tell me life is beautiful; toli pony

[leliana]

leliana

oh, the desert dreams of a river that will run down to the sea
like my heart longs for an ocean to wash down over me

 
Magic once again brims softly beneath the surface of Leliana.

It is not a loud magic. Much like Leliana herself, the magic is serene—as calm and unperturbed as the depths of untouched lakes. It is a quiet magic, restorative and compassionate. That moment Exist had reached forth and pressed the power to heal back into her chest for safekeeping, Leliana had felt whole. She had remembered the power of it flooding her up on the Mountain, the way it burned along the edges of her consciousness, but it had begun to fade with time. Fade until it felt like nothing more than a dream.

But now—oh!—now, she can feel it flickering to life once more within her, alighting her nerves with the reminder of her gift, her aching heart reaching outward to those hurting souls around her. If only she could somehow heal their hearts; if only she could bring as much mental peace as she brings physical relief. The world around her is so broken, so battered and bruised. How she aches to set it right.

Of course, such grandiose ideals are kept to herself. Leliana does not fancy herself some savior. She does not think herself much of anything except the quiet sister, the shy one. She does not burn as brightly as Exist; she does not glow as magnificently. Not that she would ever envy her sister. She feels nothing but love for her sister, feels nothing but admiration for the way that she burns and sparks—the wildfire in her.

She is quiet as she moves through the meadow, mahogany eyes peering outward from beneath a thicket of wild forelock, the curls and volume of her mane a direct contrast to her shy demeanor. As she walks by crowds of horses, she reaches out with her power to heal the minor cuts and bruises of the unknowing, knitting together their flesh and easing their bruises without so much a flicker of her eyes. She does not want them to know that it was her alleviating their pain; it was enough to know that it was done.

When she reaches the edge of the meadow, she curls next to the foot of an oak, her wings turning a beautiful shade of indigo as she thinks of her sister. She tucks them close into her barrel and dips her lovely head down, doing her best to not think of the loneliness that quietly sneaks into her heart.

[Dovev]

He forgot what he was doing. He seemed to be forgetting a lot of things lately. It was her fault, though, this time.

She lay there, curled in on herself. Her blue wings were all wrong, but the rest... was almost right. Almost right. He was helpless as he was pulled straight to her like a machine with a directive, unblinking. Nothing could divert him. That tug reached so deeply, coiling around his cold heart and locking tight. Helpless. The smog in his mind swirled, but didn't clear. But movement was good, right? Something in him needed her.

Blood dripped unheeded in his wake, as it always did, escaping from around the ruptured bone plates standing out of him. One day it would be an armor, but at his young age it only reached a few inches. The shard on his face would become a mask, the magician had shown him that, but for now it only went from nostrils to eyes. Smaller plates would come from the sides, just after his mouth, but it would never cover that spot of blue coloring the corner of his lip.

He breathed, standing over her with a new softness in his eyes. Was she asleep? She was almost right; her color, her sweet innocence. It may be enough.

Dark muzzle lowered to touch hers, smell her, feel her. Blood smeared across her perfect velvet, and he felt immediate regret. But she was so soft. And she was almost right. He lowered himself, curled around her so carefully, trying not to stain her with more blood. He failed of course, blood was everywhere. But it was his, and not hers, and that should matter.

His mouth hovered at her nape, breathing her. It wasn't right, but it was still so very good. Hot breaths sank into her hair, and he stayed there silently, ready to pin her to him if she moved as he explored the feel of her against him. Almost right. But right enough.

Mine..

[leliana]

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

 
It had been easy to drift into sleep—a shallow sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

In it, she had dreamed of Exist, of their mother, of the strange burnt orange man that they had found, one who both looked completely familiar and yet wholly alien to them. She dreamt of the Mountain and how she had pressed her magic into Exist, willing her into life before she had known what it meant to heal. When the gift had been like breathing, the ability rearing up within her chest and exhaling outward, pulling the tendon and nerves together, knitting them back into a piece that was whole and well.

When she woke, it was to the distinct metallic tang of blood.

Her russet eyes fluttered open, still dazed, heart pounding. She felt the weight of him and she startled, but she did not move away. Instead she looked around purposefully for the source of the copper scent. She could feel it on her skin, soaking into her, and although fear fluttered in her chest, she did not show it. Instead, she twisted her head to find the stallion wrapped around her, more intimate than she had ever been with anyone beside the familial comfort with her sister. Still, she did not pull away.

She saw the gaping, weeping wounds around the bone that protruded from him, the angriness of the flesh as it flared open to allow for the unnatural progression of growth. She moaned internally at the sight of it, but instead of showing him her distress she just reached over to press her muzzle gently onto his cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” she reassured him and then closed her eyes, letting the powers of her healing reach out and through him. Her gift rooted through him, searching out the aches and the pains, lighting when it found a spot that it could heal, glowing purposefully as she guided it through him skillfully.

Leliana could not heal everything—could not pull his body back together into its more natural form, but she could at least ease the worst of it. She fought away the infection that brewed, staunched the flow of blood. She knew the wounds would re-open, that the growth of bone and shifting of his body would let loose, but for now, perhaps, he could feel some relief. Could relax with her gift singing through him.

Pleased, she shifted only slightly, enough to loosen her wings so that they could expand, large and white this time and soft as down. She flared them above them and then settled them down over his back, the edges of the feathers staining a dark brown from where the blood had dried. She leaned over again, touching his neck gently before blowing out a breath there. “That should feel better.”

She did not give her name. Instead, she gave only a soft, dreamy smile.

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow

[Dovev]

She was so soft, so smooth. Even her movements were like a slow dip into warm water when she stirred at his side. He felt a ripple of sadness that he'd awakened her, she was so beautiful when she slept. But she was so beautiful now too, awake and looking at him. Too soon her gentle gaze fell to his wounds, the disgusting things ruining her lovely skin. He hated himself for it. Now she would run, hate him, fear him. He was repulsive. Why couldn't he still be so thick and beautiful as he had been before the magic came alive?

But she was still there, comfortably at his side.
Did he dare to hope?

Her petite muzzle stroked his cheek, and he froze in shock, afraid to move and break this beautiful spell. It's going to be okay. Alluring black eyes searched hers, confused, intrigued. Then her lashes fell, and something melted into him. He inhaled sharply and tensed. He fought the urge to pull away, jump to his feet and defend. As he'd been trained. But his muscles locked him in place.

It wasn't like the sudden pain of growth, bones shifting and pushing out of him a little more. No, it was... so soothing. A balm to his hardened heart. And as her magic flowed through him, finally silencing the dull aches that never left him and staunching the blood flow constantly leaking out of him, he was pulled closer to her. His forehead rested against hers, eyes closing, and his lips parted in a quiet sigh. Finally, his body was silent. So wonderfully silent.

She shifted, and he relinquished his embrace enough for her wings to stretch, change to something new, then pull over him like a soft blanket. He soaked in that feeling of comfort and care. And somewhere deep inside him, he knew someone had once cared for him before, prior to his time with the magician. The brutal training that had changed him, recreated him. But no name or face came to mind for that caregiver. Lost forever.

He twisted around, his head turning away from her to look over his opposite shoulder. Ah, but it was still there. Her healing could not remove the magician's brand on his flank. Perhaps only the magician himself could remove his claim on the young black stallion. Relinquish his ownership.

A light touch at his neck brought him around again, turning back to his beautiful healer. That should be better.

Since he could remember, he had been harsh. Sharp. Brutal. Temperamental. His anger always flared so quickly, raged so strongly. Today, with her, he was finally subdued. He was allowed to be someone else, just for today. Maybe the magician wouldn't learn of it. Or maybe he would be punished for it later. He was just thinking she might be worth it though, as his forehead once again laid against her bare skin at her neck.

She was like a beautiful memory. Something he'd had before, and yet had never known. So confusing. Had he or hadn't he ever had someone care for him? He thought maybe, back when he was massive with muscle and not a sickly skeleton with a sheer, black cloak. He couldn't remember missing his good looks before now. He wished he could be handsome for her. Would she have liked him? It didn't matter. He was a machine now; a tool, a weapon. A time bomb.

Maybe it was worth the magician's wrath to stay, to make a new memory of light for all the darkness that was he.

He shifted closer, meeting as much of her warm skin as he could. For once in his life, he thought, he was gentle and sweet. Because somehow it felt familiar and yet new, but he clung to that feeling as he passed his lips over her neck. Slow, light kisses, and warm breaths. He inhaled her scent, tasted her skin. When he reached her throat, he gave her a gentle, teasing little bite, just barely pinching to stir her nerves.

Just for today, he'd make a memory that would last him forever in the darkness.

[leliana]

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

He burned bright, like her sister, but there was something different to his flame. Where Exist raged and flickered with life, he consumed; Exist danced in the fire, but he was all edge. She could practically feel it rolling off him—the tension, mental anguish, the white-knuckled grip on what he thought was important. She could imagine that there were many who would find him intimidating, even find him frightening.

But when she looked up through her thick lashes, all she felt was sad.

She couldn’t understand him, not really. In many ways, his torment was foreign to her. But she felt her heart bleed out for him and, instinctually, she felt drawn to him. She couldn’t protect him, not the way he was trained to protect, but she could heal him. She could soothe his soul. She could press a warm cloth to fevered brow and a cool hand to warm cheek; in many ways, it was the most primal of protections.

So when he pressed his forehead to her, she sighed gently, the breath fluttering gently from between the crimson of her lips. “Leliana,” she finally offered him, although he has not asked for it. Her voice was fog on her tongue, low and pleasing—distinctly feminine but not high pitched. In many ways, it was like her. She was pleasing to look at, the blend of deep crimson and mahogany, but she had never thought of herself as particularly beautiful. She did not think of herself as much of anything or think of herself often.

“My name is Leliana.”

Her heart ached in her chest—and when he planted small kisses on her neck, something sang in her veins—something alien. She had never been touched like this, never caressed. She was not the type to draw male attention—that was Exist. Her peach and indigo sister with constellations in her eyes and galaxies in her smile. Leliana was content to sit to the side and watch, content to her own company.

Her breath caught in her throat when his teeth pinched throat, but she didn’t move, part of her confused by the turn of events and the other part finding that it made perfect sense. More curious than anything, she reached over, mouth tracing the brutally harsh edges of his face, butterfly lips grazing over the wicked arches of bone that grew there. She found them fascinating, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she just met his gaze with the russet of her own and she held it, studying him from beneath a mess of her forelock.

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow

[Dovev]

Leliana..
His head shook just barely, though he wasn't sure what he meant to say 'no' to. Don't speak? The not-quite-right of her name? The wrongness of what this moment was doing to him? The refusal to give his own name? Just no..

"My name is Leliana," her honeyed voice kissed him again, but he couldn't do it. There was something wrong with giving her his name, fraught with blood and death and darkness. How could he ruin her with it? It was just a name, though, wasn't it? Somehow, in that moment, it felt like more. As though he would bare himself -all his darkest secrets and blatant evils- so openly for her. And... for some reason, he didn't want her to know who and what he truly was. Her acceptance could only go so far, and he still needed more.

Just a little more.

She held so perfectly still at his bite, trying to stir her nerves, awake her senses to every barest touch of their skin. Exactly how intensely he was feeling them. Her sweet lips found the ridge of bone at his face and he shuttered her from the shame in his eyes, his breath locked tight in his lungs. Ugly. Frightening. Weapon. Death. A weapon, a weapon. Ugly. He opened them again, a deep, black ocean of vulnerability. And her soft, steady umbra stared back at him. So much innocent warmth. He needed her.

He cradled that calm gaze in his as he shifted slowly, leaning above her and moving closer until her head rested gently on the ground beneath him. He hovered over her, forearms on either side, black hair falling loosely to curtain her beautiful face. She was doing this to him. Turning him into something careful, gentle. Filing down his sharp edges to a soft, dull, smooth. He couldn't allow it. Wouldn't allow it. But he wasn't done. He still needed more.

Just a little more.

Satin-black eyes traced every delicate curve, putting every perfect detail to his empty memory. Filling all the dusty, dark spaces with her glorious light. Slowly, his head dipped and he was kissing her again; the corner of her lips, making his way to her cheek, over her eyes. Damn, he wanted her. He held his control, though, and the sweet kisses slid to her jaw, her smooth throat, a gradual line down her bare neck. Purposeful, methodical trail to the gentle slope of her shoulder where he placed another teasing bite, seeking to arouse her. He wanted to remember her. Needed to.

Then he reversed his path back, taking his time, drawing it out. He needed this. He needed her. He'd get hell when he got back, but it would be worth every moment here with her. When his lips finally returned to their place at the corner of her mouth again, he was done. Guilt for using her this way, for enjoying it so damn much and wanting more, rendered him further silent. He pressed his cheek to hers, a surprisingly painful goodbye. He was such an ass. He knew it, she would know it. There wasn't a reality where he deserved any more time with her, any more perfect memories. But she was dangerously dulling the lethal edge he must maintain.

And yet still, his husky voice escaped him. So unwisely escaped him. Ischia.

So she knew where to send her furious older brothers when she realized how deeply she hated him. And, damn, he deserved it, because he couldn't bring himself to regret any of this. He pulled away, his heart hardening to the very new and terrifying emotion budding within, and stood. Then he walked away.

Then he ran away.
Because, damn if he didn't want to stay.