04-15-2021, 09:05 AM
It's difficult learning to move this way. I am nearer to a hippogryph in this shape, quadripedal still, but with talon and ragged feather and shearing beak in place of what once were delicate features. This is a shape for violence, for trauma, and it quivers around me like a seperate thing. I am me. And I am watching me.
Watching as I pace stumbling from the grove I met her, my mind split between present and past. The fragments of truth weave deftly together into a greater lie.
That I am being hunted, pursued, and in turn I am pursuing. The time has come for these tables to turn. How long has it been that I have been running? Too long, I think. It has worn me thin and cracked at my edges. They know. They know I'm coming. Every night bird mumbling from its roost, every shuffling hedgehog and yelping fox, they are all distractions. Cover ups for what I can sense at the very edges of my awareness.
The cruel curve of my half-formed beak clicks against itself. I have not sorted out talking yet, or even if it is possible with the shape of this mouth. No matter. This is not a talking night. This is a night for action, for decision. My wings hang by my sides, the draping of an outdated gown. Unwieldy claws gouge the earth with every halting step. What will they do to flesh?
I am pierced. Even in this monstrous form, my breast clings to the shaft of wood that has become so much of me. Rooted and twisted into the ragged beating of my heart. It points my way as I go, an arrow pulling me on. Faster now.
There is a rustling, heavy stepped and unconcerned, and I prick my ears to track it. A rumbling coo emits from my throat, intrigued and uncertain. There is violence and there is pain in this world. There can be no pleasure without it. I have learned this lesson, learned it well.
And while I am rarely the one who directly plays into the dance of pleasure and pain anymore, tonight feels different.
He's standing there, careless, depressed sort of expression on his dimly lit face. I am a gleaming horror as I emerge from the shadowy trees. A monster wrought of gemstones and lightning and held together with the finest threads of malice.
It is like watching from the outside, like these things are happening to someone else, and I am merely here to enjoy the show while it lasts. They are actors playing scenes from my life. I am smiling bitterly to myself as they do. As the wretched bird-like harpy glides forward, only to strike with wild abandon, no grace yet in her unfamiliar limbs. No need for grace when power is enough, but I think she would be disappointed.
Beauty and terror ought to go hand in hand. For now though, it is terror that suffices when a grasping fistful of talons reaches for his throat. I have had my throat torn before. It is intriguing to see it from the other side.
@[Indivar]
Watching as I pace stumbling from the grove I met her, my mind split between present and past. The fragments of truth weave deftly together into a greater lie.
That I am being hunted, pursued, and in turn I am pursuing. The time has come for these tables to turn. How long has it been that I have been running? Too long, I think. It has worn me thin and cracked at my edges. They know. They know I'm coming. Every night bird mumbling from its roost, every shuffling hedgehog and yelping fox, they are all distractions. Cover ups for what I can sense at the very edges of my awareness.
The cruel curve of my half-formed beak clicks against itself. I have not sorted out talking yet, or even if it is possible with the shape of this mouth. No matter. This is not a talking night. This is a night for action, for decision. My wings hang by my sides, the draping of an outdated gown. Unwieldy claws gouge the earth with every halting step. What will they do to flesh?
I am pierced. Even in this monstrous form, my breast clings to the shaft of wood that has become so much of me. Rooted and twisted into the ragged beating of my heart. It points my way as I go, an arrow pulling me on. Faster now.
There is a rustling, heavy stepped and unconcerned, and I prick my ears to track it. A rumbling coo emits from my throat, intrigued and uncertain. There is violence and there is pain in this world. There can be no pleasure without it. I have learned this lesson, learned it well.
And while I am rarely the one who directly plays into the dance of pleasure and pain anymore, tonight feels different.
He's standing there, careless, depressed sort of expression on his dimly lit face. I am a gleaming horror as I emerge from the shadowy trees. A monster wrought of gemstones and lightning and held together with the finest threads of malice.
It is like watching from the outside, like these things are happening to someone else, and I am merely here to enjoy the show while it lasts. They are actors playing scenes from my life. I am smiling bitterly to myself as they do. As the wretched bird-like harpy glides forward, only to strike with wild abandon, no grace yet in her unfamiliar limbs. No need for grace when power is enough, but I think she would be disappointed.
Beauty and terror ought to go hand in hand. For now though, it is terror that suffices when a grasping fistful of talons reaches for his throat. I have had my throat torn before. It is intriguing to see it from the other side.
@[Indivar]