The yearn of Beauty [Any]

[OPEN] The yearn of Beauty [Any]

Reginald Posts: 165

Hidden Account atk: 4 | def: 7.5 | dam: 7

Stallion :: Hybrid :: 17.1 hh :: 3 HP: 64 | Buff: NOVICE

Ka'Mate :: Harpy Eagle :: None & Ka'Ora :: Harpy Eagle :: None M.E.

#10

11-26-2013, 03:04 PM

_{Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy} Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

[Sorry for the wait!]

Her futile sense of justice seems to persevere. Reginald can see the desperate pull in her face, though she does not cry. He wants her to so badly, but she doesn’t, and an inkling of anger threatens to break into his sick amusement. “There is no ‘between us’,” Reginald sneers, in response to her blubbering words, “We aren’t on the same level. I am separate from you, because I’m better.”

The anger rises; the fury sneaks closer to his brain, away from the hidden churning in his breast. His good mood has started to evaporate with her valiant efforts to deny him his wish—to see her break down in the despair of a petty disappointment. He could have understood her better. The dark prince could have related to this lost little lamb, this fallen angel; they were creatures of imperfection, innocents to a cruel world. They could have been each other; she could be gazing upon him with liquid eyes of silver, and he could be standing there, his eyes puffy and red, wondering why he wasn’t blessed with beauty from birth.

The wrath of the grey-eyed colt denies this understanding from its fruition. He hates—and so he hates her, and her unwillingness to bend to his will. How dare she deny him her tears! He demands them. He wants to see her fall.

“You’ve got some dirt in your mane,” he whispers on a mocking tongue, almost crooning, continuing his slow revolution of her body. He pauses, opposite from the shore of the lover’s lake; his chest clenches, his quarters furl; the tiny beast launches himself toward her, aiming to crash into her, to throw her into the mirror-smooth waters of innocent affection. He does not posses the endurance of his brother, of his father--though power does grow within him, even in the brief bursts such as this. She will fall to him; she will bend to him, in some way, in some form. The frenzy of his anger demands it; the fever of his childish amusement begs. Fall for me.

"talk talk talk"