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03-29-2015, 06:50 AM
The colt had felt the surge of jealousy before. It was alive and well within his chest, a plunging knife, a scraping, gnarled howl, a building crescendo of monotonous torture (because there were some things he simply couldn’t have, but wanted, but craved, but yearned for – and to see another enjoying it was a heavy, vehement burden to bear). Sometimes it fed and festered, or withered and shrank, giving way to other toxic vices or distractions, never enticing him fully into its decadence; he was too passionate, too fervent, too determined and tenacious, grinding away at his desires, manifesting audacious tactics, ruses, plots and tricks, diving into impish delights to grasp what he coveted. His sharp, keen eyes, sometimes like his father’s (too deep, too penetrating, too piercing), sometimes like his mother’s (gentle, charismatic, understanding), narrowed for the briefest of moments, wondering if the spark of envy had crossed over the girl’s face, or if he was seeing a reflection of his own sentiments. The lithe, feral beast said naught of her planted smile, he didn’t indulge into the capricious, mercurial notions, she was allowed her secrets just as much as he was; his grin thereafter remained steadfast and gallant, gratified to hear Aithniel had made other companions (especially this interesting filly). Even if she was no longer in their midst – he didn’t know where she’d gone, only that her scent had grown stale, her wings no longer fluttered amidst the sky – the tiny infidel was satisfied, content, she’d managed to discover security, sanctuary, and refuge with others. He permitted only the slightest stoking of disappointment through his chest, because he’d sworn to protect her, because he’d sworn to be her companion, and she’d decided to leave, to flee, without telling him, without warning him, and he’d been left behind again, the blue prince in the icy castle. Perhaps his friendship wasn’t enough? Maybe she craved far more formidable creatures, like the filly who could morph into a raven, fly high into the sky, bear skulls and runes? A heady sense of bitterness, of rancorous edges and fringes waned over him, and he pushed it aside, leaving the forlorn, cumbersome weight for another day, another moment. His bright smile curled along his lips all over again, an ebullient ghost sparking over his tones. “I’m glad she’s made a friend like you.” Not a lie, not a fabrication, but a sense of pride filtering over his bones and weaving over his temple: and he imagined the three musketeers, all brandishing their swords again. Now he was the only one left in their Siberian kingdom, waiting, growing, blooming, gaining strength each and every day. He’d find them again in the future. Erebos focus and attention became enamored in more intriguing notions, for the girl divulged she had no name to give! He’d never heard of such a thing; he’d been christened and anointed with shadows at the moment of his birth, enjoyed using the title of shadows and darkness. It blended into the murky, sinister rhythms of his heritage, of his father’s overwhelming, overpowering nefariousness, hoping somehow, someway, he’d grow into its worth. Had the other child not been granted, bestowed, and proffered the same? The boyish grin tucked further along dimples and charms, entirely curious and speculating. “Well, I hope you find an acceptable title.” Tilting his head again, forelock folding over his eyes before the breeze caught its lingering tassels and hastened it aside, a roguish glint molded and sculpted across his features, tones reflecting a mere snippet of impertinence, only a light tease, only a meager indulgence. “What am I supposed to call you in the meantime?” OOC;; --- TAG;; @[ ] |
- table by Niki -
