10-26-2019, 07:05 AM
You’re uncontrollable
and we are unlovable
and we are unlovable
Can’t say that I have - thought about it though.
”Sabra, Sabra, Sabra.” He keeps a disappointed and patronizing tone as he repeats her name, like one would when talking to a child. Of course he remembers her name. If Castile hadn’t repeated it time and time again, it would be because his wife had once mentioned it after she had died. And she might not even know his, but that doesn’t matter. ”Are you that tired? No ties to the world?” Of course she has ties. It’s what kept her going. It’s what allowed her to stand here today, rather than that she was lying on the beach or in a cave somewhere, suffering on her own.
He had not yet decided what to do with an answer if it came, but this one is definitive. She enters the waters long before she asks him if he would like to drown her. In fact, that had not been the first goal of the question, but she makes it so.
The cold-emitting, scaled stallion moves slowly as if to circle her, but mostly places himself between her and the shore. ”It would only be temporary, you know that.” he tells her, eyes taking a yellow-ish color as he observes her - bones sticking out, he wonders if they’d be the same creamy pearl as her coat used to be when cleaned. ”What am I to do with you in the meantime?”
The question is rhetoric; he knows he’ll have to take her with him. She’s evidence, and besides, it would be quite interesting to watch her, see if her body decays and then regrows or if she will be frozen in time, then suddenly wake up. He’s never witnessed anything of the sort; in fact, it reminds him of the joking answer he gave Kensa not too long ago; hoarding maidens, maybe eat one if they can’t be returned for gold. Now, eating is a step too far and not very useful considering the lack of meat on Sabra… he shakes his head, focusing a yellow gaze on the empty blue eyes of the gemstone mare.
She looks careless. Wanting for a change. He’ll give that to her, then.
When he moves, he tries to be fast at first. Grabs her by the neck, biting the jugular as well, then pulls her down. He’s no kelpie mermaid however, and she may have more pain than he had when he died at the time. But if she wants to feel anything, it won’t matter. Soon, it won’t matter anyway.
She’s fragile, lightweight, and too easy to hold down. Even if her body shocks or she struggles, he has a long breath - figuratively and literally. Over before she knows it, he thinks. Hopes. Because despite the fact that he’s sort-of murdering her, he can’t help but feel a little affection for her still. She doesn’t need to suffer - and in this case, it might be exactly that fact that made him do it in the first place.
When her body no longer spasms, he can afford himself to hold her down only with a leg. And when her eyes have lost their gleam, he does what he promised himself earlier - grabs her mane and pulls her with him upstream. There’s only a small trickle of blood that flows downstream - and the fish he’d murdered earlier that day finally make it down here as well. Who could tell the difference between fish blood and horse blood anyway? It’s easy enough.
Actually, it’s been all too easy. Part of him wonders how easy it will be another time - if another time he would hesitate, knowing - or not knowing - if that other horse is perhaps not immortal.
It's a thought carelessly tossed aside for now. Deemed unimportant. For now, he pulls the underweight body of the mare with him, wondering if she'll hate or thank him for it when she wakes up in his mountainous, icy lair.
”Sabra, Sabra, Sabra.” He keeps a disappointed and patronizing tone as he repeats her name, like one would when talking to a child. Of course he remembers her name. If Castile hadn’t repeated it time and time again, it would be because his wife had once mentioned it after she had died. And she might not even know his, but that doesn’t matter. ”Are you that tired? No ties to the world?” Of course she has ties. It’s what kept her going. It’s what allowed her to stand here today, rather than that she was lying on the beach or in a cave somewhere, suffering on her own.
He had not yet decided what to do with an answer if it came, but this one is definitive. She enters the waters long before she asks him if he would like to drown her. In fact, that had not been the first goal of the question, but she makes it so.
The cold-emitting, scaled stallion moves slowly as if to circle her, but mostly places himself between her and the shore. ”It would only be temporary, you know that.” he tells her, eyes taking a yellow-ish color as he observes her - bones sticking out, he wonders if they’d be the same creamy pearl as her coat used to be when cleaned. ”What am I to do with you in the meantime?”
The question is rhetoric; he knows he’ll have to take her with him. She’s evidence, and besides, it would be quite interesting to watch her, see if her body decays and then regrows or if she will be frozen in time, then suddenly wake up. He’s never witnessed anything of the sort; in fact, it reminds him of the joking answer he gave Kensa not too long ago; hoarding maidens, maybe eat one if they can’t be returned for gold. Now, eating is a step too far and not very useful considering the lack of meat on Sabra… he shakes his head, focusing a yellow gaze on the empty blue eyes of the gemstone mare.
She looks careless. Wanting for a change. He’ll give that to her, then.
When he moves, he tries to be fast at first. Grabs her by the neck, biting the jugular as well, then pulls her down. He’s no kelpie mermaid however, and she may have more pain than he had when he died at the time. But if she wants to feel anything, it won’t matter. Soon, it won’t matter anyway.
She’s fragile, lightweight, and too easy to hold down. Even if her body shocks or she struggles, he has a long breath - figuratively and literally. Over before she knows it, he thinks. Hopes. Because despite the fact that he’s sort-of murdering her, he can’t help but feel a little affection for her still. She doesn’t need to suffer - and in this case, it might be exactly that fact that made him do it in the first place.
When her body no longer spasms, he can afford himself to hold her down only with a leg. And when her eyes have lost their gleam, he does what he promised himself earlier - grabs her mane and pulls her with him upstream. There’s only a small trickle of blood that flows downstream - and the fish he’d murdered earlier that day finally make it down here as well. Who could tell the difference between fish blood and horse blood anyway? It’s easy enough.
Actually, it’s been all too easy. Part of him wonders how easy it will be another time - if another time he would hesitate, knowing - or not knowing - if that other horse is perhaps not immortal.
It's a thought carelessly tossed aside for now. Deemed unimportant. For now, he pulls the underweight body of the mare with him, wondering if she'll hate or thank him for it when she wakes up in his mountainous, icy lair.
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] let me know if it needs changing
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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