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09-19-2015, 12:22 PM
He watched, silent and forbidding in the deeper annals of the forest, where the vines curved and the swallows ceased their songs; where the quiet was more than listlessness. A crueler, manipulative foil to his being yearned to see some snippet, some spark, of fear whisper over her features, the touches and fringes of exploitation covering his brow – but another portion of his soul fought for her strength and endurance. While Orsino chuckled, he studied, a manifest of examination and scrutiny, allowing his eyes to wander along the wistful edges painted upon her canvas, the keen, soft chords of nostalgia (even at his young age he knew the poignant sting of memories, the ghosts of gold and lace, a murderer’s heartless rampage, a companion’s sullen end – a bitter taste of what life had to offer, and what he’d like to bestow in return). But those strokes wither away too, hide behind the lingering folds of a smile, and he knew better than to believe in its pretenses – after all, he hid so many things behind his menacing grins and his impish airs. The prince wore mischief like the winter wore white, but there was always more, more, more, tangled in the depths of his mind (sweet, acrid deception, the lingering bits of power, the ability, the tenacity, to unwind, unfurl, uncoil sanguine smiles and petulant dreams); he had no doubt Enna was the same. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed her essence, her hushed, regal shell, tucked and hidden and locked away so one day he could pluck each enigma away and seek the devilish qualities immersed amidst her layers. He just wouldn’t offer her the same. Too selfish, too greedy, too eager and ready to take on the world, waiting for the realms to view his power, glow with his strength, build from his resolution. His ambitions were vivid and real and striking; he knew naught of hers. Erebos almost asked her of Ama, of these names and faces not belonging to his memories, but she continued, smirking, and he managed to conjure his own wild, debonair snicker too, sharing the sensibilities, the qualities, of cretins and fiends all over again. They could be ruffians on a siege, laying back and staring at the wide-open canvas of dark, clustered trees, pondering how to take over each and every kingdom – and he’d laugh and laugh and laugh while she skewered the innocent and the virtuous. Instead, he leaned closer, incapable of hiding the swift grin and the winsome charisma, listening to Orsino bellow through his mind, chuckling in a rapid, manic decorum. He chuckled, mocking and masculine, wrapped up in the juvenile marks of a boy and all his splendor, all his rapture, all his reveries, thinking it was delightful to face fears and conquer them one by one. The brilliant sheen of his stare met hers, compelling and magnetic, voice crooning a beguiling, alluring tone: a practice in indulgence, a slave to curiosity. His leonine tail lightly stroked one of the bushes nearby, a devilish curl of his smile reveling in demonstrative glee. “What did the shadows hide?” What lurked in corners, behind columns, down past rubble and ruin, familiar pathways lined with secrets and surprises? He liked to believe it’d be him some day, traipsing over immoral iniquities, brandishing a smile and watching the world flee (but at the same time – wouldn’t it be even more amusing to grin and grin and grin, the throng never noticing the curl of one’s hand, the potency of one’s invocations, the plunge of one’s ambitions?). But maybe he was a touch too eager, a caress too fervent, to witness the world burn at his movements, at his motions, at the marionette strings dancing their morbid waltz. Perhaps everything was a mere ruse, and he’d be the last to realize. OOC;; --- TAG;; @[ ] "talk talk talk" |
- table by Niki -
@Enna
