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It should've been summer by now (except it wasn't.) The world's reality had become stretched, shifting to snow on trees (dark, sharp and hard against gray clouds) and snow on soil; it seemed fitting to Nymeria. The winter of the world mirrored the winter in her heart.
Things were changing; she could feel it. So she told herself she would change with it, and not fall behind... except when she closed her eyes she didn't envision a happy future but instead felt a weight that didn't belong and a heaviness in her heart. Not so long ago she'd been sad and alone; now she could only dream of that tedious mundanity. Instead of steadily ascending the ladder of command she had stopped believing she could climb. Now her actions were only driven by a desire to be free of her tragedies and her nightmares.
Not everything is lost, Lilómiel told her. For a sad and too-short moment she imagined he was right; and then she laughed, bitter and mournful, shaking away her regrets. It was he who guided her now. Her foundations were shaken (her bones were splintered) and she (forever independent) could only rely on him.
So together they went hunting. Their bodies were hooks, baited and awaiting the only catch she could ever find in the Threshold.
Ahead, Lil instructed her. His wings fluttered, a soft and muted sound among the deadness of the trees. Red irises are obscured by a pirouette of black lashes. Velveteen lips press together, pink-lined nostrils quivering indelicately. The shadows lie thick and dark around her; they embrace her, swallow her, until only her stark white face remains. (She can still imagine a splatter of crimson blood across her forehead. She shudders.) Do we wait? Lilómiel doesn't answer. She decides they will wait, if only because she doesn't feel like moving.
There are hoofbeats drumming against the quiet.
There—his body marred with red, his horndripping blood, his eyes bright and blue. He is slender and graceful, a touch shorter than Nymeria. Nymeria watches him (hateful, mistrustful) before she steps free of the shadows as he whispers, letting a fake sincere earnest smile flourish across her mouth. "With me," she says (boldly, brightly.) "I'm Nymeria of the Hidden Falls. Are you new to Helovia?"
Things were changing; she could feel it. So she told herself she would change with it, and not fall behind... except when she closed her eyes she didn't envision a happy future but instead felt a weight that didn't belong and a heaviness in her heart. Not so long ago she'd been sad and alone; now she could only dream of that tedious mundanity. Instead of steadily ascending the ladder of command she had stopped believing she could climb. Now her actions were only driven by a desire to be free of her tragedies and her nightmares.
Not everything is lost, Lilómiel told her. For a sad and too-short moment she imagined he was right; and then she laughed, bitter and mournful, shaking away her regrets. It was he who guided her now. Her foundations were shaken (her bones were splintered) and she (
So together they went hunting. Their bodies were hooks, baited and awaiting the only catch she could ever find in the Threshold.
Ahead, Lil instructed her. His wings fluttered, a soft and muted sound among the deadness of the trees. Red irises are obscured by a pirouette of black lashes. Velveteen lips press together, pink-lined nostrils quivering indelicately. The shadows lie thick and dark around her; they embrace her, swallow her, until only her stark white face remains. (She can still imagine a splatter of crimson blood across her forehead. She shudders.) Do we wait? Lilómiel doesn't answer. She decides they will wait, if only because she doesn't feel like moving.
There are hoofbeats drumming against the quiet.
There—his body marred with red, his horn
Nymeria
table by neo ♥
@Sacre
Yes I lied, don't think about you all the time
All my switchblade words ain't aim to cut your sweet delusions
