10-10-2021, 09:23 AM
Molech
He likes to think that they find him - that they are drawn to his aura, needing him so much that their instincts will it, drawn to him like beautiful, dancing moths are helpless to the flame, despite how it will kill them in the end. He never really has to look far; they are there, lost and forgotten, like a broken porcelain doll begging for reshaping. They are so beautiful in their brokenness, delicate and so trusting - these are the most decadent, Molech has discovered. Their need to be wanted and cherished far outweighing any sort of logic and sense, their loyalty unquestionable and undeniable.
They would do anything for him once he has them trapped in their nicely decorated cage.
Who am I? The fabric of someone else’s consciousness pulls him from his reverie, his lavender eyes equally intense and intrigued. Who was I? The thoughts are private, sad thoughts that now flow through him like electricity, igniting each nerve within his body. It is too perfect, he thinks to himself, this confession of confusion and the desperation in it and immediately, the tri-colored pegasus is already formulating his first moves on how to grapple with such thoughts, how to use them for his benefit.
Perhaps he has appeared to her out of nothingness, she may think. She would be partly right, as the water has allowed him to travel silently through it - reappearing in his solid form with the whisper of downy feathers and the quiet dripping of condensation. He is at ease on the other side of the bank, taking in her fiery chestnut form that shines like cracked gems and he wonders if he finally found his true treasure.
She is drawn to him (pushing through the water with little hesitancy, where he matches her movement with his own), like they all are. Her voice is desperate and at the same time hopeful, confusion on that beautiful broken face, and immediately he knows he will quell the anxiety that rises on those sharp planes of ruby red.
He does not know her - not in a way that she is asking - but there is no hesitation in his expression or movement. He falls into the part she so desperately wishes for him to play, concern darkening the edges of his gold and green face. He only knows her thoughts, her hopefulness, and it is enough - for now.
So Molech frowns, sad and disappointed and full of fret, but he makes sure that his eyes are alight with hope, sparkling and almost swimming with happiness as he crosses the river for her, breaching the water with the strength of his muscular chest. He goes to her, an embodiment of darkness cloaked in handsome features and beautiful lies, each step becoming more of what she wishes and obscuring the manipulation from her with a brow furrowed with concern. “You truly don’t remember?” comes his reply, his voice fragile and tormented, stopping just short of her hopeful, crystalline face.
The pegasus feigns hesitancy, as if he had meant to embrace her but now is unsure as if her uncertainty now keeps him at a distance when he would have otherwise bridged the space between them without a thought. His handsome face falls solemnly, downcast and hurt. “I know you,” he tells her after a few moments of bated breath, “perhaps more than you know yourself.” At this, his gaze lifts upwards, the tiniest of sad smiles on his golden lips, insinuating their fabricated relationship had been a close and intimate one.
He steps forward as if he cannot help it, as if it had been so long since he had touched her, as if his lips longed for her skin for countless nights as if only she could soothe whatever turmoil runs rampant in his mind. He doesn’t need her, not really, of course - but he does not mind pretending, not if it gives him what he truly wants from her.
The stallion’s mouth ghosts across her glass cheek, his breath condensing on the coolness of her fractured skin. He wants to kiss her to ensure his place in her forgotten life, to maybe solidify what she thinks with something real and tangible, but he doesn’t - he only lingers there, allowing the tension to build.
“Please say you remember something, anything,” he whispers mournfully. He dare not say his name or even try to pretend as he knows hers - not until he is sure that her mind is a blank canvas for him to orchestrate for her.
They would do anything for him once he has them trapped in their nicely decorated cage.
Who am I? The fabric of someone else’s consciousness pulls him from his reverie, his lavender eyes equally intense and intrigued. Who was I? The thoughts are private, sad thoughts that now flow through him like electricity, igniting each nerve within his body. It is too perfect, he thinks to himself, this confession of confusion and the desperation in it and immediately, the tri-colored pegasus is already formulating his first moves on how to grapple with such thoughts, how to use them for his benefit.
Perhaps he has appeared to her out of nothingness, she may think. She would be partly right, as the water has allowed him to travel silently through it - reappearing in his solid form with the whisper of downy feathers and the quiet dripping of condensation. He is at ease on the other side of the bank, taking in her fiery chestnut form that shines like cracked gems and he wonders if he finally found his true treasure.
She is drawn to him (pushing through the water with little hesitancy, where he matches her movement with his own), like they all are. Her voice is desperate and at the same time hopeful, confusion on that beautiful broken face, and immediately he knows he will quell the anxiety that rises on those sharp planes of ruby red.
He does not know her - not in a way that she is asking - but there is no hesitation in his expression or movement. He falls into the part she so desperately wishes for him to play, concern darkening the edges of his gold and green face. He only knows her thoughts, her hopefulness, and it is enough - for now.
So Molech frowns, sad and disappointed and full of fret, but he makes sure that his eyes are alight with hope, sparkling and almost swimming with happiness as he crosses the river for her, breaching the water with the strength of his muscular chest. He goes to her, an embodiment of darkness cloaked in handsome features and beautiful lies, each step becoming more of what she wishes and obscuring the manipulation from her with a brow furrowed with concern. “You truly don’t remember?” comes his reply, his voice fragile and tormented, stopping just short of her hopeful, crystalline face.
The pegasus feigns hesitancy, as if he had meant to embrace her but now is unsure as if her uncertainty now keeps him at a distance when he would have otherwise bridged the space between them without a thought. His handsome face falls solemnly, downcast and hurt. “I know you,” he tells her after a few moments of bated breath, “perhaps more than you know yourself.” At this, his gaze lifts upwards, the tiniest of sad smiles on his golden lips, insinuating their fabricated relationship had been a close and intimate one.
He steps forward as if he cannot help it, as if it had been so long since he had touched her, as if his lips longed for her skin for countless nights as if only she could soothe whatever turmoil runs rampant in his mind. He doesn’t need her, not really, of course - but he does not mind pretending, not if it gives him what he truly wants from her.
The stallion’s mouth ghosts across her glass cheek, his breath condensing on the coolness of her fractured skin. He wants to kiss her to ensure his place in her forgotten life, to maybe solidify what she thinks with something real and tangible, but he doesn’t - he only lingers there, allowing the tension to build.
“Please say you remember something, anything,” he whispers mournfully. He dare not say his name or even try to pretend as he knows hers - not until he is sure that her mind is a blank canvas for him to orchestrate for her.
YOUR PRECIOUS LIGHT IS FADING
@flower