resurrect the saint within the wretch
Her voice trickles through the air - firm yet with some give - like the fervent drizzle before a storm; a warning.
Warden freezes, surprised immensely by her responding to him at all (why would she, for in his mind, there is no reason), still facing away from her with his wings outspread. The single word brings him to a standstill, his chest tightening with fear as to what the reason would be for her to stop him.
Take it back.
He whirls around to meet her, his ocean eyes rife with confusion and anguish, his brow creasing and creating a darkening shadow across the ivory white of his face, complete with disbelief. The stallion’s wings fold in, striding towards her as her words continue to fall foolishly from her mouth, like she knows anything about the future or what he has seen. Even with the intense emotion that comes from her - You don’t get to ruin them like that - he continues to rush towards her, the hurt and pain within him (she's right, you've ruined them) brimming to the surface as anger.
The guilt fuels him, coming to a near sliding halt before her with flaring nostrils and ears that have fallen deep into the tangles of his onyx mane. He looks her in the eye, this stranger, this accuser, and part of him wishes to shove the spiralings of his blue opal horns into the chestnut’s face. He doesn’t, so instead his voice rises.
“You think there’s a choice?!” Warden spits at her, his face burning with rage. “There is no taking it back and you are a fool if you think I have that power!” The stallion snorts sharply in her face, a single black foreleg stomping furiously at the ground beneath him. His white lips quiver, as if he is about to explain himself more, but then gives up. He rolls his shoulders and straightens, taking a few steps back from her. Anger still pulses just beneath the surface of his auburn and white skin, simmering hotly like embers amongst a fire.
He inhales deeply, raising his head to look down at her with disappointment on his face. He doesn’t know how she has seen his vision, or why she blames him for what he has seen, but the curiosity of it somehow quells him enough to speak without yelling, though he does not curb the harshness and accusation in his voice. “Don’t speak on things you don’t understand.”
The silvery voice of Aletta speaks thinly in his mind, like a long lost memory.
The future always comes.
Warden’s teeth clench tightly, sharply turning his face away from this stranger with a snort. He pulls at Aletta's wisdom for clarity and compassion, despite the defensiveness in his posture and the obvious anger that still rattles through him. He repeats his friend’s words, but with a grimness that will only bring heartache to the poor woman before him. “The future always comes.”
@[lilliana]
D:
