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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


    show me the sun; svedka
    #11
    it's a mystery to me
    we have a greed with which we have agreed. you think you have to want more than you need; until you have it all you won't be free. and when you think more than you want, your thoughts begin to bleed.
    Wishbone’s heart twists in her chest at the thought of her daughters. She hadn’t spent all of the six years tucked away in the hidden corners of Beqanna; she had spent time each day of those years searching for them. She had wandered the face of their world like a ghost (and truthfully, she had become one, for she had once been a mother and suddenly she was not), methodically performing her search-and-rescue for the adult daughters she had lost all those years ago. “I have, ever since I came back. But I haven’t found a trace of them.” Had she given up? Wishbone can’t say for sure, but she closes her eyes against Svedka’s warmth to hide the regret that might flash across her face.

    Now it is his turn to shield the emotions from his eyes. Wishbone lets him pull away from her side, and her eyes open to watch what fragments of Svedka’s face she can see. As he tells his story, she remains quiet and peaceful. Their hearts are pulled closer together through their shared experiences, knotted into a tangled heap that bonds their kindred spirits even tighter than before.

    She tries to picture his reality by putting herself in his place. Her brows draw together at the thought of having something that is a piece of him (however much he might’ve disliked it) darken into a creature of pain and death. Yet surprisingly, she realizes she knows the feeling well. Ivar had been a part of her — the one to coax womanhood from its dormancy and the one to father her children — yet he had drowned her in the Ischian sea, filling her lungs with seawater and letting her fade into nothing.

    Wishbone wonders if her brother can feel the same anger that burns in her. Does he awaken from those nightmares and crave revenge? Would Svedka ever take the shadows that darken his eyes to fold them into something that can be used as a tool that might liberate him from the shackles Carnage has clamped to his ankles? She has felt these thoughts spark in her mind on many occasions, and even now a fire begins to brighten the cavity of her chest, warming her insides with a ferocity that sometimes she cannot contain.

    When he finishes (and that optimism sparkles in his eyes, something they share in common), Wishbone steps close and presses her dark side against his paler one. She takes comfort in their touch, in the knowledge that they have both fought through the darkness and came out on the other side, in the way he feels real and alive just as she is. “We are warriors,” she says with a soft smile. “We have been through death and life, but we’re still here. We’re still alive.” No matter how tattered or worn or dark they may feel, their lungs still breathe and their hearts still beat. “It feels good to tell someone else. I can’t explain why I look different, but I’m so thankful you know about my death and my daughters.” Wishbone touches her muzzle to her brother’s broad cheek, hoping her relief and gratefulness may soak into his skin so he can feel it lingering there even after they part ways for the evening.
    credit to eliza of adoxography.

    @[Svedka]
    #12

    let my shadows prove the sunshine

    Svedka feels the tension within his younger sister’s body as they lean against each other. “It seems,” he begins, his voice tender and gentle, “that we must focus our energy elsewhere.” He turns his bright eyes towards her, tightness in his shoulder as the scarred tissue pulls from the movement. “We should find them, Wishbone.” He pauses, his face soft and sincere, passionate. A tiny smirk finds the pink of his lips and he nudges her cheek. “I am particularly good at finding things, you know.” A good-natured chuckle rasps in his throat, smiling.

    Years have passed but the two fell back into themselves with such ease, even with darkness now plaguing the outskirts of their mind.

    Revenge isn’t something Svedka has tasted; there is too much light, maybe, that still wraps itself around his heart. He is only saddened and heartbroken, not finding it in himself to harbor emotions like anger within him. He’s always been a bit naive that way, thinking that perhaps there is a reason to all of his trials, and that there is no use in being angry over something that had to happen anyway. However, ever since he had been pulled from the Afterlife, Svedka has begun to find that disappointment does not only lead to sadness, but also to bitterness.

    He sighs, reveling in the warmth of Wishbone against him. Everything felt right, in this moment, even if it wasn’t. And that gave him hope.

    “We’re still here,” he breathes, parroting her with a gentle sparkle to his eyes. When she touches her muzzle to his cheek, his eyes close, soaking in her touch and drawing strength from her. “Me too, Wish. It might sound morbid, but it really does ease the pain knowing that someone else not only knows, but understands. He pauses, opening his eyes then. “Thank you.”

    svedka




    @[Wishbone]




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