06-28-2018, 11:33 AM
there was a heaven in youbut god there's a devil in me
Part of him regains his composure - a roll of his shoulders, a shifting of his great navy wings - just for her, to remind her that he is still the King she believes him to be, despite the harboring burdens that lie just beneath the surface of his stoic face. The change in his expression, though he is not completely without doubt (would he ever be?), gives him a sense of strength; one that he did not know still lingers beneath each coiled muscle of his body, one that is somehow different than he used to know.
There is a semblance of empathy that roils into his oceanic gaze, idly burning just beneath the surface as he is given entrance to the inner workings of her mind. The darkness that howls just beyond her own door is so similar to his own, akin in the way they claw mercilessly into their mind; a voice that is not at all their own. She glances away from him and for a moment he is devastated that he has brought this upon her - to relive these moments for him all over again only because he has asked. His jaw clenches tightly as his teeth press firmly together in a grinding motion, his chin pressing to his chest with guilt. But it only lasts a moment before the King is stretching his neck towards her once again, the tenderness of his whiskered mouth brushing against the stark auburn and white of her two-toned cheek.
“Do not be sorry, Kagerus. Ever.” Warrick’s voice is stern yet soft, intermittent between her words so that is not interrupting her, only encouraging. We will never be sorry. Not anymore.
It is then that her eyes turn to him - searching their depths as if the answer is hidden beneath the darkness of his pupils, and he desperately hopes that she finds something there to cling to. The rest of her story unfolds and Warrick remains in silence, watching her and listening intently. There is sadness that blooms in his eyes and onto the sharpness of his jawline at her once hopelessness and the darkness that most likely still broods beneath, covered by Solace’s love.
There is no smile that finds his face yet there is a glimmer of something in his eyes. “The love of another can cure many things,” he murmurs to her, his own thoughts idly giving him images of Tangerine and the many children they have bore, as well as the grandchildren that have grown fruitful beneath the Beqannan sun. But their love cannot will the removal of the plague in our minds.
“We must always be strong, then. For them.”
He pauses, pressing his lips firmly together.
“For each other.”
There is a semblance of empathy that roils into his oceanic gaze, idly burning just beneath the surface as he is given entrance to the inner workings of her mind. The darkness that howls just beyond her own door is so similar to his own, akin in the way they claw mercilessly into their mind; a voice that is not at all their own. She glances away from him and for a moment he is devastated that he has brought this upon her - to relive these moments for him all over again only because he has asked. His jaw clenches tightly as his teeth press firmly together in a grinding motion, his chin pressing to his chest with guilt. But it only lasts a moment before the King is stretching his neck towards her once again, the tenderness of his whiskered mouth brushing against the stark auburn and white of her two-toned cheek.
“Do not be sorry, Kagerus. Ever.” Warrick’s voice is stern yet soft, intermittent between her words so that is not interrupting her, only encouraging. We will never be sorry. Not anymore.
It is then that her eyes turn to him - searching their depths as if the answer is hidden beneath the darkness of his pupils, and he desperately hopes that she finds something there to cling to. The rest of her story unfolds and Warrick remains in silence, watching her and listening intently. There is sadness that blooms in his eyes and onto the sharpness of his jawline at her once hopelessness and the darkness that most likely still broods beneath, covered by Solace’s love.
There is no smile that finds his face yet there is a glimmer of something in his eyes. “The love of another can cure many things,” he murmurs to her, his own thoughts idly giving him images of Tangerine and the many children they have bore, as well as the grandchildren that have grown fruitful beneath the Beqannan sun. But their love cannot will the removal of the plague in our minds.
“We must always be strong, then. For them.”
He pauses, pressing his lips firmly together.
“For each other.”
WARRICK
@[Kagerus]