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  • 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 can't get you off my mind; LELIANA
    #1
    Chaol

    She never seemed to realize that he was there, which he was fine with. He was watching out for her more than he expected her to socialize with her. Which he wanted but he completely understood her not wanting too. Or rather wanting his company and his touches but not feeling deserving of it. He understood. He knew broken. Could see it in her soul. He had been broken once. So lost in the despair of the unknown and the things that had happened that it had been a long time before he pulled himself out of it.

    She would do the same, when she was ready. When it was time. And likely not a minute before then. There would be no rushing her, no making her get past her heartbreak. No. He was a patient guy and he would patiently wait for her to heal.

    It has been a day or so since she gave birth, since he watched her birth the baby girl with the rushing of the water drowning everything else out. He watched her name her, saw the sorrow in her eyes and stood in the shadows as she was greeted by two others.

    He does not crowd her, he does not go forwards to add his voice to the crowd. He waits, giving her space and time before he finds her again. She does not move much anymore, and it was only with luck that he had been with her the day she had moved to give birth elsewhere.

    He doesn’t come up along side her like he wanted to. He moves until she can see him and then moves closer to press his lips softly against her shoulder. “Hello beautiful,” he says softly. Presses his chest against hers, his teeth nibbling affectionately at the base of her wings before he steps back to look at her face. “Something’s different about you…” A twinkling speck of mischief in his eyes as he takes a long look at her. He circles around her, his eyes landing on Malca with a smile. “Ah, there she is.” He lowers his head to meet the filly’s gaze. “Hello little imp. What’s your name?”

    His nose reaching to automatically store the girl’s scent in his brain, cataloging it along with Adna and Lily. He would do the same with Sabbath, once he managed to meet her. He notes the milky eye but his smile is easy when he turns back to Lily. “She’s gorgeous like her momma.”



    @[leliana]
    Reply
    #2

    I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you

    He is so kind, she thinks, as he moves from the shadows toward her.

    So good. So kind.

    He walks up and his physical affection is easy, sweet, and yet she still flinches, lightning racing along her skin. Her jaw clenches and she closes her eyes, wishing she could just accept the sweetness of his gesture without her head going lightheaded, without her veins beginning to simmer, without a flush of heat and pain spiraling in her chest. This is how she used to stand with Vulgaris when their relationship had just been blossoming. This is how she stood when she told him that he felt like home.

    When she thought she had finally found an end to all of the pain.

    His teeth find her wings and she jerks a little sharper, stepping back and ducking her head. The wounds there have not healed completely yet and the touch of teeth to them is too real, too visceral. She ducks her head, a frown clouding her features. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, her lyrical voice tight and shame washing over her thin face. But he turns the sunshine of his attention to her daughter, and she breathes a little easier, feeling her head swim. She swallows a few breaths of air before she turns to her daughter.

    “Malca,” her voice is a little steadier now when she turns to her daughter. She leans down and smooths the hair on her daughter’s forehead, her smile a little more loose and genuine when she focuses on her impossibly beautiful daughter. The initial shock of her milky eye has passed and although it is difficult to not feel that same guilt stir in her belly, she doesn’t think for a second that it takes away from Malca’s beauty in the slightest. “Her name is Malca.” She laughs softly. “And she is so much more beautiful.”



    @[Chaol]
    [Image: avatar-1975.gif]
    the heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity
    Reply
    #3
    Chaol

    He pretends that her flinching from his touch, the way her flesh startles and moves beneath his lips, his teeth doesn’t incite a roaring river of pain and rage inside him. Pain for her, for the pain she is feeling, for the pain he wants to inflict. Rage over what had happened, over her brokenness, over Vulgaris’ idiocy. He pretends to not notice it, the way she flinches, pulls from his touch. The way she apologizes like she did something wrong. That lit another fire in his belly, burning low but hot. He is careful, careful to not let her see the anger, to only give her the happy and the content.

    “Stop apologizing beautiful for something that you can’t control.” He says, his lips finding her neck again anyways. And he hopes one day, hopes with his entire soul, that she will realize he would never hurt her. He will be damned if he lets Vulgaris ever hurt her again either.

    He still needed to find him. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was going to do yet, but he would find him. Perhaps they needed to have a little chat….

    “Do you want me to stop touching you?” He says after a long moment, a long look at her face and the shame and guilt that twists her beautiful features. “I will, for you. Not because you don’t think you deserve it but because I know it makes your skin crawl.” His lips hover over her skin again, a subconscious effort to touch her something he would have to work on. “Not because I think you are shameful. But because right now it’s not helping you, is it?”

    He pulls his lips away from her shoulder, his breath warm and lingering until it’s not. He turns those dark eyes of his on hers. The day she was afraid of him was the day he would tuck his wings against his sides and smash himself into the ocean.

    “Malca.” He tastes the name of her on his lips, adding her to the rest of them. Malca. Adna. Lily. Pieces of his heart that weren’t even really his. But he would protect them. Or do his best. “Well I am partial to the original myself.” He says with a laugh, his eyes falling easily back upon Leliana, before sliding back along to Malca. “But she is beautiful, nonetheless.”

    He rests a leg, his tail swiping at his legs. “Tell me how you are? The truth.” He says.

    Reply
    #4

    I don't know what I'm supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you

    She hates herself for how his nearness makes her feel like water is filling her lungs. She hates herself for the way her body responds to it without her consent, the way that her flesh cries out, even the gentlest of touches from him making her throat close up. A tear escapes her and falls softly down her cheek and she dips her head away, attempting to hide it. She doesn’t say anything as he asks her questions, not for a moment at least. She just takes deep breaths of cold air, trying to steady the unease in her bones.

    “I-I,” her voice is shaky, and she closes her hazel eyes, “I just don’t think I’m ready.”

    It is painful to admit. Painful to acknowledge. Physical affection had always come so easily to her. It has always been her instinct to wrap those she loves and those she barely knows in the glow of her healing and then the warmth of her embrace. She draws them near, presses kisses to their foreheads, slips into their side, curling into them. This loss, the way what has happened has cut this clean from her, is bitter. It is difficult to swallow that it has changed her—that the columns of her heart, of her very being have once again shifted. In the aftermath, she is more guarded, shying away from touch, drowning in it.

    When she finally opens her eyes, the gold-green of them are dim, but she still fights for the barest hint of a smile. It takes everything in her to shed the weight of her grief when she turns her attention to her daughter. She does not want Malca to be born with a shell of a mother. She does not want her to not have the same love that Adna and Sabbath had. She does not want these circumstances to deny her that.

    Her face warms slightly when she looks down at her daughter, as Malca moves to feed once more, but as soon as her daughter looks way, the mask of it falls away again. She is a shell, she thinks. She was once full of love and laughter—a depthless well. She has found the bottom.

    “I am tired,” she answers, unable to say the full truth.



    @[Chaol]
    [Image: avatar-1975.gif]
    the heaviness in my heart belongs to gravity
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