stillwater;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails She hasn’t forgotten their parting and how bitter had been. The memory prods her like a thorn even in this moment, but more so during her lonely venture here. Alas, she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction that it irks her and that it affected her. I’m a Queen, she reassures herself as though that should shield her from his barbed words. Always she wants the upperhand, but why does it seem like its slipping through her fingers when he is near? Nayl’s skin crawls when she hears the way her name slithers from his tongue, unwarranted but lusted for. Say it again, she almost says, but when her eyes meet his, the words catch in her throat. There is something more in his gaze this time, something that draws her deeper into them like an abysmal pool. She is lured – enticed – by how he stares back at her in this moment of silence, but she forces herself to break the spell and glance away. Her body stiffens momentarily, but relaxes as she sighs a warm breath. For years, she avoided stallions for this very reason. While a great part of her – the Queen part of her life – wants so bad to disregard him and focus on Nerine, there is still that little gleam of reality that is festering in her soul and wanting much more out of this life than mere royalty. Again, however, she cannot bring herself to admit this. There is still a want for power, a need to be admired and wanted. If she caved into Stillwater then what of Lior? Reversely, she has considered to also lean herself against the burly stallion, but then Stillwater springs to mind. Would they both toss her away in the end? Considering this darkens her eyes as her tail sweeps across her hocks. Either way, there is pain and torment, things that she would rather not endure. But what is life without peaks and valleys? When she blinks, Stillwater is closer. He is inching toward her, tasting the air between them as his steely gaze roves across her hungrily. The muscles in her body quiver with anticipation, and yet she doesn’t reciprocate or lean toward him. Nayl holds herself steadily with curiosity playing with the edges of her pretty face. ”I would call you a liar,” her response in nonchalant as she breathes in his scent, mingled with those of other women. ”You had a cave before, but now you have an entire forest.” The thought of it rips her apart, but she tries desperately to maintain an eerie coolness when the words drip from her lips like poison. But then she smiles. It isn’t amiable or loving, but coyer and darkly smug. ”Just know that you can’t do better than me, Stillwater.” I am a Queen, she doesn’t add, but her head slightly elevates in physical arrogance and play. Nayl covet and myrina's creation