01-31-2021, 06:04 PM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She drifts away from Hyaline, feeling untethered from all the things that usually anchored her. Atrox, her children that lived there—they meant the world to her, but she is still a creature of habit. Her tameness has always been a peculiar thing—she could be content to yield to Atrox, to curb her previously licentious ways (almost), but there was still a daring part of her that wanted to push her boundaries. The dark was unsettling and exhilarating, and she did not have the strength to ignore it. It drew her away from warmth and security, as it so often did—every mistake she has ever made has been because of the dark, real or figurative.
She is not sure what she is searching for; never knows until she actually finds it. Her wants and desires are not so simple, cannot often be put into words—and even still when she finds it she cannot always explain why she wants it.
It is something beyond wanting what you cannot have, or wanting what does not want you.
She wants to find what it is that hides in the dark and see how sharp its teeth might be.
She follows a path in the forest, her pale glow radiating only enough to light the steps just ahead of her. A strange sight to be sure, to see the vividly white and golden form of an angel in this endless night, and yet she does not seem to notice. Like a beacon, she invites them in. She listens for sounds, waits for her skin to prick with anticipation; just as she could never resist the dark, she knows too there is a part of the darkness that cannot help but cave to the temptation of light.
She is not sure what she is searching for; never knows until she actually finds it. Her wants and desires are not so simple, cannot often be put into words—and even still when she finds it she cannot always explain why she wants it.
It is something beyond wanting what you cannot have, or wanting what does not want you.
She wants to find what it is that hides in the dark and see how sharp its teeth might be.
She follows a path in the forest, her pale glow radiating only enough to light the steps just ahead of her. A strange sight to be sure, to see the vividly white and golden form of an angel in this endless night, and yet she does not seem to notice. Like a beacon, she invites them in. She listens for sounds, waits for her skin to prick with anticipation; just as she could never resist the dark, she knows too there is a part of the darkness that cannot help but cave to the temptation of light.
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
@[Balto]