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04-20-2017, 07:18 PM
Her heart was entangled, but raptured and reverent all the same – torn between wanting to ask so many more things, and knowing this meeting was to be brief – he’d already given and granted her enough. But she listened all the same, half-hoping that a blinding light, that a shooting bolt of electricity would be enough to send evil and damnation back into its spectral roots. When the God evaded the notion entirely, her eyes lowered briefly, understanding the foolishness of her inquiry had given naught but trepidation, and they didn’t know, understand, or comprehend just how to fell one more deity yet. So she’d protect them as she’d done a million times before, valorous and commanding, a port in the storm, a soft, dulcet song on the edges of the battlefield – and that was all she could do. For now. The Songbird had to give credit to the God before her, however, because he seemed to apprehend and grasp exactly what button to press, mentioning her friends, her loved ones, the chestnut man, and she could feel her cheeks flame, turn a bright rosy pink, a soft, subtle laugh float through her lips. “I will,” she answered in finality, a swift, course nod, forgoing the elements poised to strike against them, driving, surging, the strength and diligence of a Mender from the mountains, cool, calm, and collected. Then, it came to a close, drawn over the depths of the short, curt hour – he had places to go, things to do, motions to sketch, waves of yesteryear to fold over, notions of the future to preside over. She’d already taken enough of his time (had deserved none of it), and the Mender obliged the impression with one more luminescent, vigilant, and candid smile, conviction and courage tucked between the curls and coils of her mouth. “You’ve granted me more than enough,” bobbing her head towards the shield, the enchantments, the promises of safeguarding poised from the depths of her diligent heart, and her eyes swung back to his, devoted and admiring. “Thank you once again, for everything. Good luck!” Then, she twisted back into the horizon, Imogen’s chest puffing with her new collar draped across her neck, and a beautiful, compassionate, fresh hope blooming from her heart. [Thank you again admin! <3] her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of pure love LENA |
