N y x a
Ignorance is bliss and plenty of foolish souls have lost their lives under the impression that they were at all times safe.
Young and naive she may be, but foolish she is certainly not. Nyxa sees the oddity that is his ‘smile’; a grimace of sorts that shapes her own features into something that reflects concern. The action looked unhealthy on his face, close to unsettling. “You’d be a bit uncouth too, if you cut yourself off from humanity.” The youngling chides internally, like a lamb forgiving the lion of his nature. She muses that perhaps he needs practise - even fathoms for a minute that they could learn something from one another, but then his form is gliding with austere command over the silt-soaked belly of the riverbed and she knows, knows that she will never be anything but a passing fancy to this all-encompassing, divine being.
So, she smiles in return. A thing of beauty passed on from her mother - the cupid’s bow of spotted lips sculpted into something innocent, something sweet and so unlike the demon approaching, but it’s wholly reflective of herself and for that, she won’t apologize. There’s so much he can teach her about her powers and their shared world that she can’t bring herself to resist him, even as the tendrils of liquid fingers begin to caress her floating legs and undercarriage. Can you keep up? he taunts; the clarity in his speech still unreal to her.
Nyxa responds by rolling her eyes and forcing her wings down, hoping to shoot above him in order to glide back out into the wide mouth of the churning bay. “With you? Of course not.” She scoffs to herself, tiring already of forcing air between her teeth to try and manage a reply. She manages anyways, “Are we going to measure our manhood all day, hmm?” with the tilt of her sallow head backwards.
“Chew on that, waterboy.” She thinks, the purse of her lips hidden by the action of turning her head back to the open water. A thought strikes her then and she speaks aloud, not bothering to turn and face him because she doubts he needs the direct attention. “Do you have a name?” The filly ponders, awaiting his instruction with a patience even she was unaware she possessed.
For some reason, it seems unlikely that he would. How could something like him sprout from the loins of anything at all? No - to Nyxa it seems more natural that he’d always been a product of the sea.
Every kiss is a door, Can I knock on yours?
@[Maugrim]