12-27-2017, 08:03 PM
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.
He heard the soft tremble of her voice; the uneasy cadence of her tone – reaching out to him with uncertainty, as if drawn to a flame she is almost certain will burn her. The sun of her own rule had fallen, and the sun had only just begun to rise with his own, and change had come so much sooner than she had anticipated. He could not possibly know the horrors she had seen. He could not know the anguish of having his eye torn from his socket; of being marked by a beastly creature not unlike the one that once held her errant, wayward heart. He could not know the way the volcanic island held such darkness for her – neither dusk nor dawn could chase away the shadow beneath her sullen eye socket and gold-laced eye.
Tephra held a part of her, and it always would – but no longer is it a land of promise; of contentment. It is a constant reminder of the fire wolves that had torn her away from Dahmer, chasing each into the dark abyss of a merciless God’s lair, where torture and torment had festered into gaping wounds that could only mend in time, but never be forgotten. She is never at ease along the tumultuous sea; not as she once was. She can still feel the despair in the hollow of her chest at the memory of Ledger turning on her; the weight of betrayal as he sought to spill the blood of her son Smoak onto the soft and supple ground below.
She can still hear the shrill cries of desolation; she can still hear her father’s dying breath –
She could never shake it; she knew she never would.
But the longer she remained beside the seaside cove that had been her undoing, the deeper and heavier the burden became for her – and she knew Dahmer felt the same.
It was time to move on.
There is a softness in her eye that is not often found, tracing the hardened jawline of Warrick, and the darkness of his cobalt stare, pointed to the endless ocean that lay before them. His expression is one of indifference, but she has known him too long to be fooled by it. He held onto it as feebly as she did; and just as he so often saw beneath her façade of stoicism, she can see beneath his. Her lips touch the ridge of her shoulder (flinching away, after a moment – realizing she is crossing a boundary; she is falling into an old habit), urging him to look at her.
To acknowledge her, beyond the gruffness of his voice, barely breaking through the pale dawn of morning.
”Dahmer has taken Sylva,” she murmurs softly to him, watching him, imploring him to meet her gaze. ”Gryffen has been dethroned, and the forest is no longer a threat.” She pauses, waiting for the weight of it to sink in, just as her stomach does, though she cannot say why. Perhaps she is worried she might disappoint him; that she might let him down. She can only hope that he can see the promise that it could bring, to Tephra, to Beqanna.
”Dahmer has asked me to come with him,” she says softly, as a soft ivory lock of hair drapes over her empty socket, while the flecks of amber search the shadow of his handsome face. ”and though I love Tephra .. much has happened,” (she averts her gaze, then, remembering the way her wound festered and seeped for weeks preceding the torment she endured) ”and with Tephra in your capable grasp, I feel that I must go, and find a new beginning.”
Tephra held a part of her, and it always would – but no longer is it a land of promise; of contentment. It is a constant reminder of the fire wolves that had torn her away from Dahmer, chasing each into the dark abyss of a merciless God’s lair, where torture and torment had festered into gaping wounds that could only mend in time, but never be forgotten. She is never at ease along the tumultuous sea; not as she once was. She can still feel the despair in the hollow of her chest at the memory of Ledger turning on her; the weight of betrayal as he sought to spill the blood of her son Smoak onto the soft and supple ground below.
She can still hear the shrill cries of desolation; she can still hear her father’s dying breath –
She could never shake it; she knew she never would.
But the longer she remained beside the seaside cove that had been her undoing, the deeper and heavier the burden became for her – and she knew Dahmer felt the same.
It was time to move on.
There is a softness in her eye that is not often found, tracing the hardened jawline of Warrick, and the darkness of his cobalt stare, pointed to the endless ocean that lay before them. His expression is one of indifference, but she has known him too long to be fooled by it. He held onto it as feebly as she did; and just as he so often saw beneath her façade of stoicism, she can see beneath his. Her lips touch the ridge of her shoulder (flinching away, after a moment – realizing she is crossing a boundary; she is falling into an old habit), urging him to look at her.
To acknowledge her, beyond the gruffness of his voice, barely breaking through the pale dawn of morning.
”Dahmer has taken Sylva,” she murmurs softly to him, watching him, imploring him to meet her gaze. ”Gryffen has been dethroned, and the forest is no longer a threat.” She pauses, waiting for the weight of it to sink in, just as her stomach does, though she cannot say why. Perhaps she is worried she might disappoint him; that she might let him down. She can only hope that he can see the promise that it could bring, to Tephra, to Beqanna.
”Dahmer has asked me to come with him,” she says softly, as a soft ivory lock of hair drapes over her empty socket, while the flecks of amber search the shadow of his handsome face. ”and though I love Tephra .. much has happened,” (she averts her gaze, then, remembering the way her wound festered and seeped for weeks preceding the torment she endured) ”and with Tephra in your capable grasp, I feel that I must go, and find a new beginning.”
Ellyse
(The nightmare) I built my own world to escape
@[Warrick]