déodat,An animal; perhaps she is stark raving mad… but certainly not dysfunctional. She is wild and reclusive, burning with a fire made of hate or perhaps she’s just insane. In any case, she is mesmerizing and beautiful and everything that makes Déodat unsure of her company. For a moment he stares, content to trace the contours of her face with eyes of indigo jewels… He cannot speak and realizes that there is not much to say and not much more to do aside from gazing on curiously from his perch at the mouth of the cavern.
He is certainly intrigued, but only marginally so… She is wild and untamed and above all else- exactly the same. They are something of a pair and while he does not yet realize how similar they might just be, he cannot help but acknowledge her differences. Her eyes are hard and unwavering and nothing like Lena, who is so often filled with such life that it is hard not to be touched by her exuberance. Yet, it is not so much her gaze and the way that it locks upon him that makes Déodat cringe, but instead the lack of adornment upon her face that turns his stomach. She is but a simple equine and while his heart seems to freeze and his eyes seem to widen, he says nothing.
Leaning back onto his hips, he listens to her chilling words as if they might interest him or sway him in her favor. But, now that he has settled upon the startling features or really lack thereof, he cannot seem to press past the hatred that swells in her name. It is no fault of her own, but in the overture, the man cannot forgive what her counterparts have inflicted. He is unseeing and furthermore unwilling.
“I am untroubled by this lack of excitement in which you are so vainly convinced of, though my kind is not meant to share sentiments with the likes of your breeding.” He breathes, his chest rising and falling with the effort required to keep his temper in check. “Although, I do concede to the problems you pose… Such inferior heritage- does it hinder you?” A soft smirk parts his lips and he cannot help but feel vigilant and strong in her presence.
Could he overcome their differences until the storm passed or would he find himself the victor of a natural two-man scuffle? |
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[O] Magic in death and beauty in blood
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