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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


    even angels have their wicked schemes, amenhotep
    #1
    ryatah
    hell is empty and all the devils are here
    Being a mother was nothing new to her, but there was something different about her newest daughters. They were brilliantly white, like her, but cleaner. Brand new and unmarred, pristine in ways that only newborns could be. It wouldn’t last, she knew. They would never make it through this world unscathed; everything about their very blood and creation meant they were destined to either break things or to be broken. From the moment she had seen them, she had known they were different — her precious Cavern and Islas, porcelain and perfect — and the idea of sharing them with the world sparked something like jealousy in the pit of her stomach.

    She has kept them nearly hidden since they were born, and now was no different. Tucked away in thick brush and bramble, she had pressed her lips to their skin in turn, with a murmured reassurance that she wouldn’t be far.

    For once, she is true to her word, and from her place along the river, she can still see where she had left them. There were parts of her that not even they could tame down, though she fought against her self-destructive urges, for now, while they still needed her. Still, she could not stop when the feelings swelled inside of her, until she felt like she was going to implode, and she just had to step away.

    The sound of the rapids rushing over stones was almost enough to dull the roar in her mind, but it did nothing for what churned beneath the surface. She still simmered and ached, and for the first time in years, she was alone. There was no one to offer any sort of relief, no matter how brief it lasted.

    Almost alone, at least.

    He toyed with her vision sometimes — just enough to remind her that he was there, just enough to remind her of the scarred mark he had left on her hip. It was twisted, the way her pulse raced whenever it happened; she can never tell if it’s fear or excitement, and she doesn’t try anymore.

    But right now, she accepts her solitude, staring at the current as a sigh brushes past her pale lips. She turns her head, just barely, and she sees the vibrantly colored stallion. She catches his gaze with her almost black eyes, and a ghost of a smile whispers at the edge of her lips, though she says nothing to him.


    @[amenhotep]
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