the Rift


[PRIVATE] Something Out of the Blue

Circe Posts: 101
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE
M.E.
#1
Circe


It was suffocating, watching the blue flames of the gods. For in the deepest recesses of the shadowmere’s heart, something had broken-- was breaking, falling to pieces in some void. She didn’t know how to stop it, or indeed, what was happening to her. Her head swam constantly; her knees threatened to tremble at the slightest provocation; she seemed always on the precipice of tears, her eyes ever bright with unshed tears.

She watched the flames with a constricting sense of loss and shame, for she imagined that she would have liked to have taken her sons here, to see the glory of the gods she never honored. Now, however, she had no clue as to their whereabouts; it was a searing knife in her throat and heartstrings, to know that she had abandoned her children amidst the cloud of poisoned apples and a dark, drunken night with a drunken stranger. Even though she had escaped from that encounter unscathed, something unwholesome still lingered about the shadowmere, something unclean in her limbs and her innermost person, sapping her strength, quenching the warrior’s fire in her breast. No longer did the former Executioner exist within that thin-skinned mare; no, she was only a mother and a lover now, and a failure in both respects.

Archibald, she thought heavily, and she sighed deeply, her breath shuddering as it slipped passed her lips. How could you ever see me like this…? Maybe once she was a fierce thing, a roguish hellcat with sharp fangs and even sharper claws to match. Maybe once before, yet no longer. Not this husk of a thing; a quivering little ghost of her former self, weakened and afraid and so very much abashed with her own snow-flecked reflection.

She tried to huff heavily, as she often did, as though some dark cloud lingered in her breast that could be expelled with an especially fierce snort. Yet though she tried and tried before, all it did was make her throat sore and her face even heavier than before, for this was a spiritual affliction, not a sickness of the flesh. She stalked the bridge of the gods, her tail weaving slowly behind her, a drained serpent of melancholy, as she continued to gaze into the blue flames of holy blood and wonder about her lost children, the stallion whose shadow she craved, whose eyes she feared to fall upon her…



@[Archibald]





Archibald the Dauntless Posts: 386
Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD
Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip Time
#2


nothing can compare in this world to you

She would be two now, Loretta. My daughter, she would be two years old. Archibald noted restlessly to his companion, his ears twitching softly as the cool Orangemoon breeze bit them. Loretta, not knowing how to comfort her bondmate and master, stayed silent, padding gently next to him without a sound at all. The pair moved like smoke across the land, making their way towards the shrines that once stood so proudly, waiting to be prayed to and kneeled before. Now, however, the shrines of each god were nothing more than ruin, reflecting the blue essence of the churning fires beneath them. Archibald pressed on, despite the real presence he felt of the gods on the island, towards a more solemn place. He needed it now, a quiet place of shelter to mourn his fallen bird without judgement on his strength. The behemoth's golden eyes were dark, their fierceness lost in a mask of sorrow and quiet. Loretta, feeling Archibald's growing need to find solitude, whined slightly before turning her heel to bound away. She would do her own mourning, connected to the brute only by their spiritual bond. Like she loved the strong sons that roamed this earth, the bitch loved the stillborn filly as if it had been her own pup. Knowing she was gone but making no gesture of it, the Captain continued his path.

No scent warned him of her presence, of her ghost, all burned away by the sheer magnitude of the ocean hued lava. It was only when he lifted his eyes did he stop--and gasp sharply. Before him stood a phantom, a blue-grey statue that was his. Sunken and sharp at her points, Circe was mere meters away from his touch. Surprise swarmed his chest and relief filled his lungs. Ever muscle in his body screamed to gallop, to close the distance to his bride and engulf her in all of himself. He could not will his limbs to take flight, however, his feathered feet planting themselves. What would she say of him? Twice now had he left her alone in the wilderness, a time past where he scouted the wilds of the north, and just months prior to this moment when he ventured into the World's Edge and fought for his position and glory among their hierarchy. Would she slash him as their son had done, verbally release her anger and hurt? No. Circe was more than that.

Circe was love.

Finally, Archibald lifted his hooves to press onwards. "My dearest Circe," He started, just fox lengths from her blue-grey figure. Normally unreadable golden eyes swam with emotions that the shadowmere had a gift for perceiving. Gently, slowly, fighting himself from throwing her into the curve of his neck, under his protective and strong hold, Archibald touched his muzzle to her shoulder, nuzzling her affectionately and carefully.




Image Credits


@[Circe]


Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.


please tag me

Circe Posts: 101
Deceased
Mare :: Unicorn :: 16hh :: 5 Buff: NOVICE
M.E.
#3
Circe


He spoke softly, his voice as gentle as thistledown on the wind; it rang forth regardless, reverberating throughout the shadowmere’s body as though the very earth were struck beneath her hooves: the tolling of a giant’s chime. She shivers, involuntarily; warmth spreads throughout her body at the sound of his baritone, but it’s a betraying sort of warmth, the sort that belies the fear in her breast that rises in her at the approach of his shadow. The thing she had been longing for she had also dreaded and the heat of her passion battled with the chill of despair.

Her skin twitched somewhat as he touched her, a touch she coveted. Her whole form seemed to twist in some reflex, her head turning towards him somewhat even though her eyes remained away from him, as though she subconsciously yearned to reach out and return his touch. Yet Circe dared not make such a move; some inner sense of shame prevented the shadowmere from indulging in such a welcome luxury: how dare she seek his comfort? Did she not abandon both his side and his children? Her eyes feared to look upon him; they wandered across the land of blue fire, and she vaguely noted a strange sort of billowing fog that clung to the edges of the cliff-face—it was so voluminous and clustered in itself, one could almost call it a cloud of sorts…


Circe took a shuddering breath, her breast aching to touch him in return, to burrow herself within his chest and neck, to hide away in his shadow—she did none of those things. It would be shameful indeed if she chose to lose all semblance of self-control in front of her dearest General. “Abraham…” she whispered huskily, “Reginald…” Her voice floundered somewhat; finally dull blue eyes looked upward through dark lashes, pleadingly into the face of her lover. “Are they….” She couldn’t finish her thought. It trailed to dust passed her lips, unable to complete the idea of her sons harmed or maimed in some way; her darling children scorning their mother as lost cherubs of detestation for their dam. She feared the possibility that her children might hate her for her failures—or, worse, they were brought low, struck down, and that she had been absent to protect them…



@[Archibald]





Archibald the Dauntless Posts: 386
Absent Abyss atk: 6.0 | def: 9.5 | dam: 8
Stallion :: Equine :: 18.3 hh :: 10 years HP: 80 | Buff: SHIELD
Loretta :: Alaskan Malamute :: Time Slip Time
#4


nothing can compare in this world to you

The mare was cold. She did not touch him, and her body twitched at his touch. Was she disgusted in him for leaving? He did not blame her, for this was his second act of abandoning her. First, while ranked under the Windtossed Foothills, the once General had gone off to scout the north--for reasons unknown to all but him and his commander of the time, Ktulu. He had returned for her and her alone, Circe, and now he was with her again.

But was this enough to bridge the gap that he had thoughtlessly created?

Archibald was a beast of duty--bred and born to be a leading vessel of combat. He damned his mother for this. Damned her, wherever she was in the afterlife that he had so dutifully bestowed upon her. He damned her for not teaching him what he needed to know in this area. He knew how to communicate his ideas and plans, his orders, but not how to negotiate with his wife. What was wrong with him?

Mares are a distraction, Archibald. Do not lose your mind for pussy. His mother's words rang in the back of his mind and bile lifted in his throat. The words were harsh, and they rang the opposite of what this was before him, before Circe, before the gods. This was love.

She finally spoke, her words soft and choked. It was when her voice was swallowed by his ears when he understood--Circe was not angry at him, she did not hate him--she was scared. Closing the distance between them roughly, the Dauntless arched his neck and pulled the mare in close to him, into the crook of his neck, protected by the bulging muscle that she did enjoy so much. "Shhh. They are safe. Abraham has his dragon, and Reginald just sought me in the Edge in search of you. Be still, my darling, they are safe." His voice was taught, full of emotion he dared not spill.

The clouds, the clouds he had ridden to the Insula, where he was returning to when he stumbled upon his mate, seemed to grow more active as the pair connected.




Image Credits


@[Circe]


Through the ages of time
I've been known for my hate,
but I'm a dealer of simple choices;
for me it's never too late.


please tag me


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