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+--- Thread: Shadewood the sun's blood on my hands [M] (/showthread.php?tid=33408)
the sun's blood on my hands [M] - Gwen - March 23, 2019
@Cry <3
Love was a tender shell. Life itself was full of rivulets, little dips and curves of a chisel that failed to press hard enough into the stone, afraid of finality - this was something that the empress had learned over time; that no matter what you did or how hard you worked, the world was unpredictable. She could count the stars a billion times, but every few dips of the sun a cloak of shadow would hide away the little pearls of white, and she would be left in her solitude. She could let the light soak warmth into her pelt in the cosiest of embraces, but on other days, it would be rain which drizzled through the silk of her fur, and her skin would tremble with shivers.
One might think that they are prepared for something, but they're not - they're prepared for what they think will occur. Anything could happen to disrupt their plan, and if a plan was unstable, was it really a plan?
Sometimes she thought that maybe she thought too much, and this was her problem; whether her mind spoke truth or fed her lies was a fact she'd never be able to uncover. In recent days, when the only sound was the slow beat of her heart against an ivory chest, she had come to accept this. Gwendolyn Eruna was not a perfect soul, would never be a perfect soul, because perfect didn't exist - not even in those she loved most, and sometimes she wondered if she was the only one which had come to see this as something unchangable in the world. Something engraved into existance, but that led her onto another trail entirely - about how small they all were, how intricate, and confusing, and...
She was lonely.
Did the stars ever get lonely, even when surrounded by others of the same kind? Did they watch the world with hearts that longed to escape to a new world, watching the earth as she did the sky? Sometimes it made her feel a tiny bit less alone, but when the clouds took them away, she was left in the same spot amongst the trees, shrouded in a canopy of her own confusion. Tonight was a shadowed night, where even the moon failed to escape the tendrils of mist that clung to the world around her - her pregnancy, although admitedly scary, was comforting. The warmth inside her aided in thawing a touch of what lingered from the void, the void that her brain often concocted in a desperate attempt at escape.
There were matters that required her attention, but for now she simply let herself exist, staring at the empty sky and wondering what could possibly lie out there, beyond her reach. The Golden's waist appeared to have swollen with the coming of new life, and the wind whispered promises of hope, but she would not hold them close to her chest. She would not grow too attached to the wishes of peace, because peace was fickle and easily disturbed. Gwen would wait, learn, and continue to grow - she would take back the spirit that had been stolen from her.
Was she strong enough for that?
One might think that they are prepared for something, but they're not - they're prepared for what they think will occur. Anything could happen to disrupt their plan, and if a plan was unstable, was it really a plan?
Sometimes she thought that maybe she thought too much, and this was her problem; whether her mind spoke truth or fed her lies was a fact she'd never be able to uncover. In recent days, when the only sound was the slow beat of her heart against an ivory chest, she had come to accept this. Gwendolyn Eruna was not a perfect soul, would never be a perfect soul, because perfect didn't exist - not even in those she loved most, and sometimes she wondered if she was the only one which had come to see this as something unchangable in the world. Something engraved into existance, but that led her onto another trail entirely - about how small they all were, how intricate, and confusing, and...
She was lonely.
Did the stars ever get lonely, even when surrounded by others of the same kind? Did they watch the world with hearts that longed to escape to a new world, watching the earth as she did the sky? Sometimes it made her feel a tiny bit less alone, but when the clouds took them away, she was left in the same spot amongst the trees, shrouded in a canopy of her own confusion. Tonight was a shadowed night, where even the moon failed to escape the tendrils of mist that clung to the world around her - her pregnancy, although admitedly scary, was comforting. The warmth inside her aided in thawing a touch of what lingered from the void, the void that her brain often concocted in a desperate attempt at escape.
There were matters that required her attention, but for now she simply let herself exist, staring at the empty sky and wondering what could possibly lie out there, beyond her reach. The Golden's waist appeared to have swollen with the coming of new life, and the wind whispered promises of hope, but she would not hold them close to her chest. She would not grow too attached to the wishes of peace, because peace was fickle and easily disturbed. Gwen would wait, learn, and continue to grow - she would take back the spirit that had been stolen from her.
Was she strong enough for that?
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Cry - March 24, 2019
Tar. Every breath was tar. It was thick, every inhale was mismatched, one being dragged out and drawn, the next being short, pained, taunt. He was a sludge, feeling his body was too small for him, his mind too large for the skull that harbored it. He felt as though he was constricted, and only exercising with the Devil made his mind at ease. That being pummeled until he could eventually learn to duck, to dodge, to grapple, hold, lock as he did. The Phantom was growing, his lean and athletic body showing signs of the growth Reiner was forcing him through.
But was it truly force if he chose to walk into it, to seek it and repeat it?
Cry was trapped within his head too, tonight. However, it was not loneliness that sickened him. It was something much more sinister, significant and awful.
Inhale-
Exhale.
He was on a path that he was not sure if he wanted to fight it, or indulge a bit. It felt good, no great to be so powerful, to grow in his essence so rigidly. To earn the lessons he needed to protect this pack, and to be strong enough to teach it to his oncoming spawn. His reason paired with the darkness within the void male-
and a poison was brewed and drunken.
The world spun. It spun, and he could feel the revolutions. Every draped paw forward was a word of sleepy lips of the realm. He could hear the earth as it spilled its secrets in its sleep. Cry felt almost that much closer to the ruin he craved so desperately. He was a frazzled being, but old, polished.
A beautiful orb of frozen torture.
A dazzling sphere of disaster that had survived so many avalanches.
A fucking disease.
His salvation stood before him, so prime and pale, a goddess among heathens. But his friend was a heathen.
He kept his gait slow, a glooming shade of this woodland he had claimed. Of the land he had fought for.
Who would take his pain? His misery? Who would pray away the demon harbored in him?
The Phantom said nothing as he stared upon the rapturimg sight before him.
But was it truly force if he chose to walk into it, to seek it and repeat it?
Cry was trapped within his head too, tonight. However, it was not loneliness that sickened him. It was something much more sinister, significant and awful.
Inhale-
Exhale.
He was on a path that he was not sure if he wanted to fight it, or indulge a bit. It felt good, no great to be so powerful, to grow in his essence so rigidly. To earn the lessons he needed to protect this pack, and to be strong enough to teach it to his oncoming spawn. His reason paired with the darkness within the void male-
and a poison was brewed and drunken.
The world spun. It spun, and he could feel the revolutions. Every draped paw forward was a word of sleepy lips of the realm. He could hear the earth as it spilled its secrets in its sleep. Cry felt almost that much closer to the ruin he craved so desperately. He was a frazzled being, but old, polished.
A beautiful orb of frozen torture.
A dazzling sphere of disaster that had survived so many avalanches.
A fucking disease.
His salvation stood before him, so prime and pale, a goddess among heathens. But his friend was a heathen.
He kept his gait slow, a glooming shade of this woodland he had claimed. Of the land he had fought for.
Who would take his pain? His misery? Who would pray away the demon harbored in him?
The Phantom said nothing as he stared upon the rapturimg sight before him.
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Gwen - March 24, 2019
Amongst the tenebrosity, her husband's ebony figure could have slipped so easily past her fathomless watch, skipped in the shadows just out of reach from her ivory fingers - in truth, she clung to him and his love like a moth to a flame. He was addictive, in the way that all of her past men had been, and, like them, they'd made her promises. They'd whispered of plans, and spoken of glorious futures; she didn't care much for those, but it was freedom which called to her. It was the golden jewel placed upon a neat table, waiting in coruscating light until the day when she could place it in her palm or wear it freely around her throat. Raziel had spoken of freedom - a safe haven. She'd believed him.
Did she believe him now?
The stars were wonderful because they did not lie, only watched and dazzled and danced, woven into the night like little diamonds into stone. They were not dampened by misgiving, not plagued with hatred or remorse, and they did not hold the capability of guilt - they were completely, and utterly, free.
Gwen could feel his presence before he bathed himself in her vision, waiting in the shadows like a king of the darkness, every sin tucked into a single body - but he was beautiful, and despite the spiders crawling into her throat as she watched him, she longed to embrace him again. She thought of their special night, the delightful tickle that stroked her spine, and then the image of Kukutux arose to flood her mind; the image dissolved, and her breath was sucked in sharply before slowing as it should. Kukutux was a sister now, but to know that she was undoubtfully on her husband's mind was a sickness to crumble her resolve. She looked at him, and then back to the sky.
"I can feel them sometimes." Her children. Their children. What kind of world would their new life be born into - a safe haven, as promised, or an unstable kingdom of bitterness?
Did she believe him now?
The stars were wonderful because they did not lie, only watched and dazzled and danced, woven into the night like little diamonds into stone. They were not dampened by misgiving, not plagued with hatred or remorse, and they did not hold the capability of guilt - they were completely, and utterly, free.
Gwen could feel his presence before he bathed himself in her vision, waiting in the shadows like a king of the darkness, every sin tucked into a single body - but he was beautiful, and despite the spiders crawling into her throat as she watched him, she longed to embrace him again. She thought of their special night, the delightful tickle that stroked her spine, and then the image of Kukutux arose to flood her mind; the image dissolved, and her breath was sucked in sharply before slowing as it should. Kukutux was a sister now, but to know that she was undoubtfully on her husband's mind was a sickness to crumble her resolve. She looked at him, and then back to the sky.
"I can feel them sometimes." Her children. Their children. What kind of world would their new life be born into - a safe haven, as promised, or an unstable kingdom of bitterness?
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Cry - March 24, 2019
Indestructible. That was what she looked to be. Some kind of lunar object that could not even remotely be smashed and torn, broken or sent careening into the Void. But Cry knew better-
the woman was mortal. They all were.
She was not indestructible.
“Gwen,” his baritones choked out, emotions beyond his grasp all fighting for a spotlight. Greed, lust, anger, vengeance, havoc. Love, passion, vehemence, agony.
All of them however, thrust out as her name was followed by his next words.
”Something is wrong. And I don’t know whether-“ his throat caught, ravaged mind struggling for something right in this wrong situation. “You should leave, or whether I should leave.”
Your tears don’t fall- they crash around me.
His disorientation only furthered as he tried to meet her eyes.
So he kept them away. Those sapphires made him feel things.
They hurt.
”I am sick. And it will not go away.”
We’re going nowhere.
His children needed to be kept away-until it was time.
He wanted them to be safe- until he needed them to know their destiny.
He wanted no harm to be done to them- unless they bestowed it upon others..
Ebony auds flipped backwards as his crown dipped; almost symbolically, he could near feel the majesty fall from his head.
the woman was mortal. They all were.
She was not indestructible.
“Gwen,” his baritones choked out, emotions beyond his grasp all fighting for a spotlight. Greed, lust, anger, vengeance, havoc. Love, passion, vehemence, agony.
All of them however, thrust out as her name was followed by his next words.
”Something is wrong. And I don’t know whether-“ his throat caught, ravaged mind struggling for something right in this wrong situation. “You should leave, or whether I should leave.”
Your tears don’t fall- they crash around me.
His disorientation only furthered as he tried to meet her eyes.
So he kept them away. Those sapphires made him feel things.
They hurt.
”I am sick. And it will not go away.”
We’re going nowhere.
His children needed to be kept away-until it was time.
He wanted them to be safe- until he needed them to know their destiny.
He wanted no harm to be done to them- unless they bestowed it upon others..
Ebony auds flipped backwards as his crown dipped; almost symbolically, he could near feel the majesty fall from his head.
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Gwen - March 25, 2019
She awaited some flicker of gentle peace in his voice, the birth of a tender love for the life that she bore, but when he spoke-
Nothing.
Only a choked summoning of her name, which sounded like ash would taste on the surface of one's tongue; the deep rumble of his baritones had become woven into her very existance, drawn into her love for Raziel, but to hear them drizzled out like the dampened call of a lost bird had her heart shudder in anticipation - worry. Fear. Something was wrong.
"Something is wrong."
For some reason, the moment the word fled his lips her face felt like crumpling into a tight ball of stress, and her delicate features were kept pointed to the sky. The empress could feel the tears already balling up behind the walls of her eyes, and let the lids fall shut to block the droplets before it was too late - something... something was always wrong. She could never have peace. Her family could never have peace. Her husband was quick to declare a statement so bold but broken that even Gwen was taken aback, watery gaze drifting back amongst an ocean of uncertainty to look at him; to really look at him. He was serious.
"I... n-no..." no, no no no. Not again. She couldn't. Why? She couldn't be alone again - she didn't want to be the ghost again, aimlessly wandering each and every path, no identity to call her own. She didn't want to be without the one who held her spirit, because she knew full well that if they were apart, her very essance would be left within his grasp. Without him, she was nothing.
The ivorian did not require to assess his health before coming to the conclusion that the sickness was in his head - she knew that kind of sickness well enough, knew the plague that would spread to every corner of one's mind and consume them whole. She was well-educated in it through experience of her own, and she could not lose her husband to it. "W-We will fight it together. I go wherever you go." Of this she was certain; he'd have to kill her to break her adoration, and even in death her mind would pray for him.
Nothing.
Only a choked summoning of her name, which sounded like ash would taste on the surface of one's tongue; the deep rumble of his baritones had become woven into her very existance, drawn into her love for Raziel, but to hear them drizzled out like the dampened call of a lost bird had her heart shudder in anticipation - worry. Fear. Something was wrong.
"Something is wrong."
For some reason, the moment the word fled his lips her face felt like crumpling into a tight ball of stress, and her delicate features were kept pointed to the sky. The empress could feel the tears already balling up behind the walls of her eyes, and let the lids fall shut to block the droplets before it was too late - something... something was always wrong. She could never have peace. Her family could never have peace. Her husband was quick to declare a statement so bold but broken that even Gwen was taken aback, watery gaze drifting back amongst an ocean of uncertainty to look at him; to really look at him. He was serious.
"I... n-no..." no, no no no. Not again. She couldn't. Why? She couldn't be alone again - she didn't want to be the ghost again, aimlessly wandering each and every path, no identity to call her own. She didn't want to be without the one who held her spirit, because she knew full well that if they were apart, her very essance would be left within his grasp. Without him, she was nothing.
The ivorian did not require to assess his health before coming to the conclusion that the sickness was in his head - she knew that kind of sickness well enough, knew the plague that would spread to every corner of one's mind and consume them whole. She was well-educated in it through experience of her own, and she could not lose her husband to it. "W-We will fight it together. I go wherever you go." Of this she was certain; he'd have to kill her to break her adoration, and even in death her mind would pray for him.
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Cry - March 25, 2019
“I can’t risk that.” He would never forgive himself. She would never forgive him-
and seeming to near him despite residing in his head.
”I will not have you sick. You will not go through this too.” They meant to plead, but the sentence sounded near angry; demanding. But he wanted what was best for her. That was all he ever wanted, his undying duty to serve and protect her, his Empress, his heart.
His sanity.
He took a step back, growing even more paranoid that being near her could somehow be contagious. “I can’t -“ he couldn’t leave her. She was pregnant with his children-
his.
’I can’t.’
A whine left his lips. What could he even do against something like this? There was no therapy, no medicine, no prayer, no witchdoctor, no fucking mantra-
there was no god left to hear his prayer-
he had killed them all.
‘You nearly had to die, before she even forgave your last tresspass’
The voice was heavy, familiar, and seeming to near him despite residing in his head.
”I will not have you sick. You will not go through this too.” They meant to plead, but the sentence sounded near angry; demanding. But he wanted what was best for her. That was all he ever wanted, his undying duty to serve and protect her, his Empress, his heart.
His sanity.
He took a step back, growing even more paranoid that being near her could somehow be contagious. “I can’t -“ he couldn’t leave her. She was pregnant with his children-
his.
’She’s already whored out once. Who’s to say-“
His glacials struck fury, the world quaking as his defense was already rising against the faceless enemy. “You shut your goddamn mouth.” It was a snarled assault, his wandering gaze looking for some awful bastard who said such a claim. But it landed only her. This he closed the gems, once again, grimancing against the shudder that came for him.’I can’t.’
A whine left his lips. What could he even do against something like this? There was no therapy, no medicine, no prayer, no witchdoctor, no fucking mantra-
there was no god left to hear his prayer-
he had killed them all.
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Gwen - March 26, 2019
It was disbelief that settled in her veins then, beginning as an ugly pit in her stomach before writhing through every limb and reaching sinister fingers into her lungs, her heart, her head, her eyes. Mental sickness was a demon that had called her home for as long as she could remember, snatching away her peace and feeding like a cuckoo's hatchling on her fear, her plaguing doubts. The wintry empress felt her chest shiver with a misplaced heartbeat, sharp breaths sucked through her teeth as her gaze fought with the shadow staring back at her-
Raziel, but not Raziel at all.
"I am sick too," a pleading whisper to ripple across the frigid wind, of which spring had yet to thaw; when she looked into the luminous shades of her mate's eyes, she could uncover very little of the man who'd rescued her from a life of misery, of the void, and it cast a spear of uncertainty showering through the plush ivory of her chest. Invisible blood seemed to pour from the skin the longer they stared at one another, but she tried again, because she wasn't ready to give up...
"We can fight it together. I have been through plenty, so have you, we're better off together, not alone-"
"-You shut your goddamn mouth."
The delicate steps in which she'd taken to crawl closer to him ceased in the milliseconds after his snarl, and she was left faltering with an overwhelming urge to crumple to the ground as nothing more than a fold of paper. An origami bird, of the most intricate design, trampled into the earth like dust - she could feel herself flickering, as though she were the dim orange of a fading street lamp. Gwen let her fathomless watch drop before she braced herself to peer up, only to meet not the safety of her ebony king, but the... the...
Storm.
His teeth are wrapping around her throat - his sister's throat, crimson spurting from punctures in her pallid skin and a sickly glimmer of blood-strained jaws. Gwendolyn looks away. His breath slithers down her cheeks, cries droned out by the vicious brewing of his nefarious snarls; his whispers echoed in her ears, and she whimpers as a force shoves her to the jagged stone beneath. "Shut the fuck up. This is what happens when you don't obey", comes the cracked voice, "you're in so much trouble now".
The empress was dispatched, and from the shedding of her skin came the whimper of a woman in distress - ears tucked tightly against her skull and terror dancing in her eyes. There was nothing from her lips in the first moments, before Gwen fought to regain control and drove herself to meet his gaze - that cold, empty portal; where it led, she could never know, but in there somewhere was the man she loved. She wanted more than anything to rescue him.
But how...?
Her legs seemed not be under her own calling, pulling her back like her ankles were bound with string - she resisted, heart hammering like a war drum against her ribcage, toward him. Always toward him, never away. The snowbird was hanging from the ceiling, and Raziel was presented with two options: to catch her, or let her plummet. "We can... W-We can work through this. Please, give it a chance; we'll find help, a therapist, something... I can't be without you."
Please.
Raziel, but not Raziel at all.
"I am sick too," a pleading whisper to ripple across the frigid wind, of which spring had yet to thaw; when she looked into the luminous shades of her mate's eyes, she could uncover very little of the man who'd rescued her from a life of misery, of the void, and it cast a spear of uncertainty showering through the plush ivory of her chest. Invisible blood seemed to pour from the skin the longer they stared at one another, but she tried again, because she wasn't ready to give up...
"We can fight it together. I have been through plenty, so have you, we're better off together, not alone-"
"-You shut your goddamn mouth."
The delicate steps in which she'd taken to crawl closer to him ceased in the milliseconds after his snarl, and she was left faltering with an overwhelming urge to crumple to the ground as nothing more than a fold of paper. An origami bird, of the most intricate design, trampled into the earth like dust - she could feel herself flickering, as though she were the dim orange of a fading street lamp. Gwen let her fathomless watch drop before she braced herself to peer up, only to meet not the safety of her ebony king, but the... the...
Storm.
His teeth are wrapping around her throat - his sister's throat, crimson spurting from punctures in her pallid skin and a sickly glimmer of blood-strained jaws. Gwendolyn looks away. His breath slithers down her cheeks, cries droned out by the vicious brewing of his nefarious snarls; his whispers echoed in her ears, and she whimpers as a force shoves her to the jagged stone beneath. "Shut the fuck up. This is what happens when you don't obey", comes the cracked voice, "you're in so much trouble now".
The empress was dispatched, and from the shedding of her skin came the whimper of a woman in distress - ears tucked tightly against her skull and terror dancing in her eyes. There was nothing from her lips in the first moments, before Gwen fought to regain control and drove herself to meet his gaze - that cold, empty portal; where it led, she could never know, but in there somewhere was the man she loved. She wanted more than anything to rescue him.
But how...?
Her legs seemed not be under her own calling, pulling her back like her ankles were bound with string - she resisted, heart hammering like a war drum against her ribcage, toward him. Always toward him, never away. The snowbird was hanging from the ceiling, and Raziel was presented with two options: to catch her, or let her plummet. "We can... W-We can work through this. Please, give it a chance; we'll find help, a therapist, something... I can't be without you."
Please.
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Cry - March 27, 2019
The world-
it turned.
Every feeling abound within him, even mortality itself, seemed suspended as his heart pushed the rotation of the planet the pair stood upon. The silence- it stuck to him as though the roar of Stavanger’s Bay itself could not break through the numbed wall the ex-assassin was stranded against. He couldn’t feel himself. His face, his actions, his breathing...almost as though he was completely detached from existence as a whole. As though what he wanted to say, to do, to feel, think- as though all of it was meaningful, but not allowed for him, anymore. He felt weighed down and weightless at the same time...-
he was freefalling. It was finally over.
But it had only just begun.
His final wonder: ‘Was this what Slade had gone through? Was this what led him to become what he had? Was this how it felt?’
His dove, the sweet and serene lady, his angel, his salvation- she too had tipped over the edge of the abyss, and she took that perilous leap with him.
Together they fell, hand in hand.
And forever would they.
Until soon, the ground came to greet the lovers, once again.
”I do not want help.” His voice was calm, even, controlled. A mask to the insidious king within. He hadn’t even noticed how he wound up before her, midnight chest at height with the skull of the broken and cowering queen. He hadn’t come to realize that as quickly as he had come to her presence, that the regal crown of his own had been dusted off, and lifted back atop his maned skull. But he had come to witness her gaze, her begging gaze, her gaze that sought to follow him.
Would this love story last until they no longer had? It better had. The newly born draconian would not tolerate disloyalties. That would be dangerous. Not for him, no, but for whomever thought his grasp was limited. “But should you never leave my side, I will never leave yours.” His snout traveler then, lowering the the base of her own, tucking under, pushing up, and picking her face up from the ground. His breath was miraculously cold, a sharp twin to the frosty stare that previously met her own. “I can not guarantee that even if you do leave me- that I will ever leave you.” Something predatory flowed liquid and molten through those frozen words. Something that even Kovertol himself would flick his ears back and retreat from. Something much larger was at scale, ridged with prongs that would seize, catch, and hold.
Him.
”I love you, Mrs. Eruna,” his artic breath traipsed like an iced scalpel over the most tender places of his wife’s neck.
”I will make sure you never forget that.” The Phantom brought himself to meet her ceaseless blues, a frozen sea meeting the living ocean.
Her and his children. They were his.
His.
The pack, the woods, this whole goddamn place, and everyone and everything in it-
His.
And no one would take it away from him.
it turned.
Every feeling abound within him, even mortality itself, seemed suspended as his heart pushed the rotation of the planet the pair stood upon. The silence- it stuck to him as though the roar of Stavanger’s Bay itself could not break through the numbed wall the ex-assassin was stranded against. He couldn’t feel himself. His face, his actions, his breathing...almost as though he was completely detached from existence as a whole. As though what he wanted to say, to do, to feel, think- as though all of it was meaningful, but not allowed for him, anymore. He felt weighed down and weightless at the same time...-
he was freefalling. It was finally over.
But it had only just begun.
His final wonder: ‘Was this what Slade had gone through? Was this what led him to become what he had? Was this how it felt?’
His dove, the sweet and serene lady, his angel, his salvation- she too had tipped over the edge of the abyss, and she took that perilous leap with him.
Together they fell, hand in hand.
And forever would they.
Until soon, the ground came to greet the lovers, once again.
”I do not want help.” His voice was calm, even, controlled. A mask to the insidious king within. He hadn’t even noticed how he wound up before her, midnight chest at height with the skull of the broken and cowering queen. He hadn’t come to realize that as quickly as he had come to her presence, that the regal crown of his own had been dusted off, and lifted back atop his maned skull. But he had come to witness her gaze, her begging gaze, her gaze that sought to follow him.
Would this love story last until they no longer had? It better had. The newly born draconian would not tolerate disloyalties. That would be dangerous. Not for him, no, but for whomever thought his grasp was limited. “But should you never leave my side, I will never leave yours.” His snout traveler then, lowering the the base of her own, tucking under, pushing up, and picking her face up from the ground. His breath was miraculously cold, a sharp twin to the frosty stare that previously met her own. “I can not guarantee that even if you do leave me- that I will ever leave you.” Something predatory flowed liquid and molten through those frozen words. Something that even Kovertol himself would flick his ears back and retreat from. Something much larger was at scale, ridged with prongs that would seize, catch, and hold.
Him.
”I love you, Mrs. Eruna,” his artic breath traipsed like an iced scalpel over the most tender places of his wife’s neck.
”I will make sure you never forget that.” The Phantom brought himself to meet her ceaseless blues, a frozen sea meeting the living ocean.
Her and his children. They were his.
His.
The pack, the woods, this whole goddamn place, and everyone and everything in it-
His.
And no one would take it away from him.
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Gwen - April 03, 2019
Her king's demeanor would shift and spiral, ever-changing, growing, evolving, dimming and rising like the breath of a shadow; one moment, he could hold the rage of a thousand tempestuous storms, the next, he would be swathed in serene calmness. Gwen's azure gaze was locked with the pools of his own, and even as he spoke she was lulled along, back into his warmth, his safety... him.
Toxicity, on any level, still grasped the ability to be consuming, addictive; Raziel tasted both sweet and dangerous upon the tongue, and she couldn't let him go. The ebony wraith had dug himself deep into the snowbird's veins. She felt the icy touch of his nose, lifting her from the shrouding darkness that she had pulled herself into, and let him speak - he was a trap of the most wonderful hues. Poisonous, but beautiful. Deadly, dragged up from the tumultuous depths of hell, but godlike all the same; there were none able to capture the empress like a snare so much as this man, this fabled creature.
"I will not leave you," she whispered softly, a slither of frosted breath creeping through her lips into the polar wind, intertwining with his own. A shiver trickled like ice down her spine, but she let it. The golden's mind felt both paralysed, drugged, and crystal clear - as though the frigid breeze had washed out the haze of sleepless nights and left her senses uncorrupted. But they were corrupted, and they always would be.
"I love you," Gwendolyn uttered, feeling the light brush of his caliginous coat against her nape, leaning into his touch as though he were the rope chaining her fleeting body back to existence - the last lifeline. His breath misted over her tender skin, and again she shivered, waiting, watching; cobalt orbs connected with luminiferous ice, and once more her spirit would weave into his own.
He was right. She was his.
Toxicity, on any level, still grasped the ability to be consuming, addictive; Raziel tasted both sweet and dangerous upon the tongue, and she couldn't let him go. The ebony wraith had dug himself deep into the snowbird's veins. She felt the icy touch of his nose, lifting her from the shrouding darkness that she had pulled herself into, and let him speak - he was a trap of the most wonderful hues. Poisonous, but beautiful. Deadly, dragged up from the tumultuous depths of hell, but godlike all the same; there were none able to capture the empress like a snare so much as this man, this fabled creature.
"I will not leave you," she whispered softly, a slither of frosted breath creeping through her lips into the polar wind, intertwining with his own. A shiver trickled like ice down her spine, but she let it. The golden's mind felt both paralysed, drugged, and crystal clear - as though the frigid breeze had washed out the haze of sleepless nights and left her senses uncorrupted. But they were corrupted, and they always would be.
"I love you," Gwendolyn uttered, feeling the light brush of his caliginous coat against her nape, leaning into his touch as though he were the rope chaining her fleeting body back to existence - the last lifeline. His breath misted over her tender skin, and again she shivered, waiting, watching; cobalt orbs connected with luminiferous ice, and once more her spirit would weave into his own.
He was right. She was his.
RE: the sun's blood on my hands - Cry - April 03, 2019
It was too much-
Her words were soft, but they burned, ignition to something much more foul and chaotic at play. Her love, her life, both she offered to him with so much passion that it took the ball of beating muscle in his chest and squeezed. It was sickening, as she was a blinding halo to him, a risqué past path that he would have never taken for granted in this life, the next life, or anything after. His heart crinkled, balling up with his mind, merging with insanity at blunt, and rampaging through him like a clot on the run.
Jaws unhinged, icicles of legacy and lethality bore bright against the stark of her nape, but rather than racing for her jugular, they rode over her scruff as his muscles grew bipolar, ranging between serpentine and taunt. His body aligned parallel with her own before once again unifying atop her own. Forelimbs that we’re clearly less lean, arms that has been worked upon, stronger by his trainings with Reiner, grappled and held himself close to the Queen, while flanks of void kept him up against the delicate rear of ivory. But no, his delicacy lay within, his seed already having taken hold within her, but damn it all-
more. He wanted more.
Lust courted greed, the woman and her claims proving insanely insatiable to him. She was why he could not contain himself, why he took her again and again on this night of palour and dismay, breathing both love and hatred into her divine fur. But there lies no woe, here. No tears, no fury. No distraught mistress nor ailed man-
Tonight, two spirits had come to rest-
while two more violently haunted in their place.
Her words were soft, but they burned, ignition to something much more foul and chaotic at play. Her love, her life, both she offered to him with so much passion that it took the ball of beating muscle in his chest and squeezed. It was sickening, as she was a blinding halo to him, a risqué past path that he would have never taken for granted in this life, the next life, or anything after. His heart crinkled, balling up with his mind, merging with insanity at blunt, and rampaging through him like a clot on the run.
Jaws unhinged, icicles of legacy and lethality bore bright against the stark of her nape, but rather than racing for her jugular, they rode over her scruff as his muscles grew bipolar, ranging between serpentine and taunt. His body aligned parallel with her own before once again unifying atop her own. Forelimbs that we’re clearly less lean, arms that has been worked upon, stronger by his trainings with Reiner, grappled and held himself close to the Queen, while flanks of void kept him up against the delicate rear of ivory. But no, his delicacy lay within, his seed already having taken hold within her, but damn it all-
more. He wanted more.
Lust courted greed, the woman and her claims proving insanely insatiable to him. She was why he could not contain himself, why he took her again and again on this night of palour and dismay, breathing both love and hatred into her divine fur. But there lies no woe, here. No tears, no fury. No distraught mistress nor ailed man-
Tonight, two spirits had come to rest-
while two more violently haunted in their place.
RE: the sun's blood on my hands [M] - Gwen - April 06, 2019
Colours drained from her vision, and her world seemed to spin, tipping and tumbling into a void of nothing - where the snowbird's soul was detached from her body, and she watched with unfamiliar eyes as the king of the woods took the skin of her scruff into his jaws. She felt the stars as they clung to her mind when his body became intertwined with her own, and the ripples of feeling that wrapped their divine laces around her limbs, but no, she did not feel like herself. She had given herself solely to this man, this man consumed by greed. Raziel held a pearl in his palms; he could protect it from harm, or crush it into crystalline dust, for the wind to snatch away.
The monster takes and takes, consuming all in his grip and draining the land of the life it once bore - he swallows the songs from their lips, those flightless birds, and he tramples the newly-budding flower. Everything the light touches is pulled beneath his gentle hands, until he squeezes it dry and plagues the forest in his seething bucket of shadows. He feeds, then takes, tipping the balance of nature - he is not a monster, only a man, but his mind tugs the strings of destruction. There is no right, no wrong, only him, and the choices he makes. Will he be the death of innocence? Perhaps. Will she let him? Yes; Yes, she supposes she will. What other option does she have? She belongs to him, and he controls her heart.
So their souls did dance in their lustful embrace - once more a coalition of the moon's light and the night's tenebrosity, ribbons of monochrome to weave their fates yet again into the path of the other; into the darkness they would fall, together...
...Because she simply could not let go.
The monster takes and takes, consuming all in his grip and draining the land of the life it once bore - he swallows the songs from their lips, those flightless birds, and he tramples the newly-budding flower. Everything the light touches is pulled beneath his gentle hands, until he squeezes it dry and plagues the forest in his seething bucket of shadows. He feeds, then takes, tipping the balance of nature - he is not a monster, only a man, but his mind tugs the strings of destruction. There is no right, no wrong, only him, and the choices he makes. Will he be the death of innocence? Perhaps. Will she let him? Yes; Yes, she supposes she will. What other option does she have? She belongs to him, and he controls her heart.
So their souls did dance in their lustful embrace - once more a coalition of the moon's light and the night's tenebrosity, ribbons of monochrome to weave their fates yet again into the path of the other; into the darkness they would fall, together...
...Because she simply could not let go.