i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
She is exactly as he remembers, radiating a furious energy that writes stories in every line of her rainbow-bright skin. As children, he had risen to match her with a wildness that had felt both wonderful and impossible at the same time. Now, though she has grown to better contain it, he can still feel the way it emanates almost intoxicatingly.
But Reave had grown too. And as a boy who had never been told no, never suffered at the hands of world who wished to beat him down (or rather, had faced it with a ferocity that refused to yield), and who had been handed power at such a tender age, he’d had little chance to become something more humble. While she had grown into her rage, he had grown to harness his and use it as a weapon.
It only makes sense that they would now clash, two opposing forces who had found different ways to unleash their own chaos.
Reave stands taller in the face of her resistance, his own skin prickling with the anticipation of the building force he can see rising around. But as are so many things, this too seems to be fleeting. Instead her attention catches on the flesh and bone warring on his lanky frame, abruptly fascinated by the carnage it leaves in its wake. Tipping his bone-masked head in curiosity, he eyes her openly as the ghost of an amused grin flirts with the corners of his lips.
He doesn’t reply immediately, instead trying to find the words to describe it to someone who would never truly know. Finally, almost thoughtfully, he replies, “Painful.” He pauses, then adds, “Like the fury you can’t quite keep shoved inside.”
reave
@[galadriel]