gold leaves in the starlit glow of her pulsing silver skin. It is in this way that she wanders, slower now, damp in the hips and the shoulders with her fear, bruised and dazed by a world come undone that still feels as though it must be a dream, a nightmare. Her eyes stay on the branches above, wide with wonder and awe, softening when she catches glimpses of the stars between the leaves and the nebulae in her skin flare bright with pleasure. 
     
    She does not notice when the dirt and grass change to sand underfoot, only notices that the trees are gone and there are stars everywhere, the sky a mouth of diamond studded dark yawning openly at her. It is only when her front hooves touch the water and it splashes against her ankles that her eyes finally drop to find a large pond unfurled before her. She has exactly one second to appreciate the night sky trapped and reflected back in it before fear pushes her back and against a pile of large irregular boulders that she huddles beside. So much water, it was everywhere. At least Pangea is dry and dusty - was dry and dusty. Was? 
     
    She makes a small sound of distress, a quiet whimper that trembles in her chest as she shrugs deeper into the shallow stone alcove. Her legs crumple and she sinks into the dark. She means to hide, to close her eyes and wake up in the dusty cave to mamas insistent prodding, but it is decidedly difficult for a star to be invisible in the night - let alone a million stars, bright and infinitesimal and draped across the skin of something small and silver and uncertain. But she finds she cannot look away from the water, cannot stop the shivers that race through that delicate avian body as fear flares and shock deepens and night cools the places sweat had dampened. 
     
    In that dark, rippling surface she can remember her first moments. Can remember opening her eyes and taking a breath - so many breaths. It had been warm when she huddled against her brother and they found mamas belly together, nursed until mama grew impatient and herded them away, hurried them from Pangea to Tephra so that they could be pried apart. She forced them to swim when they could barely stand, didn’t notice when those flaming wings scalded their shoulders and bellies and burned such new flesh. That was how Gleam learned to use her stars like a shield, pull them close and safe around her. She whimpers again, a breathless kind of sound, pries that wide-eyed gaze from the quiet water and severs the memories where they unfurl. Not now, not now.
     
    She pulls her legs in tighter, tries to push back further beneath the rock ledge because at least it was familiar, a small stone place - tight and dark and lonely. Like the cave she had been born and raised in, kept in so that father wouldn’t find her. But that was silly, has always seemed silly. Father did not want her, only Gloam, else he would have come for her. Would have kept mother from dragging her back out across an ocean she could not swim. “No,” she says, a soft pleading sound she buries in her forelegs when she leans down to hide her face, hide from a night of madness and impossibility. It is only when she hears a noise somewhere nearby, a whoosh or a rustle or the wind in the leaves, that she looks up again with wide uncertain eyes that swirl with rust and dusk, the mottled orange of ancient galaxies.  

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    #2
    Stillwater
    She came to him in a trance, her little head tilted upwards, enthralled by the gently dancing canopy above, and the night sky weaving through the leaves as it carefully tried to catch a glimpse of her. Those stars she searched were a wonder to her and yet they were a million eyes on her, lit for her. Waiting for her.

    Like a ghost, she glowed with a soft, supernatural light. She was a beacon for lost souls, attracting them all and fading out as trees crossed before her, lighting back up again as they opened, made way for her as they gently guided her home. To him.

    In the distance, his heart had painfully squeezed and shrank like a pitiful pebble in his chest when he saw her eerie haze of light, his silky skin prickling with countless needles and his eyes impossibly latched to her. Luster. But it wasn't her. She was gone. It would never be her. This one was younger than she had been, lighter in color and lacking that blue and white of a beautifully foaming sea. It wasn't her. It would never be her. He wouldn't let it happen again. Lesson learned.

    Never again.

    A little gaze in a little face dropped to the ground. Her foot had touched the water, sending a cold shiver down his spine as he watched on from the shadows. She was captivated for only a moment on that earthly sky reflected back at her, before she scrambled hastily away with a quiet, frightened squeak. He raised an unseen brow as she curled in on herself and huddled in the shallow embrace of one of Sylva’s many rock forms.

    He’d never had one that was already fearful of the water. That was typically after. If they were set free. Fortunately, most weren't. Devoured without a trace to sustain him for a while longer.

    Then he was the night, endless and infinite black as he was drawn to her. Her quiet, campfire skin glittered and flickered across a stone backdrop, little embers embedded like stardust in the silver-bronze of her magical blanket. So like Luster. But it would never be Luster. The little ball of limbs tightened with another soft whimper, and he slid from the darkness, the planes of his dark face barely illuminated. He watched her silently a few moments longer, catching a whispered no as she fought monsters in her mind only she could see.

    He took one step closer again, and halted, allowing her light to capture him for her. She sensed him, or heard him, and little eyes flew up to meet the shadowy-blue of his. A disarming smile greeted her as he fell into the galaxies in the nebula orange of her stare. Not brown, thank the fairies. It was false instinct to trust him, but even with that in his favor he didn't push forward, warm and soft as he examined her distantly for wounds. Finding none -her magic must protect her, he lowered himself fluidly to the ground where he was, careful to cater to her frightened state.

    There, there, little one, he crooned softly, a voice as deep and smooth as the quiet lull of safe, cradling arms and a vibrating chest. The way he lay was a quiet offer of comfort, of security, an invitation to come to the shelter of his side. Lose your mum, did you? He was nodding sympathetically, allowing her time to answer if she would, though he already knew the answer. She smelled of the wasteland, and thus far she had been the only one to wander this direction from it's descent into the sea. But she wasn't alone anymore.

    I can keep you safe.
    Truth, always the truth. He could.

    But he wouldn't.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
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    #3

    gleam

    i will rearrange the stars
    pull them down to where you are

    There were stars everywhere. Pinpricks of flickering gem-bright colors you could make out the longer you stared, but looked plain and cold and silver at a glance. They filled the sky as far as she could see it - a sky hemmed in by forest and treetops and irregular, swaying leafy silhouettes. But they were not just in the sky, not just overhead. She saw them in the glossy black of the smooth lake, reflected back imperfectly over the faint ripples where fish breached to snag skittering bugs. A million, trillion stars like sparks of color popping across the surface.

    She could not help it, could not stop herself from inching closer again - not so close that she could touch it, never that close - but close enough that she could see her own face glowing back at her. It was pale tawny and beautiful in its impossible smallness, wreathed in bright and light and gem-bright stars with silver skin, and she did not recognize it at all. Papa had looked like this though, the man who did not try to keep her, the man who kept her brother instead. He looked just exactly like this except bigger and more handsome, older and strong. It was why mama kept her so close, kissed her skin and coveted these stars.

    She did not see Gleam, she saw Giver.

    Her face darkens and her mouth sharpens, and it is a soft kind of broken sound that spills from her chest. She means to shrug back into the night again, back against the hollow in the rock that would have bit at her hips and shoulders if not for the star-skin she wore like a cloak. But a face appears in the dark and she freezes, paraylzed with fear. She memorizes it in an instant, sloppy though, in furtive half-glances as her eyes dart from his dark eyes to his strong jaw, to the hollow of his cheeks and the smile that slides so easily across his lips.

    He is beautiful, she knows this innately, even this young. Smooth and dark, hard as though carved from obsidian and just as flawless. Even the smile is kind, coaxing, and those swirling rust eyes return to it warily. He is beautiful, but so was mother. Mother, who had given her these soft pink-gray scars across her belly in a careless embrace, who had quieted her tears forcefully, had almost drowned her twice out of love.

    Gleam knows better than to believe in beautiful things.
    There is always something darker buried beneath.

    But then he speaks, a soft croon and her small face softens uncertainly, those wide eyes swirling up at him like trapped, ancient galaxies. There, there, little one. She tilts her face at him imploringly, a faint tremble of worry still rippling across her strange, starry skin. Lose your mum, did you? Her eyes widen as she is faced suddenly with a desire to lie to him, a need, maybe. “No.” She blurts the word before she is even done thinking, her voice a soft chime of sound in the starlit dark. Her eyes drop from his face at once, her pale brow furrowed and conflicted - she did not like how this lie felt sitting inside her. So she peers back up at him again, eyes mostly hidden behind a corn-silk forelock, voice soft and tremulous, “Yes.” A small breath, it stutters in her chest. “But I don’t want to find her.”

    Her eyes find him in the dark, bright and tumultuous, wounded with a dread that had been taught into her. I can keep you safe. She huffs an uncertain breath in the quiet between them, struggles against a breathlessness that builds in her chest at the closeness of the water, the strangeness of the stallion. “You won’t hurt me?” She asks, hardly, barely a whisper, and her belly tightens reflexively around the melted burn scars across it. “I can trust you?” She seems to look past him for a moment, eyes soft and unfocused as the furrow in her tawny brow deepens. Wordless, she stares a moment longer, a frown appearing on her lips just a second before a small shudder of displeasure rolls between her small shoulders. Then, focusing back on the man again, she says, “Mama called me Gleam.”


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    #4
    Stillwater
    She froze as soon as she saw him, locked in place almost in instinct, her little gaze furtively scanning every feature of his perfect face. Startled by his unnatural beauty, perhaps. His smiled widened just a little, his eyes brightening with interest. Even children were not immune to him, nor other men, nor the chaste or elderly. They couldn't help it. It was the nature of his beast. And he loved to watch it settle over them, sometimes a flicker of confusion before a helpless smile was returned to him. At ease in his presence. Trusting.

    Except this one.
    Still distrusting. Uncertain. Wary.

    He crooned to her softly, coaxing her further into his sweet web with the patience of a true predator. Her expression softened just the slightest, but she still trembled with concern for herself. Lose your mum, did you, he tried gently, receiving an instant "No." He waited it out, watching her little face lower, those little brows pulling together as she worked things out for herself. Then she lifted to him again, her voice soft and quiet as she changed her answer. "Yes. But I don't want to find her."

    He frowned in perfect worry, not even wondering why a child wouldn't want her mother while he delighted in her answer. There's a good girl, he encouraged quietly, ignoring the part that may be a cause of hurt for her. Doesn't feel so good to lie, does it? That's alright. I'll never lie to you either, he promised easily. Just about the only promise he could make to anyone, really.

    I can keep you safe, he promised next. She watched him with more uncertainty and he remained calm and caring under her young scrutiny. "You won't hurt me?" she asked, barely a whisper. He tilted his head just slightly, curious but sensing another question and waiting for it. "I can trust you?"  His smile grew again, and he waited just a few moments longer as her eyes went distant and thoughtful, considering something before she refocused on him again.

    "Mama called me Gleam."

    Did she, now? Well, hello Gleam. I'm Stillwater. He paused and edged just a little closer, masking it behind shifting his weight as though he were trying to get comfortable. I know it can't be easy to trust a stranger, hm? Well, I never break my promises, he said a little firmly, looking directly into those glorious, galaxy eyes so she knew he meant it. He couldn't break them even if he wanted to, but he'd never admit that. Could she trust him? I will never lie to you, he repeated for her with a solemn nod. He couldn't. Even if he wanted to.

    He waited through a long pause, letting it all sink in as he glanced over her body again. That blanket of stars was attractive. Luster could probably do the same if she wanted to. Although, he should really stop letting her sneak back into his thoughts. That was annoying. And irritating. How much could her little shield take, though? Could he puncture through it if he had to? Probably best not to require it. That only meant this might take a little longer, but he was patient. She'd be worth it.

    His gaze returned to her beautiful little face. Are you tired, or cold? We can go to my home if you like. It's quieter there, just a soft trickle of water. It's a cave though, so I hope you're not afraid of the dark. But it's not quite out in the open, he added with a glance around them, into this deep night where you could hardly see a distance before you at all unless the moon broke through the trees in some places.

    You are too young to be on your own just yet, you know. I bet you're hungry even now. He didn't really know, only guessed as much. Children this little seemed to require feeding fairly often until they got a bit bigger. You can stay the night with me. I'll keep you safe tonight, and if you decide you like it well enough there, you can live there with me. And I could take care of you. What do you say? He waited patiently, soft and concerned and ready to guide her home if she would allow him.

    Or we can stay here for the night if that's more comfortable for you, but I'll need to stay too to make sure you stay safe. Matter-of-fact, as if it were the most obvious thing.
    come down to the black sea swimming with me
    go down with me, fall with me, lets make it worth it
    Reply
    #5

    gleam

    i will rearrange the stars
    pull them down to where you are

    She is surprised when he is not curious, when he does not ask why a child would be so reluctant to reunite with her own mother. Some of this surprise slips like a quiet mask across her face, furrowing the soft tawny of her brow beneath her forelock and carving long, hollow lines of uncertainty across such delicate cheeks. Her eyes flash up at his, just as shy and reluctant to hold his gaze as she is to be nestled so close to the water rippling silently nearby, but she settles there anyway, flinches once, and then looks away again. Maybe he had taken note of the ugly pink scars across her belly, soft skin forever frozen in a ripple of melted flesh. Maybe it was the soft protrusion of bones beneath the pale tawny fur, a faint ridge to mark her shoulder, a round point to mark her hip.

    Or maybe he just did not care, and that thought deepened the furrow above her eyes, etched new shadow into the worried curve of her frown.

    There’s a good girl. He says, breaking the silence and drawing those furtive rust eyes back to the angles of his dark, beautiful face. Doesn’t feel so good to lie, does it? That’s alright, I’ll never lie to you either. She can hear the promise in his words, in the croon of his murmurous voice, but it comes so easily - too easily - and so she does not believe it. It came too instantly, too reflexively for her to ever believe he meant it. The furrow in her brow becomes a permanent wrinkle, an almost scowl except it lacks something crucial against the soft of such a delicate, glowing face. “I don’t believe you.” She tells him finally, so softly, lifting her chin to him in a way that betrayed the quiet innocence of her youth, the reflex to speak freely and honestly. “What if I ask the wrong question?” Something he does not want to share, she means, something better kept safe and guarded. Everyone had secrets, even she did. Just because he could likely see her fears etched in tension across her face did not mean that she wanted him to know their origins.

    Not once did it occur to her that he might simply tell her no.

    Hello Gleam. I’m Stillwater. He says, shifting, and she realizes abruptly that this is the first time she has ever heard her name on voice that is not her mothers. She sucks in a quiet breath, feeling the cool night air slip over her lips and past her teeth to settle against her tongue. I know it can’t be easy to trust a stranger, hm? Well I never break my promises. He says it so firmly that she almost nods along like she knows this, yes of course he would never break a promise. But she catches herself on the first small bob of her head and stills suddenly, the furrow reappearing on that small, glowing forehead. His eyes find hers, claiming them in the same way deep night claims the swirling galaxies, swallowing them and holding them until looking away is not a thing she remembers how to do. I will never lie to you. Maybe it is the repetition, a promise repeated, but it makes her realize he had avoided her questions. She tenses and blinks at him slowly, prying her eyes from his to trace the lines of a face she instinctively, innately wanted to trust. “It is not easy to trust anyone, I think.” She says finally, soft and silver like the cosmic cloak draped across her skin.

    His eyes drift to her stars, real stars, ancient dust pulled from ancient galaxies to kiss her shoulders and paint her silver. They swirled faster under his gaze, thickening at the flicker of her increased pulse, and then slowing again when his attention returned to her face. Are you tired, or cold? We can go to my home if you like. It's quieter there, just a soft trickle of water. It's a cave though, so I hope you're not afraid of the dark. But it's not quite out in the open.

    She flinches visibly, recoiling as if struck when he mentions the cave.“No,” she says quickly, a note of worry in that whispery voice, "no cave.” She offers him no explanation at her sudden resistance, does not say why she will not go in the cave just yet, another stone prison with no sky and stale air. Let him think she was afraid of the dark, afraid of the night and all the things that go bump. It was better than telling him the truth, she was certain. “I do not mind the open.” She did mind the water though, and her eyes betrayed her when they flashed from his face to the lake and then back again, a small shiver climbing up her spine.

    I bet you’re hungry. He says, and her stomach rumbles its answer at him even as her eyes drop timidly from his face. “A little.” She admits, embarrassed while she imagines his eyes finding all the hollow places and sharp bones in the shadows of her watery gold skin. You can stay the night with me. I'll keep you safe tonight, and if you decide you like it well enough there, you can live there with me. And I could take care of you. What do you say? His voice is like fingers tucked beneath her chin, tilting her face up so those impossible rust eyes are visible again through the strands of forelock like tangled silk. Or we can stay here for the night if that's more comfortable for you, but I'll need to stay too to make sure you stay safe. She blinks to break their connection, but when her eyes open again he is still there, soft and patient and waiting for her with a look of concern.

    Had anyone ever looked at her that way before?
    She did not think so.

    She wants so suddenly to be tucked against him, wants his gentle nuzzles to chase away the shivers of shock and cold that ripple across the pale of her tawny skin. But logic holds her back from him, worry keeps her at bay, reminds her that he is just a stranger, that no one has ever been kind to her. Not even mama who only seemed to love her stars and the pale, watered down buckskin color of her skin. Still, as if pulled by a magnet, she lurches to her feet again, sways tiredly, and watches him. “Stillwater?” She asks, whisper-soft and uncertain, tries his name for the first time since he had given it to her. “Is there anywhere else we can go,” a pause as she considers him, worries over the confession perched at the ledge of her lips, “away from your cave, away from the water.” She takes a hesitant step toward him, reaches for his face with the soft of those glowing lips and then pauses again uncertainly, dropping her nose to her chest. “Maybe somewhere we can still see the stars?”   

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