12-20-2015, 10:53 PM
She pities him. She pities him in a way that makes her angry for being so selfish. She is, after all, a master of narcissism. He has loved her, will always love her, and her heart is forever a wandering mess of loneliness.
You can only love someone as much as you love yourself.
Our dragon hates herself.
Kindling is beautiful, elegant as always. Her grey pelt has faded with age to a simpler shade, pale grey with dark marking along her muzzle, and legs. She still has deep brown eyes, young with fire and excitement. Her aura still buzzes “greatness” as she continues to blossom herself to a goal she cannot quite explain.
Her children must think she is the mother who just won’t die.
And then she smells him. A thick, masculine aroma that wafts into her nose like poison. Her stomach flips (not because of the recent impregnation, though that does play a firm roll), and her tail swishes lightly against her flank.
He will have no clue of her decision as of late. He will not be able to smell the musky scent of that strange stallion, he will not be able to notice any markings from rough “play” for that stallion was far more gentle than she wanted. He will have no idea that a seed had been watered and planted in the heat of the moment. He will just see her, as her.
He will see Kindling, and Kindling will pretend to be the Kindling he once knew.
What has happened to our darling grey mare? The fire breather, the independent bold one. What has happened that has made her so heartless?
The loss of children?
The rape?
The unfortunate death of her ex, Osric?
Perhaps the random disappearance of her… ex… lover… what is he even.
So she follows his scent, a trail she knows far too well to the man who meanders to her reach. And that feeling, that gut wrenching I am so sorry for being a complete whore feeling reaches into her stomach and churns her insides. She is not who he wants, not who he met.
She is so much worse than that.
“Oxytocin,” her voice is still so sultry, so full of feminism and father issues that it clings to the air like molasses on skin, “I missed you so much.”
Did she though?
You can only love someone as much as you love yourself.
Our dragon hates herself.
Kindling is beautiful, elegant as always. Her grey pelt has faded with age to a simpler shade, pale grey with dark marking along her muzzle, and legs. She still has deep brown eyes, young with fire and excitement. Her aura still buzzes “greatness” as she continues to blossom herself to a goal she cannot quite explain.
Her children must think she is the mother who just won’t die.
And then she smells him. A thick, masculine aroma that wafts into her nose like poison. Her stomach flips (not because of the recent impregnation, though that does play a firm roll), and her tail swishes lightly against her flank.
He will have no clue of her decision as of late. He will not be able to smell the musky scent of that strange stallion, he will not be able to notice any markings from rough “play” for that stallion was far more gentle than she wanted. He will have no idea that a seed had been watered and planted in the heat of the moment. He will just see her, as her.
He will see Kindling, and Kindling will pretend to be the Kindling he once knew.
What has happened to our darling grey mare? The fire breather, the independent bold one. What has happened that has made her so heartless?
The loss of children?
The rape?
The unfortunate death of her ex, Osric?
Perhaps the random disappearance of her… ex… lover… what is he even.
So she follows his scent, a trail she knows far too well to the man who meanders to her reach. And that feeling, that gut wrenching I am so sorry for being a complete whore feeling reaches into her stomach and churns her insides. She is not who he wants, not who he met.
She is so much worse than that.
“Oxytocin,” her voice is still so sultry, so full of feminism and father issues that it clings to the air like molasses on skin, “I missed you so much.”
Did she though?
![[Image: HFqRV2Q.png]](https://i.imgur.com/HFqRV2Q.png)