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The acrid bitterness of truth, the solvent of acidity burning with tart prevalence on the colluding vestibule of her tongue. The gilded threads of companionship, the wiry webbing of imposing expectations – to what now did she owe, that may be traded for the wide and impressive spectacles of new homage? It was encumbering, the anvil of province, her songbird throat thickening under an anhydrous anxiety, the adiposity of her tongue gagging her with the protuberant densities of her surmounting vexation. The voyaging mistresses of the Basin spent their expedition in silence, or perhaps Flordeperia had simply drowned the notions of common communication with a disturbing nonattendance of cognizance; a transient gloom of unconsciousness, a raincloud deafening her senses with the tempest hellraisers of her own strepitous introspection. The travel had been a blur, the scenery skimming through the close-knit forestry of her lashes, though never arousing enough involvement to stir her from the delving catacombs of her self-destructive musings. She spent her time behind Illynx, her vision fastened onto the revolving, lustrous aureate of her heels.
Disenchantment quickly bereft the sullen glow of her engrossed stare as the termagant corporal paused – the halting of her obstinate step piercing through the tenebrous fogs of her apperception like a whetted javelin – and her duteous pursuit fell silent as she tiptoed beside her, occupying the raven-hued tendrils of her fibrous shoulder. The vapors of her breath danced into the gelid clutches of the atmosphere, her lips departing – chapped skin, cohering – as jaws fell lax in candid awe of the hypnotic environment. Home, it echoed off the feminine curves of a superior tongue, and her eyes clung to Illynx's face, her mouth quavering with uncertainty. Could she truly allow herself the permanency that came with home – the opportunities, the privilages that came with family? The fractals of cerulean that sparkled under converging brows winked with an unperceivable emotion, her hollow sentiments melting under the thundering drumbeats of a pallid, glacial heart, as she allowed herself to momentarily partake in the brilliance that lay in undisturbed repose below them.
All unicorns, she noted, a society unbroken by molecular divergences; a nirvana of unsullied genealogic virginity made just for her. “Home,” she smirked, a wry curl of her lips afforded, as her sarcasm was devoured by the distant whispers of rueful dubiety, “I wonder.” She murmured, lost in the ethereal helices of the Basin. Her attentions were ensnared then by the brindled amazonian beside her, her gaze narrowing as her mouth seemed to sew into impenetrable silence. Her heart – was it desirous? Was that imperfect little muscle which still seemed to thrum with lenient locomotion capable of such conceptions?
Her eyes leapt from Illynx quickly, steadfastly hooked on the luster beneath. “I don't... know.. what my heart desires. I just know I'm afraid. This world scares me,” she speaks lowly, secretively, as her gaze wonders upward, glancing across the stars, “no, my frailty scares me. My weakness, my ineptitudes. I am no warrior. I am not a woman who can use my horn nor teeth.” She paused then, her eyes alight with realization as she looked to her, stone building in the blues that reflected her soul. “I desire power. The power that will make me invincible to all. For now, my value lies in my trickery. Men bow at my feet, and I use their lives to preserve my own – but their usefulness lies only as far as their own mortal coils.” She coos, a darkness pervading her voice, but also dissatisfaction as if her own pompousness was shaming them for their death. To pity the dogs wouldn't make her much of a master.
