Bellisma

”Offensive?” It had been so long since she had offended anyone. Indeed, she didn’t even know how to offend someone- well apparently she did. “Pain can be more than physical,” was all she said in response to his first words. Her eyes had grown dark, but the fire still smoldered in them. In fact, the little mare wasn’t sure if she preferred the physical to the mental torture- now that she had been free of both for a short while, she thought that the mental was worse. But if you had asked her while she was enduring the physical, she certainly would have chosen that as worse.

“It was never a question of blame…” she trailed off, now uncertain at her words and where she stood. Blame had never been the issue, it had always been a matter of survival. To her, it mattered not if the blow came from Qeddar, Rrazmik, or the jaws of wolves. What mattered was that the blow was not crippling, and hurt at little as possible. She shifted her weight backwards, thoughts turning inwards as her anger starts to crumble and she starts to visibly shrink in front of the stud.

Her anger faded more as he validated her thoughts, indeed a stallion like him would never be caged. It was only mares; small, alone, beautiful mares that were cursed with cages. Tuliped ears flick sideways at his admission to being a ‘madman.’ In her state of inner turmoil, a thought quietly escaped her hesitant lips, “You’re not like any madman I’ve met before…” The moment she said it, she seemed to want to swallow the words, eyes flickering around his face to see his reaction.

“Square one?” Since when was she in any squares. She left squares and cages behind! She wavered visibly, uncertain of what she should do- what did he expect of her? The back of her mind shrieked to run, sensing the danger that oozed from the pores of the blood bay stallion. She looked to the hound for answers, but found none in the seemingly bored and terrifying gaze.

Cautiously, she pinned her ears flush with her neck. Her head lowered, snaking slowly out, her teeth partially bared as she asked, “Is this- is this what you want from me?” Her body language was threatening, attacking even. But her eyes were wide, scared, and uncertain. And her voice was unsure as it chimed softly.

The mare should have run- should be running. But all her life she had pleased great and terrible men. Old habits die hard.


ooc| @[d'Artagnan] -facepalm- Bellisma just doesn't get it.