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somebody shine a light
I'm frozen by the fear in me
I'm frozen by the fear in me
She touched him.
Her plush muzzle brushing lightly against the rigid planes of a snowy shoulder, pressing briefly against the taut mess of sinews and stiff muscle. And in that moment, he knew that it was over. He didn't know why it was always Myrrine—was she simply keener than the rest? Or had the lack of fortune to always land him in the middle of a subject he didn't care for? Or did everyone read him like a book, but knew that he tried to hide it, and politely obeyed the rules of the social game? Either he fooled them, or he didn't, but they let him be, buried in his ice. But Myrrine never did. Myrrine always turned her clear hazel eyes on him, saw the shield laying over his eyes and knew that it wasn't the bottom of his soul. She knew that there was more beneath it, and for some reason, she wanted that. She wanted to lure it to the surface, and if that failed, she just brought up a figurative lance and jabbed him in the eye, hoping to get through his fragile, crumbling defenses.
She pulled back, and rather quickly too, but he knew that she knew but even so there was nothing he could do; he couldn't just breathe out and relax because she knew he was a fucking mess. No. He just stood there, his eyes as pale as ever, dark muzzle against her thin neck, breaths just a tad too deep and slow to be convincingly relaxed.
Though, he didn't know whether to be relieved or not that she didn't pounce on him then and there—ever since that day on the beach, she had shown curiosity about the Mauja-beneath-the-shield, and this.. this.. now it just hung over him, because any moment she'd turn back upon him and say 'what the fuck is wrong with you?'. So, he actually closed his eyes, listening to her response, to her gentle chiding, and he would've flinched at her touch had he not already been so tense. And no, maybe it wasn't the best question, but it was a question that damn well begged asking; for all that he knew, the last time she'd seen this Cerin he could've been dragged away by angry demonic bears! Which, naturally, drastically lowered his chances of still being alive.
"Sometimes they leave you because they have to," he found himself saying before he knew it, thinking of the green, bamboo forest and the sight of his best friend walking away from the wreckage which had been his daughter, "and it didn't have anything to do with you." But he didn't really have the chance to elaborate, to get lost in the winding maze of his own heart-crushing memories,
because there it came, the thing he had been waiting for, and it was so much more pitiful than he had expected.
"Why are you so nervous Mauja? You can trust me... can't you?"
Trust. So it was about trust, and not about fear, not about the way his heart was shrieking just beneath his skin and the blood sang in his veins, and he felt fucking light because his hooves wanted to take off and leave this earth and never come back to its dirty, filthy, greedy, grubby surface. His eyes, still closed, pressed shut harder.
"It's not about you," it's more about me. She came asking for advice, and it turned out to be about that thing, and what was he supposed to do then? Tell her to go find someone else to get advice from, because he didn't want to think about this particular thing? Because he had avoided thinking about it for so long that now it was just an instant fear response? And anyway, if he went full-out honest, wouldn't she just blame herself even more? Thinking she'd tricked whoever it was into doing bad deeds with her and that it left him, too, with PTSD? Or think herself even worse and filthier for having done it? She had expressed regret, guilt, shame, but it seemed more keyed in to the whole I-betrayed-Cerin thing and less with I-did-the-thing.
"This.. brings up.. memories. Thoughts." He spoke through gritted teeth, flailing about in the darkness, looking for the best way to explain it without explaining it at all. And, at the same time, wondering why the fuck he was even trying because who was she to him—
But that was the kind of thing he didn't want to think. He was done with lashing out in fear, if he could avoid it. "Conflicts which are very .. real, to me. Haunting. And it's just—" His snowy neck bent, head turning away, eyes still shut as he fought down the urge to say 'if you love Cerin, don't fuck him'.
"—overpowering."
[ @Myrrine ]
Her plush muzzle brushing lightly against the rigid planes of a snowy shoulder, pressing briefly against the taut mess of sinews and stiff muscle. And in that moment, he knew that it was over. He didn't know why it was always Myrrine—was she simply keener than the rest? Or had the lack of fortune to always land him in the middle of a subject he didn't care for? Or did everyone read him like a book, but knew that he tried to hide it, and politely obeyed the rules of the social game? Either he fooled them, or he didn't, but they let him be, buried in his ice. But Myrrine never did. Myrrine always turned her clear hazel eyes on him, saw the shield laying over his eyes and knew that it wasn't the bottom of his soul. She knew that there was more beneath it, and for some reason, she wanted that. She wanted to lure it to the surface, and if that failed, she just brought up a figurative lance and jabbed him in the eye, hoping to get through his fragile, crumbling defenses.
She pulled back, and rather quickly too, but he knew that she knew but even so there was nothing he could do; he couldn't just breathe out and relax because she knew he was a fucking mess. No. He just stood there, his eyes as pale as ever, dark muzzle against her thin neck, breaths just a tad too deep and slow to be convincingly relaxed.
Though, he didn't know whether to be relieved or not that she didn't pounce on him then and there—ever since that day on the beach, she had shown curiosity about the Mauja-beneath-the-shield, and this.. this.. now it just hung over him, because any moment she'd turn back upon him and say 'what the fuck is wrong with you?'. So, he actually closed his eyes, listening to her response, to her gentle chiding, and he would've flinched at her touch had he not already been so tense. And no, maybe it wasn't the best question, but it was a question that damn well begged asking; for all that he knew, the last time she'd seen this Cerin he could've been dragged away by angry demonic bears! Which, naturally, drastically lowered his chances of still being alive.
"Sometimes they leave you because they have to," he found himself saying before he knew it, thinking of the green, bamboo forest and the sight of his best friend walking away from the wreckage which had been his daughter, "and it didn't have anything to do with you." But he didn't really have the chance to elaborate, to get lost in the winding maze of his own heart-crushing memories,
because there it came, the thing he had been waiting for, and it was so much more pitiful than he had expected.
"Why are you so nervous Mauja? You can trust me... can't you?"
Trust. So it was about trust, and not about fear, not about the way his heart was shrieking just beneath his skin and the blood sang in his veins, and he felt fucking light because his hooves wanted to take off and leave this earth and never come back to its dirty, filthy, greedy, grubby surface. His eyes, still closed, pressed shut harder.
"It's not about you," it's more about me. She came asking for advice, and it turned out to be about that thing, and what was he supposed to do then? Tell her to go find someone else to get advice from, because he didn't want to think about this particular thing? Because he had avoided thinking about it for so long that now it was just an instant fear response? And anyway, if he went full-out honest, wouldn't she just blame herself even more? Thinking she'd tricked whoever it was into doing bad deeds with her and that it left him, too, with PTSD? Or think herself even worse and filthier for having done it? She had expressed regret, guilt, shame, but it seemed more keyed in to the whole I-betrayed-Cerin thing and less with I-did-the-thing.
"This.. brings up.. memories. Thoughts." He spoke through gritted teeth, flailing about in the darkness, looking for the best way to explain it without explaining it at all. And, at the same time, wondering why the fuck he was even trying because who was she to him—
But that was the kind of thing he didn't want to think. He was done with lashing out in fear, if he could avoid it. "Conflicts which are very .. real, to me. Haunting. And it's just—" His snowy neck bent, head turning away, eyes still shut as he fought down the urge to say 'if you love Cerin, don't fuck him'.
"—overpowering."
[ @Myrrine ]
somebody make me feel alive
and shatter me
and shatter me
