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08-09-2015, 06:32 PM
The Songbird didn’t fully understand his disposition; brutal and barbaric one moment, apologetic and rueful the next - conspired and contorted into a mysterious, enigmatic distortion. She found herself openly staring for a few stray moments, attempting to piece together the remnants of darkness and the beginnings of light, studying and examining the few articles and particles she’d managed to tether together. When he obliged mere snippets, when he conveyed the reasoning into the swallowing, avaricious gleam, into the tyrannical feeling bursting through the air, her brows crinkled, her frown emboldened, and a sharp prick of Imogen’s awareness simmered near their destination. Fearing a sentiment of rudeness crowding over the silence, she bowed her head against the cold wind and managed the slimmest of smiles within the corner of her lips, calling out over the rippling tirades as they soldiered on through the midnight squall. “Have you tried having your anomaly fixed?” Her curiosity sprung between cordial sands of inquisition and honeyed wholesomeness, charitable and virtuous, layering benedictions despite the hollowed veil shrugging over her shoulders, a healer’s warmth despite every forewarning, every hint, every line drawn amongst doldrums and frailties. If he were to be in constant pain, surely he would wish for it to cease and desist – unless it was something untouchable, intangible, a conviction laced and layered beyond a mender’s power. There were things they couldn’t assuage, soothe, or heal (the finality of death, the overcoming swing of the reaper’s scythe, because she’d tried, she’d sang, and she’d watched as naught but the last breath, the last heartbeat, chiseled in a familiar being’s chest). If his grin were any indication, perhaps it was truly nothing at all –a touch, a caress, a stroke of darkness burgeoning and blooming in all of them, not yet conquered or dismayed. She pressed no further, unless he wished, unless he warranted, unless he permitted her to examine, delve, or attempt the trial of salvation, and the nymph scaled her sights towards the twinkling light of their journey, rummaging and picking her way through the snow. The ivory kitsune met them with a brief nod of her head and an uncanny look directed towards her bonded; Lena responded with a cherubic smile and no lack of grace, forging any misgivings out of her mind and relenting to a beatific enterprise. Elegant and poised amongst the rock, rubble, and ruin, she maneuvered past the glittering facades of icicles, stretching into the aperture with polished, blossoming finesse, a floret amongst the stones and monoliths. Her head bowed and extended inward, granting him passage between the growing embers of the pale vixen’s newly varnished fire, embers crackling, snapping at the last, dry twigs, casting fiery glances along the herbs tucked and nestled towards the back of the caverns, assembled for any given opportunity. Her smile captivated and cajoled again, vocals ringing in a mellifluous tone, resembling bells of spring, vestiges of the oncoming season, curled and coiled away for the near future. “Please make yourself at home.” her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
