.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
07-30-2013, 08:33 AM
and it's like you're shouting out my name in the dark
but I can't hear
There's something wicked about it all, about the way she laughed in the darkness, about the way he was, by some whim of fate, trapped in the night with her, listening to the sound of her soul flung bare into the air. With nothing to settle his eyes on, nothing of the snowy grass or the sharp ice edges of the frozen river, he was left with a black space filled up with her: her scent, her laughter, her presence, the vague outline of her face, neck, hips. She pressed against him in every way without touching, little sound waves and drifting breezes full of scent lapping against him. Intimate, and creepy, but in the blackness his vague discomfort was masked by the churning of his eyes, a ceaseless, slow spinning of ice blue and distant stars. Mauja's eyes were never still, never honest, yet they never lied, either, for the shields and imitations were solid. And so, once again, he hid his soul beneath layers of pale frost and cold iron, fighting down the vague, half-remembered trickles of anxiety. Mares.because there's ice in my heart. Her voice was like the dark river under the ice, trickling along in the wake of her wicked mirth, and in silence he lapped it all up, pretending there was no uneasiness at all as he shifted his hips and raised a hind hoof on its tip. He could still flee, still fight, just not quite as fast. Snow King, she called him first, and the corner of his mouth quirked. Definitely too common. Fallen came next, and she seemed to enjoy it, teasing a soft laugh from him with her fancies. He couldn't see her smile in the dark, precisely, but he could hear it in her voice, feel it in the air between them. "Don't forget the wings I lost," he added in a gentle voice, before falling silent as the easy mood grew hard and heavy like iron. He didn't like it. It was easier facing the dark and slogging through for hope if no one spelled out his destruction in his face, but he also knew it was to delude himself, and only fools lived on hopes and dreams. But after all, he was a fool. And like one, he seized the chance to leave the dreary talk of death and squirrels, saying, dryly: "I truly hope I've not been giving you nightmares." |
