10-22-2019, 10:18 AM
You’re uncontrollable
and we are unlovable
and we are unlovable
He’d tried being a horse. He did. He really did.
It just wasn’t a good fit.
So when his wife had left him for another, when she crushed the glued remains of his heart, he’d decided he was going to give in to the traits that long since had been bestowed upon him. Dragonice, for fire was never in his heart, but the cold and distant way he reacted to the hurt the world had in store for him, fit him like a glove. Teeth and scales, because he scared away others in more ways than one, so why not. Dragon eyes, seeing the world for what it was.
He’d used those things for the protection of others, once. He had decided not to, any more.
And here was a vision from the past. The pearlescent mare, Castile’s… friend? Lover? At the time, anyway. Last time he saw the dragon-shifter, he smelled wholly of another woman. Something feline about that scent.
The scaled, frosted male turns towards the pale woman, examines the look on her face. She looks a little too happy for her state of being, but perhaps that is something she hasn’t noticed. To be honest, she would not even make a good meal right now. Speaking of… he wonders if she’d take fish or meat if he offered. It might be worth a try to revive her a little more, somehow.
From his place below her near the shore he can count the ribs that barely sport the feathers - feathers that, like the one that slowly makes its way down to the river, don’t look as shiny as they should. But there’s the gleam of former beauty, of things that could have been.
So why not?
”I believe so.” At the time, he’d not forgiven himself for being too late, for instead of watching the border, thinking that watching the queen (his wife) would have been enough to see the lavender man coming. Nowadays, he pushed such silly ideas away. He could never do it right anyway, so maybe doing the wrong thing would make him feel better instead.
Wrong things, like making a move on a mare who was with a friend - or at least not that long ago that he couldn’t remember. But reservations were for the weak. Love was for the weak. Ice blue orbs gaze at the mare whose attention is on the drowning feather. She is as much distant from the world as the crazy mare was, he thinks. But let’s test that theory. ”Have you ever experienced drowning?” he asks. The tone indicates no threat, simply curiosity.
To think, his own drowning had changed him for the better.
Or the worse.
It just wasn’t a good fit.
So when his wife had left him for another, when she crushed the glued remains of his heart, he’d decided he was going to give in to the traits that long since had been bestowed upon him. Dragonice, for fire was never in his heart, but the cold and distant way he reacted to the hurt the world had in store for him, fit him like a glove. Teeth and scales, because he scared away others in more ways than one, so why not. Dragon eyes, seeing the world for what it was.
He’d used those things for the protection of others, once. He had decided not to, any more.
And here was a vision from the past. The pearlescent mare, Castile’s… friend? Lover? At the time, anyway. Last time he saw the dragon-shifter, he smelled wholly of another woman. Something feline about that scent.
The scaled, frosted male turns towards the pale woman, examines the look on her face. She looks a little too happy for her state of being, but perhaps that is something she hasn’t noticed. To be honest, she would not even make a good meal right now. Speaking of… he wonders if she’d take fish or meat if he offered. It might be worth a try to revive her a little more, somehow.
From his place below her near the shore he can count the ribs that barely sport the feathers - feathers that, like the one that slowly makes its way down to the river, don’t look as shiny as they should. But there’s the gleam of former beauty, of things that could have been.
So why not?
”I believe so.” At the time, he’d not forgiven himself for being too late, for instead of watching the border, thinking that watching the queen (his wife) would have been enough to see the lavender man coming. Nowadays, he pushed such silly ideas away. He could never do it right anyway, so maybe doing the wrong thing would make him feel better instead.
Wrong things, like making a move on a mare who was with a friend - or at least not that long ago that he couldn’t remember. But reservations were for the weak. Love was for the weak. Ice blue orbs gaze at the mare whose attention is on the drowning feather. She is as much distant from the world as the crazy mare was, he thinks. But let’s test that theory. ”Have you ever experienced drowning?” he asks. The tone indicates no threat, simply curiosity.
To think, his own drowning had changed him for the better.
Or the worse.
and I don’t want you to think that I care
I never would, I never could again
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[Sabra]
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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