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She felt far too old and far too brittle to be committing these murderous acts. She had killed her family time and time again, bringing a sharp blade down upon their chances at happiness. At times Essetia considered herself a masochist. Opportunities that were so often served to her on lifelike silver platters always transformed into ashes of her own making, her fires setting everything around her ablaze. Even when the tears began to stream down her face, the soft firelight casting an evening glow across her blurring vision, she couldn't find reason enough to change the way she behaved. Somehow the pain soothed the petty aches in her broken, guarded heart.
Following the narrow path of wolf prints toward the Flats felt unnatural and somehow frightening. Instead of returning to lands of old, ones dear to her soul, Essetia found herself stealing away in the night, skittish and cautious of where and with whom she ended up. The former spy was not disillusioned about her asinine decisions to take flight when she should have stayed to fight, but time had already been mended. Her clock had long since been erased.
As Romul wandered ahead of them both, Essetia was content enough to daydream about days that were now too far away. While she did so, she carefully traced the outline of her companion’s shoulders and the way they rose and fell with each tentative step. Time had worn the arctic wolf despite Essetia’s silent pleas for him to remain young and carefree forever. In some ways his aging was her fault, she could tell from the hardening lines around his gold-blushed eyes, but age had done just as much to change them both, which was why she didn’t linger on the worries for long.
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She felt far too old and far too brittle to be committing these murderous acts. She had killed her family time and time again, bringing a sharp blade down upon their chances at happiness. At times Essetia considered herself a masochist. Opportunities that were so often served to her on lifelike silver platters always transformed into ashes of her own making, her fires setting everything around her ablaze. Even when the tears began to stream down her face, the soft firelight casting an evening glow across her blurring vision, she couldn't find reason enough to change the way she behaved. Somehow the pain soothed the petty aches in her broken, guarded heart.
Following the narrow path of wolf prints toward the Flats felt unnatural and somehow frightening. Instead of returning to lands of old, ones dear to her soul, Essetia found herself stealing away in the night, skittish and cautious of where and with whom she ended up. The former spy was not disillusioned about her asinine decisions to take flight when she should have stayed to fight, but time had already been mended. Her clock had long since been erased.
As Romul wandered ahead of them both, Essetia was content enough to daydream about days that were now too far away. While she did so, she carefully traced the outline of her companion’s shoulders and the way they rose and fell with each tentative step. Time had worn the arctic wolf despite Essetia’s silent pleas for him to remain young and carefree forever. In some ways his aging was her fault, she could tell from the hardening lines around his gold-blushed eyes, but age had done just as much to change them both, which was why she didn’t linger on the worries for long.
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