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01-05-2014, 06:37 AM
This is a dark place.
The voice, the thought, was Irma's, oddly clear in the rising and falling tide of their bond. They seldom spoke in literal words, shared more of a feeling, a concept, images and scents and ideas—but whenever she spoke in his mind, in his heart, it was like a draft of cold air, a faraway whisper gently stirring the dust. It sent a slight shiver down his spine. She smelled what he did as the wind blew through the darkening forest, its keening through hollow trees accompanied by a rotten, dark tang. Indeed, he replied, watching the distracting play of Aurelia's silver hair. The bark etched with symbols, the blood-red pool.. the smell of something dead and forgotten, a dark mystery. There were, certainly, better places to be, but strangely enough, he still wasn't afraid. Wary? Alert? Yes. But Mauja had long since learned to fear mortals, for they were the illogical, irrational beings who waged the most wars, and if the beasts of darkness waged wars, they seldom did it upon the mortals.
She was watching him, though less intensely, at the time of his blurted, odd apology. Everything about her seemed so at odds with itself; one moment she was begging for pity, for recognition, some kind of justification, and in the next, trying to shove it all back down the dark hole it came from. Don't be she said and Mauja tilted his head gently to one side, white forelock sliding off the broad bridge of his nose to hand down by his eye, a white veil between him and the world. He couldn't quite understand it. Did she want his pity, his attention, but knew it to be.. wrong? Childish, perhaps? And so fought against herself? "But I am," he said, gently, trying to find the words to match what he felt within. "Because right now, part of it is my fault, but nothing I can do anything about. And for that, I am sorry." Because it's all I can be.
[ this post wanted to be short. so it is. :3 ]
The voice, the thought, was Irma's, oddly clear in the rising and falling tide of their bond. They seldom spoke in literal words, shared more of a feeling, a concept, images and scents and ideas—but whenever she spoke in his mind, in his heart, it was like a draft of cold air, a faraway whisper gently stirring the dust. It sent a slight shiver down his spine. She smelled what he did as the wind blew through the darkening forest, its keening through hollow trees accompanied by a rotten, dark tang. Indeed, he replied, watching the distracting play of Aurelia's silver hair. The bark etched with symbols, the blood-red pool.. the smell of something dead and forgotten, a dark mystery. There were, certainly, better places to be, but strangely enough, he still wasn't afraid. Wary? Alert? Yes. But Mauja had long since learned to fear mortals, for they were the illogical, irrational beings who waged the most wars, and if the beasts of darkness waged wars, they seldom did it upon the mortals.
She was watching him, though less intensely, at the time of his blurted, odd apology. Everything about her seemed so at odds with itself; one moment she was begging for pity, for recognition, some kind of justification, and in the next, trying to shove it all back down the dark hole it came from. Don't be she said and Mauja tilted his head gently to one side, white forelock sliding off the broad bridge of his nose to hand down by his eye, a white veil between him and the world. He couldn't quite understand it. Did she want his pity, his attention, but knew it to be.. wrong? Childish, perhaps? And so fought against herself? "But I am," he said, gently, trying to find the words to match what he felt within. "Because right now, part of it is my fault, but nothing I can do anything about. And for that, I am sorry." Because it's all I can be.
[ this post wanted to be short. so it is. :3 ]
Mauja
must keep those black wings folded until the time is right
