06-02-2017, 12:16 PM
i'm not going to change, so stay out of my way.
i don't need you to understand that i'm already saved.
She has been quiet, herself –
The sun has lured her out of her own reverie, as her pale hazel eyes search the hazy horizon for the familiar, looming shadow of the rumbling volcano. It is as broad as it is tall, and its prowess is not lost on her – it is often so solemn, and so motionless, with only a flicker of its capacity for danger shown in its oozing magma, or the deep, reverberating quiver of the ground itself. It is not unlike her.
Gently, the length of her broad, alabaster wings unfurls from her sides, stretching out from one end to the next as the hollow bones flex to shake the fatigue of another restless night. She had kept away, tucked away within the darkest shadows of the thickest forest, with little else but the distant sound of a crooning bird to lure her out of her own mind. Time had eventually worn her tired, broken heart down, pressing its unforgiving needle and thread to carefully mend what had become damaged and cracked – and it was time alone that had stirred a longing for what she had left behind.
She had left suddenly, after a soft but fervid kiss pressed where one should not have been pressed – Warrick was a broken, vulnerable thing – a beautiful, albeit melancholy soul. She had divulged to him her heartache, and in turn, he had done the same (though she longed to recreate the moment; she loathed how self-absorbed she had been – she should have asked more – she should have listened closer). Yet, wrought with emotion, and comforted by his touch, she had permitted herself to be too close to him, and he deserved so much more than the fragmented, irreparable pieces of her that were left.
She is stirred yet again from her memory (the touch of his lips on her cheek, or the sadness of his dark, gleaming eyes) by a distant call. Perplexed, and mildly agitated, she soon tucks her feathered appendages against her sides once more, allowing her long, languid legs to carry to her the source of the sound. Upon approaching the top of another crest, her darkening gaze settles on a stark figure of coiled muscle and coal, standing before several familiar faces. She recognized him with ease – she knew of him as the once-King of the ice; she knew of him as an ally of Magnus and as such, she is intrigued.
Quietly, and seamlessly, she immerses herself among the small gathering (although, she is vivid and bright in comparison to the many darker figures surrounding her), listening carefully to his steadily spoken words. Her hazel gaze searches those who have come, noting the absence of Dahmer, though altogether unsurprised. He pined for Lucrezia, and would follow to wherever she would go – but Ellyse would not; her commitment was to Magnus and to the volcanic island.
And then, Warrick – his eyes are weary, and his voice terse, and hollow – nothing of the Warrick she had come to know. She stifles the emotion welling up inside of her (foolish girl, leave him be!), turning her cheek to settle her attention instead on Offspring.
”My commitment is to Tephra. Magnus trusted you, and thus, I will serve as needed, until such a time that I deem my services are no longer necessary.”
The sun has lured her out of her own reverie, as her pale hazel eyes search the hazy horizon for the familiar, looming shadow of the rumbling volcano. It is as broad as it is tall, and its prowess is not lost on her – it is often so solemn, and so motionless, with only a flicker of its capacity for danger shown in its oozing magma, or the deep, reverberating quiver of the ground itself. It is not unlike her.
Gently, the length of her broad, alabaster wings unfurls from her sides, stretching out from one end to the next as the hollow bones flex to shake the fatigue of another restless night. She had kept away, tucked away within the darkest shadows of the thickest forest, with little else but the distant sound of a crooning bird to lure her out of her own mind. Time had eventually worn her tired, broken heart down, pressing its unforgiving needle and thread to carefully mend what had become damaged and cracked – and it was time alone that had stirred a longing for what she had left behind.
She had left suddenly, after a soft but fervid kiss pressed where one should not have been pressed – Warrick was a broken, vulnerable thing – a beautiful, albeit melancholy soul. She had divulged to him her heartache, and in turn, he had done the same (though she longed to recreate the moment; she loathed how self-absorbed she had been – she should have asked more – she should have listened closer). Yet, wrought with emotion, and comforted by his touch, she had permitted herself to be too close to him, and he deserved so much more than the fragmented, irreparable pieces of her that were left.
She is stirred yet again from her memory (the touch of his lips on her cheek, or the sadness of his dark, gleaming eyes) by a distant call. Perplexed, and mildly agitated, she soon tucks her feathered appendages against her sides once more, allowing her long, languid legs to carry to her the source of the sound. Upon approaching the top of another crest, her darkening gaze settles on a stark figure of coiled muscle and coal, standing before several familiar faces. She recognized him with ease – she knew of him as the once-King of the ice; she knew of him as an ally of Magnus and as such, she is intrigued.
Quietly, and seamlessly, she immerses herself among the small gathering (although, she is vivid and bright in comparison to the many darker figures surrounding her), listening carefully to his steadily spoken words. Her hazel gaze searches those who have come, noting the absence of Dahmer, though altogether unsurprised. He pined for Lucrezia, and would follow to wherever she would go – but Ellyse would not; her commitment was to Magnus and to the volcanic island.
And then, Warrick – his eyes are weary, and his voice terse, and hollow – nothing of the Warrick she had come to know. She stifles the emotion welling up inside of her (foolish girl, leave him be!), turning her cheek to settle her attention instead on Offspring.
”My commitment is to Tephra. Magnus trusted you, and thus, I will serve as needed, until such a time that I deem my services are no longer necessary.”
Ellyse
Posting to yourself is no fun. :|
Ellyse would obv. be abstaining from a vote.
But I felt it'd be kind of dumb if the Head of War didn't reply.