stillwater;

[Nayl]

She spun the stars on her fingernails The muted hints of age don’t escape her notice. It’s in the way he looks at her, the way his chiseled muscles ripple beneath his skin as he edges tantalizingly close. ”Stillwater,” she breathes his name unconsciously, her eyes shutting beneath the veil of hair – her facial shield in times like this. Unfortunately, Nayl cannot hide the quickening of her pulse, but she can easily mask what curiosity branches through her behind a face of steel. Her lips are pursed into a thin line and her eyes flash ravenously as he looks at her, taking in the sight of her hungrily, and drunkenly breathing in her scent. She had already done that when she first arrived. ”No name that I know of yet, but soon it will be announced, I imagine,” his question pulls her from the lull of her thoughts where something much darker lurks. The ferocity that she shared with him has been suppressed in the dark crevices of her mind for the last couple of years. It growls to life now as his hot breath fans across her skin, distracting her from the matter of diplomacy. His musky scent reminds her of what they were, of the tumultuous storm they were together, all while still in the confines of Nerine. They were dangerous then, even without ever having touched. She wants to be powerful, to be dominant, but so does he. Had they held one another – fucked one another – it would not have been a passionate love; it would have been an atomic bomb, destructive. They would have hurt each other trying to overpower the other. But she didn’t have her magic back like she does now. Her tongue rolls across her lips thoughtfully, and then, as quick as a heartbeat, she is facing him. ”At times I’ve wondered what would have happened had you not come here with Djinni,” at first she was angry, but then she was forgiving to have had him stolen from her grasp. ”But I’m more powerful now,” she finds enjoyment in admitting this. A fleeting grin touches the edges of her mouth. ”More dangerous.” But a part of her knows that he is, too. There is a reason that he smells faintly of women, but more strongly of himself. They’ve come and gone like the seasons, much like her. Nayl covet and myrina's creation