09-06-2021, 06:12 PM
I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
”You’ve been useful.”
It shouldn’t have stung at all.
But it did.
The land grows cold and he freezes with it. The little pieces of shrapnel that had exploded in his chest had only grown sharper after his conversation with Aela. Had hardened with his encounter with Skandar. And then they had ran shallow grooves against his insides after the death of his daughter, firmly implanting themselves within the barbed wire of the armor that he buried himself within.
To anyone else, nothing had changed. He still spoke to the golden Seneschal often enough (mostly regarding what to do with Sickle and the ever changing playing field they found themselves on) but he no longer followed those well-worn paths on her golden skin when they traded razor-edged jokes and shared schemes and ideas. The Pampas flourished despite the new covering of snow over the fields of flowers. In a few days he would set off for Loess.
On the outside, everything was fine.
But on the inside….
How he burned. Burned like the petals of the flamed flowers the jaguar colt had presented to him (how had this child come to know the magic his father once wielded?), burned like a brand in smoking flesh, burned and hungered for some craving he couldn’t satisfy. He doesn’t recall the last few nights, doesn’t even remember when he had shifted fur for scales and fangs. There’s a hazy recollection that he had once known, had once at least been able to remember when he lost control.
In his firm decision to not care, he seems to lose even more pieces of himself.
The more he loses, the crueler he becomes.
Still, he seems to hold back slightly for the children. Regardless if it’s Fyr or Sickle or whatever lost child they swoop up next, he dulls the blade for them. There is a shame that slips through the cracks every day he spends watching over them, every time his red eyes flicker with approval as they begin to develop into themselves. He had not seen Revelrie or his son since he had lost control. Since he had failed from the very start of fatherhood. Her last words had been heard despite what the broiling hunger had tried to keep from him.
It is not the children he is with today though. No, it is another being whose presence he had not seen much of as the influx in fire wielding equines increased in the Pampas. Steve had been hard to find this winter but the elusive grass mammoth had eventually been found, curved into a hill until one could not tell where the land started and the beast ended. He had brought the berries, had asked the question, but the grumbling nonsensical response he had received back had only sent new scales to scatter along the golden smears of his shoulders. Steve retreats and he is once again alone, the hard lines of his face unreadable as he falls deeper into the dark brooding shell he had made for himself.
It shouldn’t have stung at all.
But it did.
The land grows cold and he freezes with it. The little pieces of shrapnel that had exploded in his chest had only grown sharper after his conversation with Aela. Had hardened with his encounter with Skandar. And then they had ran shallow grooves against his insides after the death of his daughter, firmly implanting themselves within the barbed wire of the armor that he buried himself within.
To anyone else, nothing had changed. He still spoke to the golden Seneschal often enough (mostly regarding what to do with Sickle and the ever changing playing field they found themselves on) but he no longer followed those well-worn paths on her golden skin when they traded razor-edged jokes and shared schemes and ideas. The Pampas flourished despite the new covering of snow over the fields of flowers. In a few days he would set off for Loess.
On the outside, everything was fine.
But on the inside….
How he burned. Burned like the petals of the flamed flowers the jaguar colt had presented to him (how had this child come to know the magic his father once wielded?), burned like a brand in smoking flesh, burned and hungered for some craving he couldn’t satisfy. He doesn’t recall the last few nights, doesn’t even remember when he had shifted fur for scales and fangs. There’s a hazy recollection that he had once known, had once at least been able to remember when he lost control.
In his firm decision to not care, he seems to lose even more pieces of himself.
The more he loses, the crueler he becomes.
Still, he seems to hold back slightly for the children. Regardless if it’s Fyr or Sickle or whatever lost child they swoop up next, he dulls the blade for them. There is a shame that slips through the cracks every day he spends watching over them, every time his red eyes flicker with approval as they begin to develop into themselves. He had not seen Revelrie or his son since he had lost control. Since he had failed from the very start of fatherhood. Her last words had been heard despite what the broiling hunger had tried to keep from him.
It is not the children he is with today though. No, it is another being whose presence he had not seen much of as the influx in fire wielding equines increased in the Pampas. Steve had been hard to find this winter but the elusive grass mammoth had eventually been found, curved into a hill until one could not tell where the land started and the beast ended. He had brought the berries, had asked the question, but the grumbling nonsensical response he had received back had only sent new scales to scatter along the golden smears of his shoulders. Steve retreats and he is once again alone, the hard lines of his face unreadable as he falls deeper into the dark brooding shell he had made for himself.
obscene
Open to any!
![[Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTkjKh9Q/Obscene-Pixel.png){kind=tracking}