05-03-2020, 06:24 PM
scorpio
For him, this world is entirely too loud. He sleeps as often as his body will allow but he always awakes in a cold sweat no matter how many seasons pass. It has been years and sometimes his mother comes to him when the world is quietest. She begs him for answers, cries on him, and then she slips away into the night just the way she came. The questions that rattle out of her between sobs are the same ones he asks himself – why couldn’t he move? Why didn’t he cry for help? How long did it take until she went limp and silent?
He blinks his eyes open and lifts his head, dried leaves still clinging to his pristine white mane. The sun is too bright, but he yawns and accepts that it is time to move on to the next area. The scent of apples lures him into slow, lazy steps as he searches for the source of the smell. It’s been so long since he allowed himself such simple pleasures that he nearly reaches out and plucks it from her. The sleep is clearing from his vision, though, and he realizes this is not a tree at all.
He snorts softly and takes a step back, tilting his pale head and observing her with obvious intrigue. His bright red eyes mirror the apples of her mane and this realization brings a soft smile to his lips. She’s pretty, and he might have told her that in another life, but in this one he simply takes another step back. Scorpio would like to slip back into the trees. This is the most interaction he’s had in years and it feels suffocating.
He is not one to be rude, though. Scorpio offers a whispered nicker of apology and takes yet another step back. This body of his isn’t easy to look at – the armored plates or the sharp teeth, that awful tail. It would be best for him to leave, he thinks as he lowers his gaze shamefully to stare at her wooden hooves and his own armored ones.
If he had to be a monster, why couldn’t he bloom the way she does?
He blinks his eyes open and lifts his head, dried leaves still clinging to his pristine white mane. The sun is too bright, but he yawns and accepts that it is time to move on to the next area. The scent of apples lures him into slow, lazy steps as he searches for the source of the smell. It’s been so long since he allowed himself such simple pleasures that he nearly reaches out and plucks it from her. The sleep is clearing from his vision, though, and he realizes this is not a tree at all.
He snorts softly and takes a step back, tilting his pale head and observing her with obvious intrigue. His bright red eyes mirror the apples of her mane and this realization brings a soft smile to his lips. She’s pretty, and he might have told her that in another life, but in this one he simply takes another step back. Scorpio would like to slip back into the trees. This is the most interaction he’s had in years and it feels suffocating.
He is not one to be rude, though. Scorpio offers a whispered nicker of apology and takes yet another step back. This body of his isn’t easy to look at – the armored plates or the sharp teeth, that awful tail. It would be best for him to leave, he thinks as he lowers his gaze shamefully to stare at her wooden hooves and his own armored ones.
If he had to be a monster, why couldn’t he bloom the way she does?
" May the bouquet of your hips wither. May the wolves forget your name. "