round and round [lakota]

[PRIVATE] round and round [lakota]

Lakota the Poisoner Posts: 278

Deceased atk: 5.5 | def: 9.0 | dam: 4.5

Mare :: Equine :: 15.1hh :: 7 Years HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE

Aodaun :: Polar Bear :: Terrorize Brit

11-01-2013, 09:41 PM (This post was last modified: 11-01-2013, 09:46 PM by Lakota.)

Lakota
Her smile makes you wonder where she's been

Free from the electric state of Ktulu's gaze only when the cherry empress drops her lips to nuzzle the crown of her princeling, Lakota breathes a lungful of air she hadn't been aware she'd been missing. Briefly her mind grapples with the fact that she can't comprehend why she stays, when her heart is in turmoil and her body is seconds away from trembling. Ao stands like a silent stone guardian at her side, all frost and tundra winds, cold lime eyes unwavering as they pin Eytan and Ktulu in his sights. Not trust... he growls softly in her head, a rumble of protective instincts and love. Do not do this, please. I have to trust her, I always have, she urges quietly, and watches as a pair of snowy ears flatten to his cranium unhappily. Hurt once, will do again. Lakota closes her eyes briefly, and, realizing Ktulu was still engaged with Eytan, dropped her own head to her beloved. He turned his pale face to press his cold nose to the side of her muzzle, and she gave a soft, hitched breath. I know. We do foolish things for love, little prince.

The objection he nearly voices is tangible in her head, but she says nothing, because Ktulu is turning to pin her with deep red diamonds. Such a familiar, comforting view, and yet she felt anything but. How long had Ktulu been gone? Surely not that long? So why did Lakota feel like a total stranger around the one mare who had ever gotten as close to her as her family had? In her head, a mantra began; I have to trust her, I have to trust her. How many times had her trust, and heart, been shattered by that very damsel though? She had blessed the daughter of the woman opposite her, a child of gold that never could have come from the maiden painted in colors of sorrow and depression. Had she not seen the loving embrace between the two? The pride in Ktulu's eyes when Midas came to visit, when Ranjiri stood at her side? When Hototo bravely stepped into his father's shoes for the better of Helovia?

At the reminders her eyes went a little duller, heart throbbing around the arrow she had twisted so stupidly inside herself. Was this not supposed to be a happy reunion? Why did they both appear to be so somber and heartbroken? If anyone were to peer in from the outside on their little meeting, they would probably assume they were discussing the parting of a good friend from the world of the living. It brings back, harshly, the reminder that Ktulu's uncle, Donovan, had been killed. Not the smartest thing she'd ever thought, but at least Ktulu was not privy to that kind of information.

It didn't mean she couldn't tell the look upon her face though, for Lakota's walkers paused upon the earth just a few steps away from touching. Look, but don't touch, she reminded herself sadly, Midas' glowing, happy face a painful image in her eyes. Ktulu nodded her head slowly, as if lost in a daze, and when she looked into those bloody albino orbs she could sense the destruction of the other mare's soul. Lakota had been at her heel since her entrance into Helovia- she knew every nuance of the maiden's private language, and yet never flaunted it. Now, she wished she wasn't so fluent.

"Of course I do," she whimpered, and worked her throat with a few swallows at the awful, pathetic sound. Aodaun stood and walked with her, but this time remained on all fours, massive paws hard on the earth as he stood aligned with her shoulder. Warm body pressed to her leg, sure and strong, reminding her he was there. It was enough to still the quiver in her voice. "It does not change things, Ktulu...you are still enamored with a stallion I hardly know, with a daughter to share, and I...well, I'm nothing but a shadow." Violet irises harden, cold as stone, but it's obvious that it's just a front. A facade. A desperate attempt to keep herself from showing the pain and sorrow she inflicted upon herself with her own words. It was better to appear strong, than to show just how much it hurt to know she really was just a passing fancy. A memory. A tendril of thought, black smoke on an ever-changing breeze.

Your Poisoner. Huh. Well. Life is a box of chocolates, and I've poisoned every single one. Including you.