06-09-2020, 08:17 PM
She is not sure of how much time passes as she watches him, waits for him to fully exist here in this place she’s built so carefully for the two of them. But she watches the outline of him solidify, watches the hint of gold blossom bright over his skin like liquid sunlight, broken up only by the dark of spots so much like hers. There is a slowly blossoming beam on her lips as the rosettes unfurl across him, and she is so nearly glowing with delight as those gentle blue eyes leap to find the color of his and memorize them for later.
But they are still closed, still a secret that leaves her wanting.
Her attention on him, while gentle, is something so completely unabashed, like she hasn’t had a chance to learn the perils of staring too much, like too much is a concept still outside of her reach. He is so much like her, and it is all the reason she needs to explore him more, to grin more softly and flicker those happy ears at him when she peers down at him and watches his tired body stir, go still, stir again.
He is trying to be here, she thinks, trying to let her keep him awhile. He frowns, and her heart slides down the curve of his mouth, falling and sinking and nearly uncertain until that same mouth reshapes to speak her name. His voice is different than she expected - rough, where she had been expecting something soft, something more like the way autumn sounds at dawn. She likes it anyway, storing this sound he’s given her, this gift of her name repeated, for a time later when she is inevitably alone again.
And then he smiles, and she is dazed by the wings suddenly beating wildly in her chest as she races to catch the words fluttering away beside them. But they’re flying too high and she cannot seem to catch a single one, except, “Firion.” She whispers back, those doe eyes wide and gentle and every shade of blue, every sky, every ocean. She trips again, trying to gather those fleeing words, and then smiles bashfully despite that he cannot see her. Or he is choosing not to see her?
That thought gives her pause.
“Are you afraid of me?” She wonders, even wider-eyed now as she tries to make herself seem smaller. She leans down a little deeper into the mossy ground, letting those bright red and pale blue feathered wings droop at either side like they are melting into quiet sleep. “It’s okay if you open your eyes, I promise I’m not a nightmare.” The idea is of course preposterous. She is built delicately like a doe - cloven hooves and soft wings, fur red and white and spotted like a cat, navy eyes almost strangely large on such a slender face. He could no more be frightened of her than he could be intimidated by a mewling fawn. Still, "I promise you can trust me."
But they are still closed, still a secret that leaves her wanting.
Her attention on him, while gentle, is something so completely unabashed, like she hasn’t had a chance to learn the perils of staring too much, like too much is a concept still outside of her reach. He is so much like her, and it is all the reason she needs to explore him more, to grin more softly and flicker those happy ears at him when she peers down at him and watches his tired body stir, go still, stir again.
He is trying to be here, she thinks, trying to let her keep him awhile. He frowns, and her heart slides down the curve of his mouth, falling and sinking and nearly uncertain until that same mouth reshapes to speak her name. His voice is different than she expected - rough, where she had been expecting something soft, something more like the way autumn sounds at dawn. She likes it anyway, storing this sound he’s given her, this gift of her name repeated, for a time later when she is inevitably alone again.
And then he smiles, and she is dazed by the wings suddenly beating wildly in her chest as she races to catch the words fluttering away beside them. But they’re flying too high and she cannot seem to catch a single one, except, “Firion.” She whispers back, those doe eyes wide and gentle and every shade of blue, every sky, every ocean. She trips again, trying to gather those fleeing words, and then smiles bashfully despite that he cannot see her. Or he is choosing not to see her?
That thought gives her pause.
“Are you afraid of me?” She wonders, even wider-eyed now as she tries to make herself seem smaller. She leans down a little deeper into the mossy ground, letting those bright red and pale blue feathered wings droop at either side like they are melting into quiet sleep. “It’s okay if you open your eyes, I promise I’m not a nightmare.” The idea is of course preposterous. She is built delicately like a doe - cloven hooves and soft wings, fur red and white and spotted like a cat, navy eyes almost strangely large on such a slender face. He could no more be frightened of her than he could be intimidated by a mewling fawn. Still, "I promise you can trust me."
iridian
we are infinite as the universe we hold inside