03-03-2022, 07:06 PM
all of time and space, everywhere and anywhere, every star that ever was
When she moves towards him and in the glow of her crimson stars sees that intolerable grin wipe clean off his face, her own scowl twists into something more satisfied. Good. In his head, he sees it as progress. In hers, she sees it as a very small win. One she desperately needs. Now that she is closer to him, she can’t deny he was a rather good-looking stallion. However, good-looking stallions were a dime a dozen in Beqanna and the vast majority were more trouble than they were worth.
The loss of his grin is enough to lose some of her initial suspicion. If this was the Curse, she thinks that grin would have only intensified as she stalked her way towards him. Would have stopped her in her tracks with a blink of an eye as invisible fingers grabbed her bones. What little satisfaction she gains is lost in the response he gives about healing. The question of personal experience. She stares at him, boldly, for a moment in silence. The silver spinning of her eyes never losing their speed or consistency. “Then you’ve never been truly broken.” She finally responds flatly, casting a look over his mostly unblemished coat.
She slowly begins to circle him like a demonic wolf, an angry ball of starlight, darkness, and furious red. “I could change that if you’d like a taste.” Stopping when she reaches his head again, trying not to show the fatigue that forces her to stop. She doesn’t bother to respond to the question of personal experience. She is well aware of the way his gaze had traveled over the stories on her skin. He already knows the answer.
Raising her head proudly, defiance sparking in the cold glint of spinning steel. “I need no-one.” She says slowly, glaring at him and daring him to say otherwise. Wrinkling her nose in distaste at the metallic clang of offensive blood that hits her nostrils as she catches a whiff of his injury. “But you can take or leave my advice.” A slight wince as she shrugs, tossing her raven forelock to hide it, and begins to turn away from him.
The loss of his grin is enough to lose some of her initial suspicion. If this was the Curse, she thinks that grin would have only intensified as she stalked her way towards him. Would have stopped her in her tracks with a blink of an eye as invisible fingers grabbed her bones. What little satisfaction she gains is lost in the response he gives about healing. The question of personal experience. She stares at him, boldly, for a moment in silence. The silver spinning of her eyes never losing their speed or consistency. “Then you’ve never been truly broken.” She finally responds flatly, casting a look over his mostly unblemished coat.
She slowly begins to circle him like a demonic wolf, an angry ball of starlight, darkness, and furious red. “I could change that if you’d like a taste.” Stopping when she reaches his head again, trying not to show the fatigue that forces her to stop. She doesn’t bother to respond to the question of personal experience. She is well aware of the way his gaze had traveled over the stories on her skin. He already knows the answer.
Raising her head proudly, defiance sparking in the cold glint of spinning steel. “I need no-one.” She says slowly, glaring at him and daring him to say otherwise. Wrinkling her nose in distaste at the metallic clang of offensive blood that hits her nostrils as she catches a whiff of his injury. “But you can take or leave my advice.” A slight wince as she shrugs, tossing her raven forelock to hide it, and begins to turn away from him.
-- Ciri
@Kestrell