wounded is the deer that leaps highest

wounded is the deer that leaps highest

Psyche the DarkEmpress Posts: 380

Deceased

Mare :: Unicorn :: 15.3 hh :: 8 (ages in Orangemoon) Buff: ENDURE

RayoDeSoleil

#14

01-19-2013, 02:19 PM

"I don't know how," he said softly, and the words surprise her. She cannot tell what is spoken anymore from what is her imagination. Is that truly his voice, or is it simply her longing transformed into an image, a vocalization, a touch. No, not a touch - she would not touch him again, somehow she knew this deep in her soul. It was faced with anger, pain, anguish, humiliation... it was not accepted. Somewhere deep within her, she longed for what they had once had to reemerge. It would be different this time, wouldn't it? For she had changed so much, had come such a long way...

But no, it would be no different. They were stubborn, if nothing else, and the call to uphold their respective facades held them immobile, staunchly opposed to any idea of affection that they might could concoct. They would be no more likely to give in to their urges than they had been in the life before this, or in the life after this. Past, present, and future would collide, yielding only the same results over and over. Such was the way of the world, wasn't it? History exists only to repeat itself, time and time again. Why would their history be any different?

"I can't stay here," he whispered, though already the low-hanging mist and the haunting trees - so different here than they had been in reality - were dissipating, fading into the oblivion that they had began in. The darkness once more pressed in on her orbs, and she was overcome with a feeling of panic; she tried to move and found herself immobilized, held in place by the immense blackness. It threatened to drown her, to choke her, to consume her. Something in her fell away, and a roaring filled her lobes - or was it her mind? Again, she fought to move, and succeeded; she fell into the FrostHeart, or through him, which did it matter? She was falling, the last shred of hope disappearing as she realized that she felt nothing, could not touch him, never again, never again-

Or had she, for the briefest moments, felt his pelt on the soft velvet of her maw?

Would she ever know?

She was falling now, falling, ever onwards, ever downwards, on and on it seemed, into a never-ending well of shadows. How fitting, she thought in one wild moment, orange eyes rolling, rims white. She wanted to scream - was it fear? Or anger? - and yet the sound died in her throat. If he was with her now, she was unaware, her pistons thrashing in the air above her, trying to - what? To grasp something? Or to start running? As though she could gallop along the roof of the world... But no. Steadily (or not so steadily, was her descent getting faster?) she plunged on, and other thoughts bombarded her raw, unprotected mind....

A violent motion woke her, and she crashed rather unceremoniously into the melting cavern's wall. It made no difference, for her hide was already soaked in sweat. Wild-eyed, she looked around her, circling, circling. Through the caverns she wove, deeper and deeper, so deep that the chill of winter sent shivers down her spine. Here, the warmth of Birdsong could not touch the caverns; they had remained solids for centuries, and would remain so for centuries more. Stoic, silent - like him, she though, and the pain was almost too much to bear.