03-07-2022, 02:53 PM
i can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland --
She notices, too, that she is making him nervous.
That her initial uncertainty had been written too plainly on her face, and she can feel her chest begin to tighten. She was too new here. She did not understand all the different brands of magic, did not know that someone could wield something like fire without intending to use it for harm. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes to him in her soft, breathy tones, her light colored eyes alight with the worry that she has committed an irreversible offense. “I have never met anyone that could make fire. It—a lot of things—are new to me.”
As if to further prove that, his explanation of the desert spread before them elicits another confused stare from her. The single sentence is full almost entirely of words that make no sense to her: Pangea, Carnage, Dark God. Wordlessly, she shakes her head, almost ashamed to admit that she isn’t sure what he’s saying. It was spoken as if he expected her to know, as if she was ignorant to some knowledge that everyone else already knew. “I’m not from here,” she says quietly, uncertaintly finding his gaze from behind a wispy curtain of blush-pink forelock, hoping that her explanation will earn her the forgiveness she thinks she is seeking.
When he offers his own name she feels the knot in her chest loosen just slightly, a quiet sigh breathing past her lips when she gives him hers in return. “Allaire. My name is Allaire.”
She tears her gaze from him — from the fire that dances over his skin, as if the jaguar-spots are embers—to look back at the desert. “You said it was made by a Dark God,” she begins, trying to think of how to phrase the questions that are blooming inside of her in such a way that she will not offend him anymore than she already has. “But what does that mean?”
She notices, too, that she is making him nervous.
That her initial uncertainty had been written too plainly on her face, and she can feel her chest begin to tighten. She was too new here. She did not understand all the different brands of magic, did not know that someone could wield something like fire without intending to use it for harm. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes to him in her soft, breathy tones, her light colored eyes alight with the worry that she has committed an irreversible offense. “I have never met anyone that could make fire. It—a lot of things—are new to me.”
As if to further prove that, his explanation of the desert spread before them elicits another confused stare from her. The single sentence is full almost entirely of words that make no sense to her: Pangea, Carnage, Dark God. Wordlessly, she shakes her head, almost ashamed to admit that she isn’t sure what he’s saying. It was spoken as if he expected her to know, as if she was ignorant to some knowledge that everyone else already knew. “I’m not from here,” she says quietly, uncertaintly finding his gaze from behind a wispy curtain of blush-pink forelock, hoping that her explanation will earn her the forgiveness she thinks she is seeking.
When he offers his own name she feels the knot in her chest loosen just slightly, a quiet sigh breathing past her lips when she gives him hers in return. “Allaire. My name is Allaire.”
She tears her gaze from him — from the fire that dances over his skin, as if the jaguar-spots are embers—to look back at the desert. “You said it was made by a Dark God,” she begins, trying to think of how to phrase the questions that are blooming inside of her in such a way that she will not offend him anymore than she already has. “But what does that mean?”
-- my house of stone, your ivy grows, and now i’m covered in you
allaire.
@Fyr