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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


    resurrect the saint within the wretch; flower
    #1
    He lingers in the shadows, the stark white of his face turning nearly molten with the brilliance of the volcano’s lava. Thick, slate-gray horns protrude from his forehead, narrowing until they nearly spiral into his neck, where cascading obsidian and ivory tendrils of his mane touch the musculature of his shoulder. He sharpens the twisted horns on the igneous rock, the sound grating and unruly against the low and familiar grumble of the volcano.

    He had been gone a long while. Tephra had been his birthplace, and besides the whisper of his father’s name, the once ocean-prince no longer would be a familiar face. He would be a stranger among them, unless there were any that remembered Warrick, the benevolent king that was the first to be infected by the plague of Beqanna. Warden remembers it (he tries not to) vividly – the blood sputtering onto the cave walls, his father’s strength dwindling into nothingness, the healers barely keeping Warrick’s heart beating, his mother’s worry and his older sisters attempting to keep him distracted.

    Fortunately, Warrick had survived, like many in Beqanna.

    All the love and devotion among his family could not erase the bitter, terrible memories of that time and even now, Warden awaits the tendrils of darkness that would inevitably put him and his family within its steely grasp once again. Plagued with his terrible third eye, Warden has seen all the devastation the future holds. He had predicted his father’s illness, the plague, the war. Each that he had seen had come to fruition, and never once had he experienced a vision that would bring about good on the world – only death, destruction, darkness.

    It is all he ever sees, even with his eyes open.
    Raising his head with a hearty toss as if to push the memories from his mind, the stallion steps out from the canopy of the volcano’s shadow and into a deep night littered with stars. Great, white wings spread from his sides, darkness pooling into each downy feather. With a great rush of wind, he leaps upwards and takes flight into the Tephran skies.

    The horned stallion lands heavily on the sparkling sand of the beach, which has been stained black by the constant plumage of smoke that slowly seeps from the volcano. He remembers standing at the water’s edge only years ago, when visions of blood-filled rivers tainted his mind. But only the open sea greets him now – dark and ominous, wrinkling against the shoreline with frothing fingers. With a fluid movement, the untainted alabaster of his wings fold into his sides with a rush of air smelling of ash and salted ocean wind. Turning his head, he busies himself by pulling and tugging at out of place feathers, preening them so that they lay comfortably.

    All is quiet at this early hour, save for the rhythmic pulse of the black waves against a star-studded seashore. 
     
    @[flower]
    #2
    She is busy laying in a bed of deep green grass, on her back and with those delicate legs all askew when a bird flies high above her. Except it’s bigger than a bird, and not at all bird shaped except for those beautiful white wings, so she sits up abruptly to watch it, her little glass tail waggling excitedly. But he passes by on a current of air headed for the sea, and so with a gasp she leaps to her feet and follows.

    The path to the ocean is one she knows almost intimately by now - just as she knows the shape of every shell and the pattern of every fish. She inherited her love of the sea from her mother, content to spend long days with the water lapping at her hips and shoulders while she basks with eyes closed and the sun on her crimson face. Which means she’s quick to follow, darting as carefully as she can along her own secret trail until it opens wide to a beach made black with night.

    She slows, and those impossibly delicate ears flicker in her shining forelock as she turns that golden gaze up and down the beach in search of those now-familiar white wings again. Could it have been one of her brothers maybe? No, not Thorn, his wings have more black where they stretch from his shoulders. Tamlin then? She slips out into the sand to the hiss of sediment against the shining red glass of those delicate legs.

    But the shape that coalesces from the shifting of volcanic ash and the deep dark of a star-strewn night is most certainly not her big brother. Her stride slows and she examines him with all the contemplation of a little yearling filly, her eyes narrowed curiously and her head tipped to one side. What if he’s not nice? Except she’s never actually met anyone not nice, so she immediately, and literally, shakes the thought from her mind and plunges back into motion towards him.

    “Hello,” she says, warm and friendly, as though he would have no reason to feel startled by having a talking glass figurine come out of the dark in the middle of nowhere to come chat at him, “I saw you fly by, your wings are very beautiful! For a minute I thought you were my brother Tamlin, but you’re not.” It’s probably good she clarified that, just in case he wasn’t sure. “You actually look a lot like my family.” She realizes, musing thoughtfully as she takes a step closer to really admire those wings and the deep curves of his horns with luminous golden eyes. “Bea, Rosine, Tamlin, Thorn and daddy all have wings, and Tangled and mama have antlers.”

    She’s sad for just the briefest moment, because how can a stranger look more like her family than she does? But the flicker of pain passes, and that gentleness returns to her almost frozen expression again as she reaches out to help him fix a few of the askew feathers he had missed. “Anyway, it’s okay that you aren’t Tamlin, it’s still nice to meet you. My name is Flower.”

    FLOWER

    i'm only steady on my knees



    @[Warden]
    #3
    The hushed sound of what he interprets as the movement of a delicate shell against sand stirs him from his reverie, lazily turning a single ear towards what he would discover to be a filly once his oceanic eyes click up from the absentminded task of tidying his feathers. Upon realization that the sound he has heard is actually someone, he stops his grooming. For a moment he is suspended - frozen - as the ruby child comes to him, with perfectly constructed flowers of glass across her skin, his neck craned towards the brilliant white of his wings, with feathers still out of place. Warden snorts sharply as she examines him, slow blinking eyes as dark as the ocean never straying from her golden gaze. The moonlight filters through her, a spectacular sight that causes even the most stone-faced to soften their eyes in wonder. For a moment he guesses she is made of moonbeams and perhaps moonstone itself - a star, maybe? Maybe she is made of sea glass, forged by the heat that ignites from the summer storm, giving birth to the lightning that so greedily kisses the sand of shorelines; delicate, beautiful, otherworldly. 

    She begins to speak and Warden straightens himself, the thick plumage of his wings shuffling at his withers. His brow furrows as a tingling sensation crinkles across his forehead, a familiar feeling that leaves him with a cold pit of dread curling in his stomach like a viper. It would only be a few spiraling minutes before the seer would have a vision painted across his eyes.

    He allows her to distract him, knowing that he can prolong the future by ignoring it completely. “I do?” he murmurs gruffly, the throbbing in his forehead becoming more intense by the second. She’s stepped closer, the sound of her legs against the black sand like a whisper on his skin. He tries not to but finds himself lost in the golden irises of her curiosity, unexplainably perplexed by her existence and equally enamored by it. She continues to expound on her family but he is fading to elsewhere, sent on a journey through his mind’s eye the second her cold lips began to familiarly sort his misplaced feathers. 

    The scene is the same. Night still hangs heavy like a cloak across the black sand beach, where frothing dark waves splash into the shoreline. He is alone, he realizes, as his dark eyes sweep the sand. He holds his breath, his dream taking its own shape like it always does. He can feel the sea wind on his skin, the quiet hush of leaves swaying behind him in the tree line. He feels as if he has stood here for ages, an eternity. Nothing appears, no ominous words, and for a moment he wonders if this will be it - the first vision that does not end in death and destruction. 

    The moment the idea crosses his mind is when a tiny sparkle catches his eye, glinting mutedly in the darkness of sand at his feet. Warden swallows, afraid of what he fears the object to be. A sliver of red, with moonlight cascading through it, is shattered before him. He leans down, brushing the shard with his white lips, great tears finding their way down the sharp angles of his cheek as he traces it with his mouth, resting on a delicate flower that somehow did not break. 

    Warden sharply inhales, thrusting his head upwards to scan the desolate beach again - searching for any sign of her. Maybe she can be fixed. Perhaps she is still here, searching for the missing piece of her. He tries to call out for her but she is nameless and he has no voice. He tries to leave where he is standing but his legs are held tightly to the ground by the sand and the waves. He thrashes, unable to accept this fate that has been shown to him, shouting and screaming silently as the vision fades, the shard of rubied glass with its perfect flower being the last thing he sees before it all turns black.


    It is over as soon as it began. Her voice brings him back to the present, where she is introducing herself. Flower. The cloudy white blankness in his eyes is replaced with the deep blue he was born with, meeting her golden ones without hesitation. “I’ve dreamed of you,” he says to her without thinking, nearly interrupting her introduction. His voice is low and solemn, the white of his lips expressionless, wondering if she can see the seriousness in his exclamation. The lump in his throat is hard to swallow as she stares up at him with those golden, innocent eyes.

    “My name is Warden.”


    @[flower]
    #4
    She allows him the moment she is learning that everyone needs when they turn and find a creature like her waiting in their periphery. The life in this place is almost always some degree of strange and unusual, but she is finding that it is perhaps even stranger to be made of something not living. To be glass, to be transparent with no sign of bone or breath or organ beneath the surface, and yet still a smile on her lips and a gentleness in those shining golden eyes. She can see him work through all of this as he examines her, perhaps weighing the likelihood that she is some strange waking-dream beneath the quiet starlight, and she can see too the moment he straightens and decides something

    He speaks, and she rewards him with a smile as bright as starlight twinkling on her lips, her eyes shining like giant twin moons in a delicate face of ruby. Is it any wonder people always stare? She answers, and she is so unaware of the moment he fades to somewhere so far from her reach. Instead she is patient - though she wonders why he has grown so quiet and still, wonders if she has said too much to a stranger who had only been seeking the solace of a quiet, lonely beach. A graveyard of what-ifs wondered beneath the night, beneath the stars, and come to rest in dark sand.

    She hadn’t even noticed his clouded eyes, but she notices the bright of them when he blinks and meets her gaze again. She hadn’t put any thought into what he might say next, probably his name, or at worst a gruff rebuttal to an overly friendly girl he hadn’t intended to meet. But she finds it’s her turn to be surprised, to stare at him with wide eyes and a mouth slightly agape. Maybe it is the tone of his solemn voice, or that she is too young for that to sound flirtatious, but she believes him without hesitation. Only soft surprise. “Was it a good dream?” She wonders, stepping closer in the dark as though she is preparing to get comfortable for whatever story he might be about to tell. “How did you know it was me if we’ve never met before?”

    FLOWER

    i'm only steady on my knees



    @[Warden]
    #5

    She stares at him unknowingly with simple wonder painting the clear ruby of her gentle face. He can see it there, in the crystal of her skin, the innocence and the hopefulness that comes with her youth. He wonders if he used to have that same awe-struck look, before his first dream rendered any sort of hopeful future into nothingness. All he knows is nightmares; can he even call them that, when they always come true? Was it a good dream? - and the same bitter coldness curls in his belly because of course it wasn’t. He grimaces, the white of his eyelids shielding his all-seeing eyes from her. The dreams are never good, little Flower. She curls in close to him and he allows the delicateness of her little body to do so, going so far to even extend the glowing white of his wing across her back, welcoming her in closer, protecting her beneath the downy of his wind-swept feathers that smell heavily of smoke and salt. He inhales deeply, almost shuddering as the humid night air enters him, still trying to shake the terrible scene that had just quaked him.

    “I don’t have good dreams,” he tells her honestly, his gaze flickering out to the wrinkled dark ocean, allowing the rhythmic crash to desensitize him. His face is now stoic and expressionless, a hard stone as the salty spray from the ocean splatters across him. “And most of the time they happen when I’m not asleep.” He sighs, his eyes narrowing slightly as if looking for something out across the endless dark horizon. His brow furrows, lips pursing as his mind races, bitterness and hopelessness falling like a black veil across his face. “And they always come true.” Warden’s teeth clench tightly as his thoughts trickle back to the shards of her scattered across the sand, causing the muscles in his jaw to jump. 

    He is the reaper; the bringer of death and destruction.

    He huffs, lifting his chin to the stars his father so readily looks to for guidance. Warden only finds silence in the sparkling dark, a great noiseless and uncaring expanse that would not answer any of his prayers as a child, and he doubts would answer to him now. He finds himself lost in their winking depths, studious and thoughtful. “Do you have dreams, Flower?” He asks her this to hopefully keep her from asking him more specifics about his vision, instinctively pressing himself a bit closer to her fragile body, a feeling of protectiveness that he cannot begin to understand unraveling itself within his chest. “Good ones, I mean?”

    She is already so much braver than he can ever be; fear does not threaten to collapse her or drown her. But Warden can feel its strong fingers pressing against his throat, tightening with each breath like a viper. Even now, beneath the silence of stars and with a small girl at his side, the feeling swells.

    Even now, he thinks, she is not safe.

    WARDEN




    @[flower]
    #6
    She sees the grimace as it steals quietly through his face, but she does not understand the root of it. A part of her clings to it, replaying every tiny ripple and subtle motion of the movement again and again, but by the time he lifts a wing  and draws her safely beneath it, she has decided perhaps she only imagined it. He inhales, and she finds her face returned to his like a heliotrope seeking sun, because it is the heavy sigh of someone who carries too much weight upon their shoulders and is quietly being crushed beneath it.

    The question is on her tongue, a gentle what’s wrong that is whisked away by the sound of his dark voice as he turns his gaze away from her in a way that leaves her feeling like the night is creeping up behind her now. She shrugs in closer against him, rubbing her delicate face against the warmth of his shoulder and appreciating the way her little body nearly disappears beneath the entirety of his wing. She listens to him speak, but she learns even more from watching his stoic stony face as something on the horizon keeps him from her. His teeth clench, and it is reflexive when she reaches out to touch his neck with something very much like quiet affection.

    He speaks and leans in closer, and the smile that slips across her mouth rivals the shine of any of those stars in his silent sky. She leans in close too, charmed by the gentle way he seems to care. He doesn’t try to touch her or keep her, doesn’t make her feel at all uncomfortable in this new closeness - and it amuses her that he seems almost unwilling in his quiet gruffness. “I do have dreams, good ones and bad ones, and almost none of them ever make sense. I’ve never had one that comes true though, I’m not sure I would like that very much. The best part about dreams is that you can leave them behind in the morning if they leave you feeling unsettled.”

    She tips her head at him, considering him with quiet gold eyes, wondering about the things he isn’t telling her. It feels like a story with half of its details missing. “Maybe I can teach you how to dream.” She says softly, her voice a gentle hum compared to the crash of tired water against an even more tired shore. “I’ve never tried before, but that also means I’ve never failed at it.” There is a smile on her gleaming lips as she reaches out to take a lock of his mane between her lips and tug it in a deliberate way. “Come on, lay down with me.”

    FLOWER

    i'm only steady on my knees



    @[Warden]
    #7

    She steps in closer to him without hesitation and the gesture makes his heart clench. His vision is still burning in his mind - pieces of her strewn about, moonlight glittering through each fragile fractile - and he sighs with a heavy shudder, closing his white-lidded eyes as if to block it out. He can feel her tender gaze on him, searching his face for answers to what he is telling her - he hides the truth, because he cannot bear to tell her, but he cannot hide the way it affects him and she can see right through the facade. She reaches towards him, her touch hard and cool against the heat of the Tephran air which he then inhales deeply. Her radiant smile burdens him all the more, for now having seen it he cannot bear to see it gone from her lovely face. 

    There is something like a chuckle that leaves him as he snorts softly. “They never make sense,” he assures her, his dark oceanic eyes flickering to meet her gaze. But only for a moment before he looks back out over the ocean as if holding her eyes with his own is too much for him to handle. His brow furrows, almost with confusion, but with deep darkness within its shadow. “I can’t leave mine behind.” They’re always with me. Even visions that have come to pass still plague his mind, like his father being attacked by sickness or the cries of the past war. When he actually is dreaming it is just a replay of what he’s seen, over and over, never ending.

    Maybe I can teach you how to dream.

    This causes his gaze to fall back to her, tilting his head slightly, curious. He narrows his eyes at her questioningly, searching her gold irises and finding himself lost within them again, before her voice reminds him of the present. He smiles because she smiles, a soft huff on his pale lips. It would be in vain, he knows, but there is something about the idea, coming from her, that makes him willing to try it. She tugs at the darkness of his black mane, urging him. He blinks as she lowers herself, unmoving save for his navy eyes following her rubied body as she curls her legs beneath her, the sound a soft hissing whisper against the sand. His white wing that once sheltered her remains frozen for a moment before he quietly tucks it against his sides.

    Lay down with me.

    Suddenly the moment is all the more intimate and a flat line finds his lips as he hesitates. “Flower, I... ” Only a few moments pass, however, and then bay and white stallion tucks his chin to his chest, bending his forelegs to allow his entire weight to fall heavily onto the black sand beach. He avoids her eyes, though he desperately wants to look into their molten gold depths once again. He champs nervously, resettling his large wings so that they are neatly against his dark barrel, tendrils of forelock now haphazardly across his white face with his movement downward. He turns his face to her, still refusing to meet her gaze, with a stoicism she would now find familiar as he waits, unwilling to admit aloud how wonderful it would be if this somehow helped him, or even how wonderful it would feel if she would decide to move closer to him.

    WARDEN



    @[flower]
    #8
    “Some of my dreams stay with me too.” She admits softly, misunderstanding him in such a sweet way that maybe he will not mind her gentle ignorance. “I’m not sure why though. Sometimes it’s a dream I loved and a friend I made that I feel terribly sad to have to give up. And sometimes it’s a nightmare and the fear I felt never quite leaves my skin wherever it buried itself.” Her face shifts to something different than that soft gentleness, something that makes her golden eyes a little wider and a little more worried. Like she is recalling a dream or a fragment, and it is opening up old wounds not quite healed.

    It fades though when he gives in to her request, laying down beside her as she beams that sunshine smile of hers up into that bone-white face. She is struck for a moment by the likeness of this face and the odd white of her mother's bone mask. Does it make him seem familiar to her when truly he is still just a stranger? Is it the horns behind his ears, or the gossamer whisper of the wings he settles back against his sides? Or is it just that his brokenness is something she can subconsciously sense, and something her subconscious clings to for its beautifully tragic familiarity.

    She isn’t sure.

    But it doesn’t stop her from pulling him even closer, using his mane to guide his head to the bed of her fragile forelegs where she can rub his neck gently with the smooth of her nose while he rests. “You’re going to sleep, and I’m going to stay right here and keep you safe so you can be free to imagine all kinds of wonderful things.” Her voice is so gentle, so matter-of-fact as she fixes his mane and lays it smooth again with lips that are probably eerily cool. “Think of a daydream, something you really want to do or see, and let your mind build a world around it - and don’t worry, I won’t make you share it with me if you’re feeling shy.” Her golden eyes twinkle softly at him. “But you do have to try it, and you do have to trust me.”

    FLOWER

    i'm only steady on my knees



    @[Warden]
    #9

    Her voice is tender and quiet, somehow creating an atmosphere that allows him to begin to relax; his wings and their downy feathers fall laden at his sides, their brilliant ivory rustling against the crystalline of her body. She tries so hard to understand him, despite the fact he’s given her nothing to understand, and the mere attempt to soothe and comfort him is enough to allow a sleepy, dreamy smile to begin to curl on the alabaster of his mouth. Beneath this semblance of a smile - one that is far off and does not quite reach his eyes - comes the sound of his rumbling voice, soft yet heavy with his knowledge of the future. “I like to think that some are meant to be carried,” he tells her honestly, leaning into her ever so slightly as his lids flutter closed in thought, his brow furrowing slightly as if searching for something just out of reach. He grunts softly as he shifts his weight, allowing himself to settle into the sand beside her.

    For a swift moment there is silence between them and it causes him to open one eye, its dark blue iris searching her quizzically as a black-tipped ear flips towards her. He isn’t sure what causes her to falter, but his thoughts are not allowed to think about it any longer than that because she is gently pulling him closer and Warden finds the strangeness of her touch - clear, smooth, cool - somehow controls him so easily. Without any resistance she will find his head in her lap, his brows pricked upwards in curiosity and a bit of uncertainty swimming in the depths of his dark gaze as he peers up at her from beneath his inky forelock and those spiraling, twisting horns.

    She fixes his mane, much like she had his feathers, with such decisiveness he cannot help the smile that sprouts on the edges of his lips. His nostrils flutter as a tired sigh erupts from him, whuffling loudly. His eyes fall from her golden gaze as ivory lids fall over them, inhaling contentedly. He realizes that he truly does not want to fall asleep - not now, when the real world is so much more captivating and glistening with possibilities. He feels nearly electrified and vibrating with energy, not unlike before a vision occurs. But there is no dark shadow crossing over, no burning sensation in the middle of his forehead. He has no choice in the matter, however, as she had made so very clear only moments before.

    “I trust you,” comes his reply, and his heart stops at the sound of sincerity and truthfulness in his own voice. Warden knows it won’t work; if he were to fall asleep, nightmares would come alive like they always do. But he daren’t move from this spot, where somehow he believes her - that he is safe beneath a delicate girl he barely knows with flowers in her hair. He melts into her embrace, his breath falling and rising steadily like the ocean’s tide against the blackened beach they are strewn upon. “A forest,” he whispers to her, “in autumn, with the sunset igniting the leaves like fire.” He opens one eye to glance up at her, wondering if he’ll be chastised for doing so, but quickly adding: “You’re there with me,” before closing his eyes once again.

    The stallion begins to drift, his eyes twitching beneath closed lids, feeling himself becoming looser and looser until the fabric of sleep starts to weave themselves around him. He tries to fight it, focusing on her touch and the soft murmur of her voice in an attempt to stay conscious, but he is slowly losing. He knows the difference between a vision and sleep, but even as he falls under, his body tenses for he knows what will soon paint his dreams.

    She is successful in getting him to fall asleep, calm and still beneath her touch and her careful gaze. Perhaps an hour passes or two, and perhaps she has fallen asleep as well, but the stillness is broken when he awakes with a sudden gasp, eyes white and rolling. The nightmare of his dreamed up forest with flames licking towards the heavens slowly escape his eyesight, but the sound of her calling his name in agony still plays over and over. Warden shudders as everything from the nightmare becomes distant - yet still there, embedded in his skin like Flower had mentioned only hours ago. He focuses on the feel of the soft sand beneath him, the sound of the rolling waves at their front and the quiet beginnings of dawn stretching across the horizon. Warden pants and lifts his head, trying to catch his breath and turning to find Flower with wide and searching eyes as if she would be gone, (vanished or shattered, he can’t decide which would be worse) as if she was only a dream herself.

    His brow creases with heavy solemnity, reaching out to her to brush his lips carefully against the amethyst of the petals in her mane, tracing them tenderly before realizing his mouth now lingers on her smooth cheek. The warmth of his breath fogs the perfect ruby of her skin, becoming mesmerized by the very essence of her existence while equally terrified that her fate would be inevitable. “Flower,” he murmurs to her, still breathless and unsteady, as the morning sun begins to filter her through her like liquid gold, her sparkling reflection bright in the darkness of his eyes. I thought I’d lost you.

    WARDEN




    @[flower]
    #10
    She is nothing but warmth and smiles when he gives her the pieces of the daydream he’s building. “That sounds beautiful.” She murmurs, secretly thinking it sounds a lot like the color of her. Autumn reds and golds, illuminated by a sunset of the same iridescent colors in a thousand different shades. The sun turns her to burning fire too. She is busy wondering if he realizes the similarities of his chosen daydream and her, when she notices one single eye peek open to peer up at her. She absolutely would’ve scolded him if it weren’t for the quiet words that followed. She blinks, warmed and feeling thrown off balance as she reaches down to kiss the curve of his beautiful jaw with smooth, cool lips. “Good,” she says, those golden eyes shining and perhaps a little uncertain for the first time in her whole life, “I want to be there with you.”

    There isn’t a single second that passes where she considers leaving his side, so sure, so arrogant, that her gentle loving presence will keep him safe from the demons that haunt his sleep. She strokes his neck and his hair, spends an innumerable amount of moments just looking down at a face she becomes increasingly aware of how truly beautiful it is. In his sleep he loses all of his edges, all that sharp tension that draws rivets across his jaw and deep furrows over his brow. He seems younger like this, more innocent as she sweeps her lips over his forelock and across his jaw, growing cautious, curious feelings that will be inevitably one-sided by the time he wakes again.

    Eventually she drifts too, feeling as safe beside him as she means for him to feel beside her, and her head settles over his back to, even in sleep, hold him close against her cool body.

    She is devastated when he wakes so violently, throwing her aside in a way she can tell is accidental, a way that doesn’t keep her from reaching back for him again, holding him while the shuddering spasms through his dark body. She makes no comment on it though, knowing that some things might be better kept private until he feels safe enough to share them with her. If he ever feels safe with her, that is. It’s impossible not to feel at fault in this. She had promised to keep him safe, promised to heal his dreams - and she can see now how arrogant that had been, but it is something realized far too late.

    “I’m sorry.” She whispers, still holding him close for as long as he’ll allow it. She is so surprised when he doesn’t recoil from her broken promises, choosing instead to reach out and touch the flowers in her hair, trace higher until his lips brush her cheek. She leans into him after a moment, closing those luminous gold eyes as she melts into his touch. “I didn’t realize,” how bad it was, how little her presence would help, “I’m sorry.” She says again, feeling an impossible kind of sad at letting him down so badly. It isn’t until he murmurs her name that she finally opens her eyes again. “I’m sorry I let you down.” She stays leaned into him though, refusing to be the first to pull away.

    FLOWER

    i'm only steady on my knees



    @[Warden]




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