09-21-2017, 08:17 AM
.Corvus.
(yes, I am alone)
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
but then again, I always was. as far back as I can tell.
It is not often that he is so close in proximity to his brother.
Crevan is wild and impulsive in a way that he is not; in a way that he cannot understand. He is loud, boisterous, and he has never known when to bite his tongue, and it has left him bitter, easily agitated, and altogether uneasy in his presence. Though blood has bound them together, it is thin and watered down, and the thread is thin and fraying with each passing day – he does not yearn for his company; he despises it. He is a reminder of everything that he is not; everything that he is not capable of. Rather than realizing the value of brotherhood, of a kinship that could not be destroyed even by will, he is consumed by the envy of his shifting ability – by the opportunity given to him to traverse to another dimension, to be close to mother in a way that he, himself, can never truly comprehend.
He will never be part of what they have, of the bond shared between mother and son – he will never be a part of the pack; a thought that writhes a burning hatred and deep-rooted jealousy and spite into his shriveling, barely beating heart. But then – then, there is Jah-Lilah. She is an anchor, binding him to a family he has never felt that he belonged to, to a lineage that is not her own and yet she is more tethered than even he, without the blood he has flowing through his own veins. She is powerful – a force to be reckoned with; he does not question her when she chides him for his sharp tongue and sharper wit – he does not shy away from her affection, of her teeth nibbling into his withers or the warmth of her body enveloping his own in an embrace.
He does not return it, but he never shies away – not as he does with Mother. Not as he does with Brother.
He is quiet, but content, with a sheer ray of sunlight boring onto his marigold flesh and bone, entangling itself in the deep emerald of his tangled tresses. A grunt emerges from the tightness of his throat as her teeth preen and pull at the brambles tucked away within his mane; it is pleasant but each tug is painful – but he is quiet still. Patient. He has feigned sleep, and when her soft voice murmurs a sacred name to him, there is a sliver of a smile that finds its way to his lips – but it is fleeting, and gone long before she can see it.
There is a pang of disappointment in his chest when he hears the name of his brother.
Fire-Fang.
All that he is not.
And quietly, silently, his darkened gaze bores into the slumbering face of his brother, the festering wound of his neglected heart growing hotter and brighter with a hatred he cannot stifle.
Crevan is wild and impulsive in a way that he is not; in a way that he cannot understand. He is loud, boisterous, and he has never known when to bite his tongue, and it has left him bitter, easily agitated, and altogether uneasy in his presence. Though blood has bound them together, it is thin and watered down, and the thread is thin and fraying with each passing day – he does not yearn for his company; he despises it. He is a reminder of everything that he is not; everything that he is not capable of. Rather than realizing the value of brotherhood, of a kinship that could not be destroyed even by will, he is consumed by the envy of his shifting ability – by the opportunity given to him to traverse to another dimension, to be close to mother in a way that he, himself, can never truly comprehend.
He will never be part of what they have, of the bond shared between mother and son – he will never be a part of the pack; a thought that writhes a burning hatred and deep-rooted jealousy and spite into his shriveling, barely beating heart. But then – then, there is Jah-Lilah. She is an anchor, binding him to a family he has never felt that he belonged to, to a lineage that is not her own and yet she is more tethered than even he, without the blood he has flowing through his own veins. She is powerful – a force to be reckoned with; he does not question her when she chides him for his sharp tongue and sharper wit – he does not shy away from her affection, of her teeth nibbling into his withers or the warmth of her body enveloping his own in an embrace.
He does not return it, but he never shies away – not as he does with Mother. Not as he does with Brother.
He is quiet, but content, with a sheer ray of sunlight boring onto his marigold flesh and bone, entangling itself in the deep emerald of his tangled tresses. A grunt emerges from the tightness of his throat as her teeth preen and pull at the brambles tucked away within his mane; it is pleasant but each tug is painful – but he is quiet still. Patient. He has feigned sleep, and when her soft voice murmurs a sacred name to him, there is a sliver of a smile that finds its way to his lips – but it is fleeting, and gone long before she can see it.
There is a pang of disappointment in his chest when he hears the name of his brother.
Fire-Fang.
All that he is not.
And quietly, silently, his darkened gaze bores into the slumbering face of his brother, the festering wound of his neglected heart growing hotter and brighter with a hatred he cannot stifle.
I think maybe it's because you were never really real to begin with.
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
(I just made you up to hurt myself)
@[Jah-Lilah] @[Crevan]