12-28-2017, 11:28 AM
Don't say I'm out of touch with this rampant chaos; your reality.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
I know well what lies beyond my sleeping refuge.
The flicker of respite in the dark turmoil of his gaze is not enough to quell the uneasiness inside of her; it is fleeting and when the admission of her departure has left her parted lips, softly and quietly, it is all but swept away like granules of sand by the ravenous ocean tide. In its wake, trepidation, and disbelief fill the shadow of his features, usually so soft beneath the pale morning light of dawn but suddenly hardened by resolve. He is withdrawn, pulling deeper into himself, keeping himself under a tight lock and key and the realization is heavy and painful for her – that he desired to keep her out at all; how far had they fallen?
She can remember the endless summer nights spent with him beneath a splendor of starlight as if it were only yesterday. Whatever was shared (caresses too intimate for friendship, but yet too gentle and reassuring to be anything but) seemed to have been long forgotten and set adrift at sea, but her memory is an anchor, tethering her to the way she used to lean into him while pushing away the darkness of his uncertainty. There would always be a small piece of her that would wonder what could have been, if neither heart had been broken those years ago. It had always done her good to chase the doubt away from his starlit-laced eyes, for however short a time she could.
She cannot seem to brush the melancholy away this time, and it causes her heart to clench in a way that is unexpected. Her breath is stolen, if only for a moment, and held tightly in the confinement of her throat, while the golden flecks of her one eye search his broad features imploring – seeking any remnant of the shy and heartbroken boy she had come across along the volcanic shoreline so long ago. He is there, buried beneath a façade that she is not accustomed to, but he must harden his skin and prepare for the weight of leadership.
It should be expected that he might tuck away the tenderness of his heart, but from her?
And then, all at once, he is as he once was. Open, vulnerable, with the raw ache of his emotion rising rapidly to the surface and though she has never taken any joy in seeing him suffer, she is relieved to see the softness of his gaze, where worry and sadness have taken hold. The sunlight swathes the darkness of his indigo-painted features in the soft light of daybreak, but not even the promise of vast, endless skies of cerulean and dry grain gleaming gold beneath the light of the sun can fill the void growing larger and deeper between them. The sun is forgotten, and she can only focus on his words – formal, unbending and suffocating the emotion swelling in his throat.
Unfamiliar, but nonetheless, the stoicism and evenness of an Overseer.
Her breath is finally exhaled, though she does not fall into the same trope as he – she has always been one to ride emotion when she should not (her exile by Zeik, the scathing exchange with Heartfire), and as such, she could never serve the purpose of Tephra as wholly and truly as Warrick could. She is anger, strength and ferocity defined, and her scathing retort and vengeful retaliation had no place on the volcanic island (not when it had once been founded as a sanctuary; she is too harsh and too unforgiving to fulfill the vision that had once been).
In Sylva, she would never have to be anything less than what she is.
In Tephra, she is constantly reminded of everything that she is not.
The revelation suffocates any remaining doubt in her mind, but it would never be said to him in a way that he could understand – he would always see the volcanic island as much hers as it is his, but he cannot see that he is the island, and he is all that it would ever need. Her shoulder presses into the ridge of his own, while the entanglement of her ivory feathers mingle with his own of stark indigo against the warm light of dawn. At last, he reaches to her, brushing away the paleness of her tousled tresses, draped over the emptiness of her eye socket.
She reaches in return, brushing her lips across the curve of his cheek (she shouldn’t, she knows), her heart thrumming in her chest. There is so much she is left wanting to say, but she cannot find the words – not as his gaze is met with hers, heavy and laden with sadness, and she presses a soft kiss beneath his eye – wanting to see the uncertainty and dread and apprehension melt away. I will miss you, and finally the corner of her mouth is upturned in a smile, and a chuckle rises to her parted lips.
”You know that you can always call on me, should you need me,” she murmurs quietly (almost a whisper dusting across the russet of his skin). ”I have faith in you, Warrick – Tephra was always meant to be yours,” (she has said it before; she would say it a thousand times if it would make him believe it) ”I love you,” she breathes (Dahmer had broken through the barrier of her iron-fortified wall and opened her heart in a way she had never before imagined; and she had seen too much death and destruction to not know when to seize the moment) ”and I will miss you, too.”
She can remember the endless summer nights spent with him beneath a splendor of starlight as if it were only yesterday. Whatever was shared (caresses too intimate for friendship, but yet too gentle and reassuring to be anything but) seemed to have been long forgotten and set adrift at sea, but her memory is an anchor, tethering her to the way she used to lean into him while pushing away the darkness of his uncertainty. There would always be a small piece of her that would wonder what could have been, if neither heart had been broken those years ago. It had always done her good to chase the doubt away from his starlit-laced eyes, for however short a time she could.
She cannot seem to brush the melancholy away this time, and it causes her heart to clench in a way that is unexpected. Her breath is stolen, if only for a moment, and held tightly in the confinement of her throat, while the golden flecks of her one eye search his broad features imploring – seeking any remnant of the shy and heartbroken boy she had come across along the volcanic shoreline so long ago. He is there, buried beneath a façade that she is not accustomed to, but he must harden his skin and prepare for the weight of leadership.
It should be expected that he might tuck away the tenderness of his heart, but from her?
And then, all at once, he is as he once was. Open, vulnerable, with the raw ache of his emotion rising rapidly to the surface and though she has never taken any joy in seeing him suffer, she is relieved to see the softness of his gaze, where worry and sadness have taken hold. The sunlight swathes the darkness of his indigo-painted features in the soft light of daybreak, but not even the promise of vast, endless skies of cerulean and dry grain gleaming gold beneath the light of the sun can fill the void growing larger and deeper between them. The sun is forgotten, and she can only focus on his words – formal, unbending and suffocating the emotion swelling in his throat.
Unfamiliar, but nonetheless, the stoicism and evenness of an Overseer.
Her breath is finally exhaled, though she does not fall into the same trope as he – she has always been one to ride emotion when she should not (her exile by Zeik, the scathing exchange with Heartfire), and as such, she could never serve the purpose of Tephra as wholly and truly as Warrick could. She is anger, strength and ferocity defined, and her scathing retort and vengeful retaliation had no place on the volcanic island (not when it had once been founded as a sanctuary; she is too harsh and too unforgiving to fulfill the vision that had once been).
In Sylva, she would never have to be anything less than what she is.
In Tephra, she is constantly reminded of everything that she is not.
The revelation suffocates any remaining doubt in her mind, but it would never be said to him in a way that he could understand – he would always see the volcanic island as much hers as it is his, but he cannot see that he is the island, and he is all that it would ever need. Her shoulder presses into the ridge of his own, while the entanglement of her ivory feathers mingle with his own of stark indigo against the warm light of dawn. At last, he reaches to her, brushing away the paleness of her tousled tresses, draped over the emptiness of her eye socket.
She reaches in return, brushing her lips across the curve of his cheek (she shouldn’t, she knows), her heart thrumming in her chest. There is so much she is left wanting to say, but she cannot find the words – not as his gaze is met with hers, heavy and laden with sadness, and she presses a soft kiss beneath his eye – wanting to see the uncertainty and dread and apprehension melt away. I will miss you, and finally the corner of her mouth is upturned in a smile, and a chuckle rises to her parted lips.
”You know that you can always call on me, should you need me,” she murmurs quietly (almost a whisper dusting across the russet of his skin). ”I have faith in you, Warrick – Tephra was always meant to be yours,” (she has said it before; she would say it a thousand times if it would make him believe it) ”I love you,” she breathes (Dahmer had broken through the barrier of her iron-fortified wall and opened her heart in a way she had never before imagined; and she had seen too much death and destruction to not know when to seize the moment) ”and I will miss you, too.”
Ellyse
(The nightmare) I built my own world to escape
@[Warrick]