09-06-2021, 03:26 PM
oh, you said life was much better than this
Once there had been a time when Lannister pined for Beqanna, for all the life that he did not get to experience. He peered down from the clouds, jumping skillfully from dream to dream, molding and creating lovely things for his favorite strangers. He lingered amongst his favorite minds, casting their favorite memories in gentle sunsets and sunrises while he lurked from the shadows—always watching and never experiencing.
Was there ever truly a time he wasn’t angry? He is useless in this world, save for the sharp curve of his gleaming horn—he is useless.
He cannot remember such softness now. Where Lan once wielded gentility, now he waits until night to sling shadows and build monsters. He is a thing of pain, a creature of anger, welded in the hottest pits of fury’s hearths. Aching with it, seething with it, burning with it: he is but smoke and ash, choking and noxious. He might pity those that encounter him if he was aware of the carnage he now left in his wake.
There was only one night he was left vulnerable, met with the soft blackness of a sweet doe. Were he to meet the living skeleton then, he might quiver with fear. Instead, sweating and exhilarated after a night of taking his anger out on any that he could find, he finds her existence fascinating. Perhaps fuel for more nightmares, though she carries a peacefulness he finds quite opposite her physical body.
“Lovely dawn,” Lannister growls, black tail swinging back and forth against his hocks. He settles at Azure’s side, maroon head dipping in greeting as he watches her from the corner of his eye. “Lannister,” he adds, almost as if forcing himself to be polite. “You are?” follows quickly, back to the rough, demanding hum.
Was there ever truly a time he wasn’t angry? He is useless in this world, save for the sharp curve of his gleaming horn—he is useless.
He cannot remember such softness now. Where Lan once wielded gentility, now he waits until night to sling shadows and build monsters. He is a thing of pain, a creature of anger, welded in the hottest pits of fury’s hearths. Aching with it, seething with it, burning with it: he is but smoke and ash, choking and noxious. He might pity those that encounter him if he was aware of the carnage he now left in his wake.
There was only one night he was left vulnerable, met with the soft blackness of a sweet doe. Were he to meet the living skeleton then, he might quiver with fear. Instead, sweating and exhilarated after a night of taking his anger out on any that he could find, he finds her existence fascinating. Perhaps fuel for more nightmares, though she carries a peacefulness he finds quite opposite her physical body.
“Lovely dawn,” Lannister growls, black tail swinging back and forth against his hocks. He settles at Azure’s side, maroon head dipping in greeting as he watches her from the corner of his eye. “Lannister,” he adds, almost as if forcing himself to be polite. “You are?” follows quickly, back to the rough, demanding hum.
lannister
@Azure