no matter what they say, I am still the king
Red mare, blue eyes, gold flame - a description that tears the world asunder. It echoes in his mind as the glass of her thoughts defog. Something so visceral - so absolutely definite in her world. And what is it to him? A string to grasp on to, something to tug the hinges of her heart and soul. Red mare, blue eyes, gold flame - adjectives and nouns to twist into persecution. It is a hope - a bright light in her darkness - that this red blue gold will come again (despite the facts so clearly before her).
“Haven’t seen a thing.” He says easily, shrugging off the shadows and stepping towards her. Give him the shadows; bathe him in what you hold strongest. There is nothing about him to hold dear - there is nothing to hold sacred. The shadows lick his skin, but cannot crawl inside (you can feel this, you can taste this - and you simply know that there is no fight).
He means no harm (he never does, really). He is a spector - something on the sidelines of your sight, a visitor in this implacable moment. He wants nothing more but to watch your discovery - to taste the coppery lick upon your tongue, to feel the soft tickle of feather upon your lips. It’s a thrill, discovering the demise of another (something he forgot he desired).
Red mare, blue eyes, gold flame. There is more though - and the shadows crawl upon his skin and turn his mouth to ash, but he knows. “What about the wings?” There will always be wings - there will always be angels. It is a simple statement - like the red clay beneath their feet, the achingly tall caverns at their side. It is in the shadows crawling towards her sides, it is seeping through the sucking mud at their feet- there is no explanation.
Some of us will not make it out alive - but those with the shadows at their back have a better chance (this he knows). But what does she know? This galaxy before him, with her mouth open wide welcoming death.
“I swear,” he says, with another step forward. “I did nothing.” A rare statement for the magician (when is ‘nothing’ ever a truth with him?). Everything always seems to be his fault - a gape in the galaxy, a scar stretched too far, a mar that will never be more than a liability. “I could help, I suppose. If you are looking for something in particular.” And his own shadows fall away- he seems a bit lighter, his dark pelt a tint brighter. You could call his name and pull him in.
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
@[Beryl]