.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
07-06-2017, 04:20 AM
Art by Neverr ♥
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
It was disturbing to watch Amaris. It came both slowly and suddenly, creeping up, bit by bit, until it became so obvious it startled him.
Like a cold autumn wind suddenly becoming a blizzard, snow teeth and all; if you had paid attention, you would've felt it coming, and not been caught out in the open. The theoretical cold buzzed in his ears.
He was tired of watching others peer over the Edge.
She didn't look like she even knew she was doing it, but she was doing it; her eyes slipped close and she almost seemed to sway in the breeze.
It made him angry. Deeply, irrationally angry; it seared his heart and made him want to flatten his ears, bare his teeth, shove her sorry ass off just because she could fly, yell at her and ask if it was so fucking fun to be smashed against the rocks!!
But he didn't. Of course he didn't. He—
Well, fuck, that thought had been about to be a big, fat lie, so he shoved it back where it came from. Put it under lock and key. Watched Amaris intently. If she decided to bend, if her knees gave in and she crashed down, he couldn't save her. Not even if he threw himself in between her and the edge—he was took weak. He wouldn't even be able to drag spikes out of the cliff face and lodge her against them.
He was spent. A husk; a ghost.
Concern churned in his blue eyes, and he wanted to hate himself for it. Mauja, the pallid, glacial warlord of an era so far gone only a few would remember—feeling concerned for the daughter of an enemy, and to top it all off, displaying it. Where was the icy smooth facade? Where was his self-control? And where was the god-damned future, the inevitable change, because these thought patterns were all so worn down he wondered if he was physically incapable of thinking anything else these days.
It was hard to accept what he had become, harder still to take it and own it and turn it into something useful. He swallowed. The dragon dug a claw in the dragonmare, who snapped to, and straightened up. Mauja felt something in his shoulders unclench. It embarrassed him.
And as Amaris went on, he wanted to bite her on the poll, and shake her. Maybe now was a better time to push her off, because she seemed like she might unfurl her wings and save her sorry golden self.
She wasn't your mother he wanted to say. She's a two-faced bitch. She's not worthy of your concern. She's not worthy of giving two fucks about. She had chosen him as her champion, but by the stars, why? Because he proved over and over he was too stupid to die?
Yael beat him to it, though. He found no words to politely tell someone to snap out of it, get a grip, stop moping about something that isn't worth moping about—his sluggish body ached. He winced. "If the ray of sunshine here is correct, I'm not sure I'll remain immortal." He wasn't sure it mattered—he was still immortal then and there, a mixture of flesh and slow, seeping magic.
His gaze softened slightly as it landed on the dragonmare again. "She's not deserving of such devotion," he said, gently.
Like a cold autumn wind suddenly becoming a blizzard, snow teeth and all; if you had paid attention, you would've felt it coming, and not been caught out in the open. The theoretical cold buzzed in his ears.
He was tired of watching others peer over the Edge.
She didn't look like she even knew she was doing it, but she was doing it; her eyes slipped close and she almost seemed to sway in the breeze.
It made him angry. Deeply, irrationally angry; it seared his heart and made him want to flatten his ears, bare his teeth, shove her sorry ass off just because she could fly, yell at her and ask if it was so fucking fun to be smashed against the rocks!!
But he didn't. Of course he didn't. He—
Well, fuck, that thought had been about to be a big, fat lie, so he shoved it back where it came from. Put it under lock and key. Watched Amaris intently. If she decided to bend, if her knees gave in and she crashed down, he couldn't save her. Not even if he threw himself in between her and the edge—he was took weak. He wouldn't even be able to drag spikes out of the cliff face and lodge her against them.
He was spent. A husk; a ghost.
Concern churned in his blue eyes, and he wanted to hate himself for it. Mauja, the pallid, glacial warlord of an era so far gone only a few would remember—feeling concerned for the daughter of an enemy, and to top it all off, displaying it. Where was the icy smooth facade? Where was his self-control? And where was the god-damned future, the inevitable change, because these thought patterns were all so worn down he wondered if he was physically incapable of thinking anything else these days.
It was hard to accept what he had become, harder still to take it and own it and turn it into something useful. He swallowed. The dragon dug a claw in the dragonmare, who snapped to, and straightened up. Mauja felt something in his shoulders unclench. It embarrassed him.
And as Amaris went on, he wanted to bite her on the poll, and shake her. Maybe now was a better time to push her off, because she seemed like she might unfurl her wings and save her sorry golden self.
She wasn't your mother he wanted to say. She's a two-faced bitch. She's not worthy of your concern. She's not worthy of giving two fucks about. She had chosen him as her champion, but by the stars, why? Because he proved over and over he was too stupid to die?
Yael beat him to it, though. He found no words to politely tell someone to snap out of it, get a grip, stop moping about something that isn't worth moping about—his sluggish body ached. He winced. "If the ray of sunshine here is correct, I'm not sure I'll remain immortal." He wasn't sure it mattered—he was still immortal then and there, a mixture of flesh and slow, seeping magic.
His gaze softened slightly as it landed on the dragonmare again. "She's not deserving of such devotion," he said, gently.
