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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


    [open]  I'm on fire but I'm trying not to show it;
    #1

    I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
    tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife


    Again, he is changed.
    His body is not his, it is a thing to be warped, colored, stretched. A boy who was born black and traitless – like his father -
    (like the father who stayed, at least)
    is now a slick purple stallion with wings jutting from his shoulders, and with something thick and oily under his skin. He didn’t know, at first, how his time in the storm had changed him. Powers had fritzed through his body ever since the eclipse, electricity and acid, and he had used neither. But when he emerged from the storm, back into this broken, chaotic world, they were gone. In their place was something else, something twisted.
    The first time he changed it was unintentional, it was simply as if his body had opened up to drink the shadows down, and before he knew it, he was a shadow himself, twisted and strange.
    And then he wasn’t. Then he was Sleaze again.

    He can feel it, though. An itch under the skin. He wonders if it will quiet, in time, or if the shadow will claw its way out, consume him whole. It is not necessarily that Sleaze is afraid of dying – he had died in other worlds, he is more familiar with the ritual than some – but he is afraid of becoming something unknown, of losing himself to whatever changed inside him. Like drowning, but without the death.
    He shudders at the thought.
    He moves on through the forest. He misses the meadow, aches for it – the forest is so rife with shadow. This has never bothered him before, but now he feels all too aware of them, as if they have weight.
    But he moves on. He pretends his skin does not itch and that the wings have always been there. He pretends that the storm never surged through him, never changed him. He pretends he has only ever known this terrestrial world, and not a half-dozen others.
    Sleaze, you see, can be very good at pretending.

    Sleaze




    tl;dr - sleaze had a trait scrambled into shadow monster shifitng and that's his whole personality now i guess
    Reply
    #2
    zohariel
    Zohariel is young still, and has only known a world of change - so these last few years since the storm are strange to her. She is waiting for the next event - the tidal wave that will take the rest of Beqanna with it, the winter that will never end, the fire that chases them all into one extreme corner. She is not hoping for any of these things but at the same time they do not frighten her - because she has known this cataclysmic world and knows she, and her family, will survive it.

    All these major changes do not bother her because she does not believe anything, not even a large tornado, can harm her.

    She prefers the beaches and the places where the sky is unobstructed and she can feel the simple warmth of the sun or the invigorating presence of the night, but she slips into the forest today. There’s an instant sort of invigoration here under the shadows, something she tends to forget due to her preferences for those open spaces, and a sweet smile brightens her golden eyes as the stardust that wafts from her mane and tail glows a little brighter against the foliage that closes in around her.

    Like the storms, like the shifting landscape, Zohariel has no reason to ever believe shadows can harm her - they are, after all, her friends.

    She’s caught up in this dreamy world of hers when she spots him - the wings catching her attention first.

    So narrow her life experiences have been when such simple things call to her and feel larger and more important than they really are. The shadows and now wings, for she remembers so well the stories of how her mother had dreamed herself a pair so she could fly with her love.

    (Such dreams have not worked yet for young Zohariel, but then - she has not been in love and maybe that is the secret)

    These thoughts are not in her mind as she approaches - she is just curious in her naive way. As highlighted by the question she poses when she is close enough. “Do you ever get bits of trees tangled in your feathers?”


    @sleaze
    nothing says happy new year like replying to a post made in the summer
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