if i come without a thing, i come with all i need.

[Brine]

brine

I turned off my light, harder to find
that way

In all fairness, he did steal her. And—to be fair—Brine has been controlled by intimidating, power-hungry monsters for the last two years. Her judgment—even if it shouldn’t necessarily be directed at Ghaul—is definitely warranted.

Yet a piece of her softens as he claims Pangea as his paradise, his only safe space.

A link between similar thoughts, reminding her that even beneath his protruding horns and raspy husk, there might be something deeper.

“Must be nice, feeling safe,” the envy is impossible to hide though luckily he doesn’t seem like the type to really care.

Ruthless—her daughter—would accept this challenge with open wings. Her sense of adventure always perplexed the much more reserved roan, as if adventurousness could be considered a negative trait. It scared Brine then, it still does now. The thrill of adventure had been burned away, leaving a soot-covered paranoia that would never quite get restored.

The kingdom is beautiful, though she doesn’t argue that the coolness of Nerine feels refreshing against her dark coat. The sun ate her alive on summer days, hence why she spent so much of her time in the shadows. There was a summer so hot that Ruthless believed her mother was coloured black because it’s all Brine had ever exposed herself to.

Brine went with it, it made her feel like she chose to hide and not as if she has to hide. So much so that Brine would sometimes say Ruthless got her colour from the sun—that she was too beautiful for the rays to not penetrate with a golden glow. And that Brine only received her lightened blue tone after her golden world’s birth.

It is a pretty story, but much like all things pretty it has a grimy-underlayer.

“It’s not forever I guess,” the fight has left her voice, acceptance now lying across her like a dead carcass. Thinking back on her daughter boiled out every inch of her attention, and now nothing sounds more appetizing than the thought of being alone.

He lips at her mane, a physical form of contact that she knows should be grotesque and uncomfortable—yet, the softness is soothing. A soft touch that feels so alien that she isn’t sure it can possibly come from a man.

Well, he can hardly be described as a man. Part of her isn’t entirely sure if she should even consider him a male.

But nonetheless, she doesn’t move away. She stands there idle for a second or two until he speaks again and the hair on her back stands, “I will like it for as long as I have to.”

@[ghaul]