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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


    [open]  Crowns of flowers on our heads; a n y
    #3
    Briella
    isn't it lovely all alone? heart made of glass, my mind of stone. tear me to pieces skin to bone.

    She is, and without, the self-same confidences she possessed before the tendrils of the Abyss… of the Void settled well into her bones and all the threads of fate around her. Blackened and strange the strings felt foreign on her limbs and she fretted easily, but where before there was a bleating youth: courageous and determined, she now stood with exhaustion and fatigue in her soul. Loosely postured and mindful she carried no more quickness, albeit grace still bore itself into her, and as such came to find her head turning slowly and those brilliant gemstone eyes wider suddenly and peering at the pale silver-blue girl… the gunmetal tones brilliant beneath the stars.

    Though gone is the fluff and baby hair, as she is not fully grown, patches of the thick curls in her mane and tail seem shorter than others: flecks of black and silver, of pale ice layering the hair. With her gaze leveled onto Cyprin there is a kind of softness to her and she moves her lips as if to speak but finds her tongue almost entirely frozen as the billowing breath clouds around her face and the smattered star-light pattern stretching across her body.

    Breathing in the sharp, wintry air she recalls her journey across the Island the Fairies had sent her to… the sickly body breaking and her death ever so close as she carried out the whim and will of creatures beyond her comprehension.

    To her newest Companion though, she finds herself nodding, gentle and speaking in a voice that betrays her age: a mellifluous and bewitching song as an accent older than Beqanna’s own lands touched each syllable and sound.

    “Briella,”  she responds with no sultry purr, merely childlike intrigue.  “I was here before… when the plague was rampant. An infected child, brought by my Father when the King stole him.”  the remark carries no malice, no hatred; but simple fact: commentary without accusation or anger. She blinks though, and smiles, saddened at the thoughts in her mind.  “Cyprin, your name is very beautiful… I, take it Dovev is no longer here? Wolfbane too? The last time I walked through the other world… it was almost one hundred years passed.”

    Questions plague her, but she slows herself, an ear flicking and her patience slowly settling in as she realizes the overwhelming burst of information.  “Apologies, I sometimes forget if I am over-speaking.”



    @[Cyprin]


    Messages In This Thread
    RE: Crowns of flowers on our heads; a n y - by Briella - 07-17-2019, 02:40 PM



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