05-24-2016, 02:56 PM
He trembles, and suddenly a slow ebbing of worry crawls beneath her skin and claws gently at her veins as her heart surges, pumping thick waves of blood through her. He has never trembled before, not that she had ever seen, and her lavender King had never struck her as anything but confident, at ease and perhaps a touch narcissistic. To see him unraveling beneath the weight of his own thoughts, between the pressure of his memory and the reality of the world around him is something she has never seen - and a pang of longing twinges within the depths of her chest, and she realizes that for the first time in the entirety of her short life, she pities him.
He flinches away from her, and at first, the rejection stings, but she does not allow her deep doe eyes to show it. Instead, as he recoils, she presses her cheek again to his hip - an affectionate touch to soothe him, for she does not like to see this side of him. He is always so full of regalia and charm; it is difficult for her to swallow the pain he is undoubtedly grappling with. Yet, in the same note, she is content that he has unraveled in front of her and her alone. She would never tell a soul, and she would never breathe a word of it. This moment was theirs and theirs alone, and she always kept their moments near to her.
"It's me, She murmurs reassuringly, her silvery feathers bristling as the evening cove air drifts over them - a chilling reminder of the looming threat of winter. She no longer flinches away from the icy chill, as she is more than a thin layer of sinew and bone now, but she presses closer to him nonetheless. Aching to comfort him. Longing for his closeness, as she always has. He gazes to her with a fierce fire in his eyes that causes her heart to leap within her chest, though his explanation (fraught with anger, with resentment) soon allows her to delve deeper into his pain.
The fae. Of course. She has heard of such adventures, equine souls whisked away for dangerous, at times terrifying adventures - she had thought it was only a rumor, only a child's tale. But here he stood, shaken to his very core, hazel eyes glinting about anxiously, and she does not doubt him. His voice rises, but again, she does not recoil. She entrusts him with every piece of her - he has never struck her, never hurt her, and she has no reason to believe that he will do so now. Gently, she reaches forward to preen and tug at his delicate, still gloriously beautiful feathers. They glint and glimmer beneath the moonlight, which bathes their winged bodies as they stand so close near the water's edge.
Misra remains close to him, wanting to soothe him with her presence. I am here, she wills herself to say, but she cannot. Instead, she simply nuzzles his flank gently, remaining a constant comfort in his time of turmoil. Soon, his resolve and anguish melt away, and he is wrapped around her in an all too familiar way. She drapes her long, elegant neck over his own, drawing him near - she is still lithe, still petite, yet she nearly matches him in size now - and obliviously, trustingly, she draws him near to her. "You are still Kirin. You are still strength and power and charm and everything I have ever known you to be," She murmurs, stroking his ego, prodding a hackling beast that lingers within him. "they cannot take that away from you."
He flinches away from her, and at first, the rejection stings, but she does not allow her deep doe eyes to show it. Instead, as he recoils, she presses her cheek again to his hip - an affectionate touch to soothe him, for she does not like to see this side of him. He is always so full of regalia and charm; it is difficult for her to swallow the pain he is undoubtedly grappling with. Yet, in the same note, she is content that he has unraveled in front of her and her alone. She would never tell a soul, and she would never breathe a word of it. This moment was theirs and theirs alone, and she always kept their moments near to her.
"It's me, She murmurs reassuringly, her silvery feathers bristling as the evening cove air drifts over them - a chilling reminder of the looming threat of winter. She no longer flinches away from the icy chill, as she is more than a thin layer of sinew and bone now, but she presses closer to him nonetheless. Aching to comfort him. Longing for his closeness, as she always has. He gazes to her with a fierce fire in his eyes that causes her heart to leap within her chest, though his explanation (fraught with anger, with resentment) soon allows her to delve deeper into his pain.
The fae. Of course. She has heard of such adventures, equine souls whisked away for dangerous, at times terrifying adventures - she had thought it was only a rumor, only a child's tale. But here he stood, shaken to his very core, hazel eyes glinting about anxiously, and she does not doubt him. His voice rises, but again, she does not recoil. She entrusts him with every piece of her - he has never struck her, never hurt her, and she has no reason to believe that he will do so now. Gently, she reaches forward to preen and tug at his delicate, still gloriously beautiful feathers. They glint and glimmer beneath the moonlight, which bathes their winged bodies as they stand so close near the water's edge.
Misra remains close to him, wanting to soothe him with her presence. I am here, she wills herself to say, but she cannot. Instead, she simply nuzzles his flank gently, remaining a constant comfort in his time of turmoil. Soon, his resolve and anguish melt away, and he is wrapped around her in an all too familiar way. She drapes her long, elegant neck over his own, drawing him near - she is still lithe, still petite, yet she nearly matches him in size now - and obliviously, trustingly, she draws him near to her. "You are still Kirin. You are still strength and power and charm and everything I have ever known you to be," She murmurs, stroking his ego, prodding a hackling beast that lingers within him. "they cannot take that away from you."
