• Logout
  • Beqanna

    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 lost my heart under the Bridge; Corvus, Any
    #1

    -NYXA-

    Little fish, big fish,
    swimming in the water...

    Mother always looked at Nyxa like she might break. 

    It infuriated the little oddity. Though her stature was miniscule and her attributes seemingly delicate, Nyxa had a fiery disposition to rival her dam’s and the willful spirit of her father, Canaan. Mixed together, it made a disobedient yet adorable sort of character - she thrived under the fawning caress of her mother caregivers, Jah and Circy alike, and she enjoyed all that women were pinned for; such was evident by the lilt of small feathers knotted into her evergreen mane and the way she carried herself with a nun’s composure. But that wolf inside had her often looking to the skies for Father or brother Corvus, or stretching her damp wings with hopeless wishes that they might carry her away to join them.

    A tumultuous yin and yang: docility and the fervent desire to be her own master. This is why she strays from the shoreline of her beloved lake (the water rippling gently reminded her of her own wings) to search for anything to alleviate the boredom of a beautiful Summer day going to waste. To the East a great cove of wisteria-laden boughs lay uninhabited; it was there she struck out for, one gangly stride at a time. The mystic atmosphere always seemed to place her in a festive mood and, if she longed for flights of fancy, might even inspire her to add soft, purple blooms to her multi-hued tresses.

    The life of a child was blessedly blissful. Serene and warm, it’s not long until the heavy branches are brushing against one another with intimate caresses while the path grew hilly and twisted. True, the border of her home was only on the other side of the shaded glen, but beyond that was only the River and - besides - Hyaline seemed not to fear the threat of any invasion from outsiders. Between the grasping fingers of twisted vine and root she tumbles, struggling to keep her wings from losing their watery form as the twigs render them useless. It’s a bit painful, but her feathers always re-shape. Only when she falls to one knee, drawing blood, does she cry out in whimpering pain, “Oh, damn this deertrail!”

    Just a little lady in the making.



    @[Corvus]




    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)