05-21-2021, 01:39 AM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
There is the feeling of not being alone, of eyes on her that she cannot see, and she stills. The air around them is eerily quiet, with a faint breeze that stirs the pale feathers of her wings, but all she hears is the familiar beat of her own heart (it’s a steady rhythm, still, since she is not one to startle so easily). Her vision shifts, something she rarely does—she has been blind so many different times over the course of all her lifetimes, she did not care anymore whether she was looking into the dark or not—but the twisted creatures that had been roaming and ravaging the lands had left her feeling slightly less confident. They were different than the dark and malice that she was used to; while she did not think everyone had good in them, she did not think they had anything in them at all.
In the infrared range she finds him, and she cannot say with any certainty that this was not one of the creatures she should be cautious of. There is something almost otherworldly about him, as if he is not meant to be here— as if he was trapped on the wrong side of the veil.
But once he speaks, she is reassured; he is just a regular monster, the kind that she has known her entire life.
She is afraid of him, but perhaps not as much as she should be.
“I have never been safe,” she tells him, her voice a gilded melody against the heaviness of the dark, and there is a smile that shapes around the words. She follows where his voice had come from, only stepping close enough so that she might see him better without the aid of infrared vision, making out his shape through the shadows. She angles a haloed head toward him, the softness of her aura illuminating the stretch of space between them, alighting the tines of his newly grown antlers. When he groans she cannot stop the look of concern that shadows her face, tentatively stepping forward when she asks, “Are you hurt?”
In the infrared range she finds him, and she cannot say with any certainty that this was not one of the creatures she should be cautious of. There is something almost otherworldly about him, as if he is not meant to be here— as if he was trapped on the wrong side of the veil.
But once he speaks, she is reassured; he is just a regular monster, the kind that she has known her entire life.
She is afraid of him, but perhaps not as much as she should be.
“I have never been safe,” she tells him, her voice a gilded melody against the heaviness of the dark, and there is a smile that shapes around the words. She follows where his voice had come from, only stepping close enough so that she might see him better without the aid of infrared vision, making out his shape through the shadows. She angles a haloed head toward him, the softness of her aura illuminating the stretch of space between them, alighting the tines of his newly grown antlers. When he groans she cannot stop the look of concern that shadows her face, tentatively stepping forward when she asks, “Are you hurt?”
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
@[Balto]