05-05-2019, 02:34 AM
ryatah
hell is empty and all the devils are here
He was too easy for her to get comfortable with. Perhaps someone who didn’t know him would have been tense, on guard, but Ryatah does not quiver beneath his golden predatory gaze. She was raised beneath the cold, uncaring hands of those that ran the jungles of the Dimension long before she ever came here, and she will never understand what it is about her that seems to pique their curiosity – but it had saved her as much as it had damned her. She didn’t know anything else, other than to how to shape herself into something that might appease to them; her own version of self-preservation.
She does not flinch when he shifts into his equine form, but the smile that flits across her lips is one of appreciation. He had always been handsome – she hadn’t forgotten, even though it had been a hundred and something years since she last saw his face. His was one of many that had been trapped in her memories, when all she had been left with was darkness. Their faces had faded over time, until they were more like fingerprints across her mind than actual images. She couldn’t deny that she a little more than pleased at seeing him again, and it showed in the way her nearly black eyes had not yet strayed from his face. “I’ve missed seeing a lot of things over the years,” she says to him, and then concedes coyly, “and I suppose you could say your face ranks up there.”
Her gaze lingers for just a moment on the scar across his heart, but she says nothing, and instead slowly lifts her eyes back to his vivid yellow own. When he steps closer, she can feel her pulse begin to race; that familiar feeling of apprehension and want, and almost as if on cue, her vision flickers. Just once – like a warning. A warning that she ignores, like the infinitely foolish and reckless thing that she is. Instead, she shifts closer, her skin nearly illuminated in comparison to the endless black of his. “Well, you were always so elusive.” And as for her, there was no telling where she was at any given moment. Once she became untethered from Dhumin, she had spiraled – and no matter how fast the ground rushed up at her, she never seemed to hit the bottom. Somehow, across the span of all these years, their paths had never crossed; not like this.
She does not flinch when he shifts into his equine form, but the smile that flits across her lips is one of appreciation. He had always been handsome – she hadn’t forgotten, even though it had been a hundred and something years since she last saw his face. His was one of many that had been trapped in her memories, when all she had been left with was darkness. Their faces had faded over time, until they were more like fingerprints across her mind than actual images. She couldn’t deny that she a little more than pleased at seeing him again, and it showed in the way her nearly black eyes had not yet strayed from his face. “I’ve missed seeing a lot of things over the years,” she says to him, and then concedes coyly, “and I suppose you could say your face ranks up there.”
Her gaze lingers for just a moment on the scar across his heart, but she says nothing, and instead slowly lifts her eyes back to his vivid yellow own. When he steps closer, she can feel her pulse begin to race; that familiar feeling of apprehension and want, and almost as if on cue, her vision flickers. Just once – like a warning. A warning that she ignores, like the infinitely foolish and reckless thing that she is. Instead, she shifts closer, her skin nearly illuminated in comparison to the endless black of his. “Well, you were always so elusive.” And as for her, there was no telling where she was at any given moment. Once she became untethered from Dhumin, she had spiraled – and no matter how fast the ground rushed up at her, she never seemed to hit the bottom. Somehow, across the span of all these years, their paths had never crossed; not like this.
@[atrox]