08-13-2021, 02:51 AM
BUT I HOPE I NEVER LOSE THE BRUISES THAT YOU LEFT BEHIND
She drifts alone, as she nearly always does.
There was no part of this land that she called home. No part that claimed even a small part of her heart, including the Tephran jungles she had grown up in. For a girl born amongst the flames of war it would have seemed fitting that she might grow into something from their ashes, and maybe she has—but it is not anything that belongs to them.
She is something of her own making, a weapon forged in her own fires, iron shaped until she was something new.
Except she didn’t feel new.
The relief that she had been certain would accompany her panther shifting never comes, and what she had thought would be a puzzle piece slipping into place still felt like a gaping hole.
All her life she has lived with being the first-born of the panther king and his angel, but it was a strange thing, to be born before their love ever existed. When she had been younger she had been certain that if she could shift into a panther like Atrox that perhaps he would take notice of her; that she would not just be another nameless face to his long list of offspring—another side effect of another conquest. She had watched from an ever-growing distance as her parents became more entwined, crossing that line from game to end game.
Firion and the children that followed were undoubtedly born of love, but Aislyn was still a ghost, a mere echo that no one ever seemed to hear.
She kept to her panther form now, mostly, even if it was not the solution she thought it would be. She had wanted it for so long that it would be a shame to not master it, lest whatever powers that be saw fit to take it away just as quickly as they had bestowed it.
It would make sense to not travel the common lands as a predator, but at some point, over the past few years, she had simply stopped caring. It should have been clear that she was not hunting; or so she thinks, at least. She traverses the meadow with languid, prowling steps, and she would have continued this way if a small group in the distance had not decided to make a show of being nervous. With a clenching of her jaw, she decides to shift, her velvety black pelt stretching over her equine form, the splashes of white following suit. Shaking her head slightly at the weight of her antlers, her back suddenly goes rigid at the sound of someone nearby.
Her vibrant eyes flash to his face, and if there is a flicker of irritation on her own it is only because he had caught her off guard—and she hated making mistakes. “Nothing,” she answers a little too quickly, her voice sounding shorter than she had intended. But she clears her throat, and though her expression remains guarded, her tone has leveled out to something more approachable when she says, “I forgot not everyone here can recognize a horse in their shifted form. I guess the pink eyes weren't a big enough clue for them.”
There was no part of this land that she called home. No part that claimed even a small part of her heart, including the Tephran jungles she had grown up in. For a girl born amongst the flames of war it would have seemed fitting that she might grow into something from their ashes, and maybe she has—but it is not anything that belongs to them.
She is something of her own making, a weapon forged in her own fires, iron shaped until she was something new.
Except she didn’t feel new.
The relief that she had been certain would accompany her panther shifting never comes, and what she had thought would be a puzzle piece slipping into place still felt like a gaping hole.
All her life she has lived with being the first-born of the panther king and his angel, but it was a strange thing, to be born before their love ever existed. When she had been younger she had been certain that if she could shift into a panther like Atrox that perhaps he would take notice of her; that she would not just be another nameless face to his long list of offspring—another side effect of another conquest. She had watched from an ever-growing distance as her parents became more entwined, crossing that line from game to end game.
Firion and the children that followed were undoubtedly born of love, but Aislyn was still a ghost, a mere echo that no one ever seemed to hear.
She kept to her panther form now, mostly, even if it was not the solution she thought it would be. She had wanted it for so long that it would be a shame to not master it, lest whatever powers that be saw fit to take it away just as quickly as they had bestowed it.
It would make sense to not travel the common lands as a predator, but at some point, over the past few years, she had simply stopped caring. It should have been clear that she was not hunting; or so she thinks, at least. She traverses the meadow with languid, prowling steps, and she would have continued this way if a small group in the distance had not decided to make a show of being nervous. With a clenching of her jaw, she decides to shift, her velvety black pelt stretching over her equine form, the splashes of white following suit. Shaking her head slightly at the weight of her antlers, her back suddenly goes rigid at the sound of someone nearby.
Her vibrant eyes flash to his face, and if there is a flicker of irritation on her own it is only because he had caught her off guard—and she hated making mistakes. “Nothing,” she answers a little too quickly, her voice sounding shorter than she had intended. But she clears her throat, and though her expression remains guarded, her tone has leveled out to something more approachable when she says, “I forgot not everyone here can recognize a horse in their shifted form. I guess the pink eyes weren't a big enough clue for them.”
A I S L Y N
@Ledger
this was all over the place but its almost 1am and I just cant make it make sense
