02-17-2017, 11:30 PM
charlemagne
I want you to know, that its our time
She took a gasp. The sound of that singular word, uttered so gravelly and cold. So matter of fact. Her eyes slid shut and she turned around to face him. A man, slick like oil, preening against the pin-pricked rays of light that shown through the trees, as if set on fire by the orange in the trees. The light around him burned, and Charlemagne’s eyes were pulled down by the shutters. The smell wafted him; sandlewood and patchouli.
It was intoxicating.
She moved then, shifting her weight back and forth in the soft earth, testing her weight against the sticks and rooted herself to the spot. Her wings—they shifted against her soft skin. The wind moved against her, and the crispness of the fall air took her breath away.
Or was it the well-dressed man in black.
Her words were like champagne. She speaks with a silkiness that she knows they like to hear. She is beautiful, and she knows it.
She’s powerful. Or at least she used to be.
Yes. That is indeed what I am. What I wonder though… is are you interested in who I am?
She does not bother to smile. She does not see the need to be coy, or false. This man did not seem to have the time for it. She has simply said her piece, hoping that he would be curious enough about her to learn more than about her than just the state of her sex.
And you, she says, jutting out her black masked mouth towards him. Breathe she says to herself. Just breathe. You are a stallion. A man. And I am a woman. How about that?
you and me, we bleed the same light