05-26-2018, 12:35 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
Wishbone has often wondered what it would be like to disappear — to simply fade into the background of life and allow the waves of time to wash over her shoulders and erode memories of her. The power behind her family (her father as the king of Tephra, her older sister as the queen of Hyaline) and the power behind her own name (heiress to Nerine) forces her to consider disappearing only in theory and never in reality.
But the thoughts still come to her, especially when she sees how busy Scorch has become under the weight of the crown. Wishbone is strong — perhaps stronger than Hestia, perhaps stronger than Nayl, perhaps stronger than Isobell — but she still has doubts about the heaviness of the crown upon her wild head. It would be much easier to simply fade out of the picture and travel in the places Beyond… But would it be as thrilling?
Her musings twist and dance in her mind like delicately-dangerous swords. She wouldn’t leave Beqanna — not because she is a coward but because there is too much that she loves here for her to just walk away from it. The scent of a stranger drags Wishbone’s mind back to reality, where she’d been wading through high grasses. Rugged, coastal flora sprouts around her in delicious colors that remind her of Hyaline. But her eyes move past the color to spot an ivory stallion grazing in the midst of a clearing.
The mahogany mare finds herself moving under the shade of a tall oak tree. The lowest branches brush against the curve of her back and the seagull feather tangled in her mane nearly snags on the tree’s fingers. Thankfully, Wishbone ducks her head in enough time to save her memorabilia (really, it’s just a souvenir from her run along the beach that morning), amber eyes never leaving the muscular shape of the stallion in the near distance.
“I haven’t met you yet.” Her honey-whiskey voice pushes through the quiet of the afternoon, feminine and sweet yet laced with the smoke and shadow of her birth-home. Wishbone pulls away from the shade of the oak and the sun catches on the auburn highlight of her dark, tangled mane. Her lithe body moves closer to his, long legs drawing her close enough to speak comfortably. “I’m Wishbone.”
But the thoughts still come to her, especially when she sees how busy Scorch has become under the weight of the crown. Wishbone is strong — perhaps stronger than Hestia, perhaps stronger than Nayl, perhaps stronger than Isobell — but she still has doubts about the heaviness of the crown upon her wild head. It would be much easier to simply fade out of the picture and travel in the places Beyond… But would it be as thrilling?
Her musings twist and dance in her mind like delicately-dangerous swords. She wouldn’t leave Beqanna — not because she is a coward but because there is too much that she loves here for her to just walk away from it. The scent of a stranger drags Wishbone’s mind back to reality, where she’d been wading through high grasses. Rugged, coastal flora sprouts around her in delicious colors that remind her of Hyaline. But her eyes move past the color to spot an ivory stallion grazing in the midst of a clearing.
The mahogany mare finds herself moving under the shade of a tall oak tree. The lowest branches brush against the curve of her back and the seagull feather tangled in her mane nearly snags on the tree’s fingers. Thankfully, Wishbone ducks her head in enough time to save her memorabilia (really, it’s just a souvenir from her run along the beach that morning), amber eyes never leaving the muscular shape of the stallion in the near distance.
“I haven’t met you yet.” Her honey-whiskey voice pushes through the quiet of the afternoon, feminine and sweet yet laced with the smoke and shadow of her birth-home. Wishbone pulls away from the shade of the oak and the sun catches on the auburn highlight of her dark, tangled mane. Her lithe body moves closer to his, long legs drawing her close enough to speak comfortably. “I’m Wishbone.”
@[Ardashir]