Ethenia
it was an honest mistake
As he moves closer, she becomes suddenly aware of everything she had sleepily dismissed: every inch of her own skin electric, every heartbeat and jagged breath drawn through tensed lips. She imagines this is what it feels like to wake after a long, long dream, the way winter creatures feel once the spring peeks into the forest. The way a deep slumber wraps around, like a warm cloud, before a sudden fall snaps you back into the world of the living.
The teeth on her neck may as well have been razors tracing down the length of her spine. Ethenia’s silver body reacts, through no intention of her own. The plume of his hot breath reaches her skin and she quivers, eyes darting to the side as she comes to the realization that there is simply nowhere for her to go. He is larger than she, and for a moment, he is all there is, all around her. She cannot see past the feathered wings she had longed to reach out and touch—she freezes, not daring to now. Part of her wonders if she could disappear into him, if she makes herself small enough.
Ethenia knows he will spare her no answers, of this is she is now certain. And yet, the curious look in his eyes is something alien to her: a warning and invitation all at once. After what feels like several moments too long, she allows herself to breathe and a soft sound escapes her. Her eyes search to meet his, to read him, desperate to understand. She knows that look is meant to read as a bright read caution sign, but to her it feels something like temptation—the way a child might feel the first time they see a tiger, and yet still hope to touch it. (She wonders what, or who, turned him into something of a tiger to begin with.)
"I see that, now,” she whispers. Overflowing with both wonder and apprehension, the delicate mare finds it somewhere inside of herself to tilt her head, reach out and brush her lips against what part of him she can reach. A fleeting moment of consideration passes through her peacefully as sorrow gently furrows her brow. She imagines that she can feel whatever is trapped inside of him, to take it into her own chest and fuel her own too-tempered flames. The smaller part of her knows that it is no use; she cannot exchange her softness with his strength. He is a ticking time bomb, and she exists here only on borrowed time—too much already.
The delicate mare sucks in a quick breath and slips to the side, leaping as far as her slender limbs will allow. She knows if she stays, he will keep his promise. It is instinct perhaps, a simmering will to survive harbored deep in her bones that contrasts the curiosity in her heart. The primal need to survive wins, in the end, and her silver body disappears at last into the forest.
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