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05-26-2015, 11:01 AM
He wasn't sure what he was to her—midnight intruder, false angel, some ungodly King perched on a distant mountain, a silhouette against a storm-wracked sky..? Because if he thought of their oh so brief time spent together again, with his side merged with Kahlua's, and all the rancor of his distaste thick upon his tongue and that wary, reserved look in her eye as she watched the proceedings—
What am I to you? his heart wondered, but he did not break the silence again, because he would know in time. It was just that.. with the softness of the way she had lain, cradled by an old oak's roots and with the halo dripping light (like tears) in the gentle fog.. she was a gentle memory, one of softness, one he could not reconcile with the events of the past week, and it frightened him because he had gone into this, greeted her, as he would a friend—someone who would not seek to punch sleek daggers in between his ribs.
But what are you to me? Her eyes seemed searching, questioning, like she did not know what to make of it—of.. of him, he guessed, all washed in pale, cold light. "You say that like you carry the whole world on your shoulders," she whispered to the frost revenant, who felt a twitch run over his shoulder blades—they all say that, he wanted to whisper back, with bitterness arcing across every word. It's never wings, is it? Only when the sun rises behind me and it stretched out .. pure, gilt light .. but it's never mine.
The sun keeps on rising and they see, it was just a trick of the light.
And still she gave nothing away, watching him with a purple-edged quiescence that, frankly, scared the fuck out of him. He was used to being the frozen one, the one who gave nothing away, the one who watched and drank in and analyzed—
But suddenly, he was the prey, caught in the irises of a beautiful predator. It did make him uncomfortable, even though she wore a deceptive halo over her sleek face.
I'm not sure I carry anything .. except my demons.
"No," he said, quietly, the blue of his eyes soft, washed out to silver. "I'm not—I'm not..." And his voice groped hesitantly in the dark, searching for words it could not find, or not frame, he didn't know which—did he search for honesty, or had he found it but hid from it? "I'm not King," he finally said, soft and quiet still. King Mauja had been full of sharp, hard edges, visions and ambitions, dreams and morning-bright glory—
This.. this was something else.
Something softer.
He shifted, slightly, the owls losing interest and settling in a tree, sharp talons gripping branches.
"I just.. am."
[ @[Maren] ]
What am I to you? his heart wondered, but he did not break the silence again, because he would know in time. It was just that.. with the softness of the way she had lain, cradled by an old oak's roots and with the halo dripping light (like tears) in the gentle fog.. she was a gentle memory, one of softness, one he could not reconcile with the events of the past week, and it frightened him because he had gone into this, greeted her, as he would a friend—someone who would not seek to punch sleek daggers in between his ribs.
But what are you to me? Her eyes seemed searching, questioning, like she did not know what to make of it—of.. of him, he guessed, all washed in pale, cold light. "You say that like you carry the whole world on your shoulders," she whispered to the frost revenant, who felt a twitch run over his shoulder blades—they all say that, he wanted to whisper back, with bitterness arcing across every word. It's never wings, is it? Only when the sun rises behind me and it stretched out .. pure, gilt light .. but it's never mine.
The sun keeps on rising and they see, it was just a trick of the light.
And still she gave nothing away, watching him with a purple-edged quiescence that, frankly, scared the fuck out of him. He was used to being the frozen one, the one who gave nothing away, the one who watched and drank in and analyzed—
But suddenly, he was the prey, caught in the irises of a beautiful predator. It did make him uncomfortable, even though she wore a deceptive halo over her sleek face.
I'm not sure I carry anything .. except my demons.
"No," he said, quietly, the blue of his eyes soft, washed out to silver. "I'm not—I'm not..." And his voice groped hesitantly in the dark, searching for words it could not find, or not frame, he didn't know which—did he search for honesty, or had he found it but hid from it? "I'm not King," he finally said, soft and quiet still. King Mauja had been full of sharp, hard edges, visions and ambitions, dreams and morning-bright glory—
This.. this was something else.
Something softer.
He shifted, slightly, the owls losing interest and settling in a tree, sharp talons gripping branches.
"I just.. am."
[ @[Maren] ]
lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .
