!! Get Yourself Together

[PRIVATE] !! Get Yourself Together

Rasta Posts: 305

Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3

Mare :: Equine :: 14.1hh :: six (ages in Tallsun) HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE

Ettore :: Red-Tailed Hawk :: None Abba

01-26-2014, 01:37 AM (This post was last modified: 01-26-2014, 01:38 AM by Rasta.)

He seemed to just stare at me, thinking that I was insane for shoving it closer to him. But it wouldn't look good on me. It wouldn't look right. I wasn't meant for trinkets. I wasn't meant to be prettied. I wasn't meant for it. If I was adorned in more special things then I wouldn't be more capable of being broken. More of me could be shattered - more things could dig into me and break me up.

I wasn't meant to look pretty. I was meant to be dull and broken. I was meant to be that thing on the sidelines that few ever looked at. My flaws were meant to be pointed out because otherwise, how could someone love me. No. They had to see all my flaws, they had to be able to get past them if they could ever consider liking me enough to even be around me. After all, I was kinda like a plague - something that sickened others.

But, I tried to force those thoughts from my skull as he lowered his head and allowed me slip the necklace with the amulet over his cranium. And, once it was secured behind his ears he shook his neck so that it settled against his chest. A tiny smile spread across my lips as I saw it rest against his muscled chest and the two words slid from his mouth. His muzzle brushed against my cheek and my audits flicked forward, glad that he was accepting it. There was a small smile that curled the corners of his mouth as he stepped in closer to me and hooked his neck across mine. I allowed him to pull my frame up against his chest as tightly as he wished, my back pressing up against his shoulder and bearing just enough weight that I don't have to feel the odd decompression of weight as my spine seems to rest on two completely different levels sending random shocks of pain down my back.

Quietly, I peer up toward him and tilt my head to the side ever so slightly. Did he like it? Did he understand that I couldn't take it? That I couldn't allow myself to be carrying something that could hurt me even more? I was meant to be broken. I was meant to be that punching bag. I was meant to be wrong. I was meant to be the toy that couldn't be fixed. Having nice adornments meant that I wasn't - it would be a lie. Did he understand that?