jamie
09-08-2021, 03:31 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
He watches her openly from the shadows.
He makes no effort to disguise himself, to dull the glow of the freakish yellow eyes, as he tracks her movement through the shallow water.
He is alone there in the underbrush at the edge of the water, no hounds, no great-headed elk. It is only the darkness that watches, unmoving.
He knows without even having to ask, without having to dip his cold fingers into the warmth of her mind to see clearly for himself. Evia had spoken of her children with the kelpie and he had asked her about love as if it were something he was capable of understanding.
The ink-black mouth twists around something dark when he thinks of the daughter tethered to the river. If the two of them crossed paths, would they know they were of the same blood?
And when she emerges from the water and shifts back into an equine, he emerges and moves toward her. Slow, head tilted as he studies her. The same teal as the sisters. The same teal as the mother. Strikingly beautiful, just like the rest of them. So beautiful, in fact, that were he still a weak thing he might not even be able to look at her, just as he had not been able to look at her mother.
“You look just like her,” he says, the voice raspy as if he has had to carve it out of the bottom of his chest, “your mother.”
He makes no effort to disguise himself, to dull the glow of the freakish yellow eyes, as he tracks her movement through the shallow water.
He is alone there in the underbrush at the edge of the water, no hounds, no great-headed elk. It is only the darkness that watches, unmoving.
He knows without even having to ask, without having to dip his cold fingers into the warmth of her mind to see clearly for himself. Evia had spoken of her children with the kelpie and he had asked her about love as if it were something he was capable of understanding.
The ink-black mouth twists around something dark when he thinks of the daughter tethered to the river. If the two of them crossed paths, would they know they were of the same blood?
And when she emerges from the water and shifts back into an equine, he emerges and moves toward her. Slow, head tilted as he studies her. The same teal as the sisters. The same teal as the mother. Strikingly beautiful, just like the rest of them. So beautiful, in fact, that were he still a weak thing he might not even be able to look at her, just as he had not been able to look at her mother.
“You look just like her,” he says, the voice raspy as if he has had to carve it out of the bottom of his chest, “your mother.”
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD
@Tiasa