01-19-2020, 04:43 AM
BRUNHILDE
I BET ON LOSING DOGS
There are plenty of red flags waving loudly and brilliantly in Brunhilde’s face. She blinks at them, thinking they look like the red and orange that she bears—she thinks these red flags are so similar to her that their meanings change entirely. Every warning that arises only solidifies her adoration.
Because she does not deserve to be loved fairly, or to be loved well; no, when she finds her lover’s red flags, she simply lets them ride proudly on her back. Brun becomes the monster she hides behind.
The early spring day begins to wane, bright sun fading into the dark twilight of afternoon and night. Hildy’s glow splashes around her, accentuated by the hissing light of her fire wings. She casts sullen, golden eyes across the blooming flowers of the verdant meadow. The rise and fall of shadows across the foliage distracts her for a time—every now and again she will shift her body so that her light changes the shadows.
Brun lifts her head to study the descent of a pegasus, finally torn from the mind-numbing studying of her flowers. Her eyes grow sharp with recognition, and they grow even sharper as she realizes the familiar face is approaching her.
Shame changes Hildy’s demeanor. Where she once might have been slightly delighted to see her acquaintance, her face grows dark and dismissive. Brun is starkly aware of how her once supple frame is too-skinny, and how her once lusciously tangled mane is mostly knots. Vastra looks different, she notes. Healthier. This makes her even more self-conscious.
“Hello,” Brunhilde parrots, voice terse. She blinks once, studying the cream of Vastra’s wings, then twice, studying curve of her face. There is nothing particularly kind about the shapeshifter; still, something in Brun’s chest melts. Her eyes soften and she releases the cold breath she was holding.
Hildy wants to divulge of all of her suffering, to let flow the pain and fear she lives in; instead she sputters out, “I’ve missed good company.” She doesn’t know how to express her fondness, and she simply sits in the desperate hope that Vastra will not leave.
Because she does not deserve to be loved fairly, or to be loved well; no, when she finds her lover’s red flags, she simply lets them ride proudly on her back. Brun becomes the monster she hides behind.
The early spring day begins to wane, bright sun fading into the dark twilight of afternoon and night. Hildy’s glow splashes around her, accentuated by the hissing light of her fire wings. She casts sullen, golden eyes across the blooming flowers of the verdant meadow. The rise and fall of shadows across the foliage distracts her for a time—every now and again she will shift her body so that her light changes the shadows.
Brun lifts her head to study the descent of a pegasus, finally torn from the mind-numbing studying of her flowers. Her eyes grow sharp with recognition, and they grow even sharper as she realizes the familiar face is approaching her.
Shame changes Hildy’s demeanor. Where she once might have been slightly delighted to see her acquaintance, her face grows dark and dismissive. Brun is starkly aware of how her once supple frame is too-skinny, and how her once lusciously tangled mane is mostly knots. Vastra looks different, she notes. Healthier. This makes her even more self-conscious.
“Hello,” Brunhilde parrots, voice terse. She blinks once, studying the cream of Vastra’s wings, then twice, studying curve of her face. There is nothing particularly kind about the shapeshifter; still, something in Brun’s chest melts. Her eyes soften and she releases the cold breath she was holding.
Hildy wants to divulge of all of her suffering, to let flow the pain and fear she lives in; instead she sputters out, “I’ve missed good company.” She doesn’t know how to express her fondness, and she simply sits in the desperate hope that Vastra will not leave.
@[Vastra]
