July 31, 2019, 07:33 AM
❄❄❄
At first, lost in her own sphere of solemnity, she was not cognizant her father's presence.
Truthfully, Niebla was too young to understand why it was her mother kept distance between them, in her gentle stoicism, the prudent silence in which drove her days; the snowstorm and her brother had yet to confront the void-born who shared their blood, and yet, there was an unspoken connection that settled deep in her bones - a tenacious, indefatigable tie. The bond of blood was strong, this she knew to be veracious, and it must be an instinctual yearning that fed her curiousity, this warped mirage of a stranger in her mind.
Who was her father? Why did her mother keep them away?
The wind shifted. It was from there that a scent was whisked toward her nostrils, a scent in which she drank greedily (butterfly forgotten), the very focus of her dubiety; her father. His scent, amongst all else, was familiar to her - in the few times her mother left the children unattended, she would frequently trail his own tracks, purely with morbid inquisitiveness. To see what it was her mother did not wish her to see.
And now he was here, a lingering shadow of tenebrosity. Glacial eyes of beryl flickered backward, behind her spine, in order to gauge his whereabouts - and in her typical, commanding silence, she awaited his reveal.
Truthfully, Niebla was too young to understand why it was her mother kept distance between them, in her gentle stoicism, the prudent silence in which drove her days; the snowstorm and her brother had yet to confront the void-born who shared their blood, and yet, there was an unspoken connection that settled deep in her bones - a tenacious, indefatigable tie. The bond of blood was strong, this she knew to be veracious, and it must be an instinctual yearning that fed her curiousity, this warped mirage of a stranger in her mind.
Who was her father? Why did her mother keep them away?
The wind shifted. It was from there that a scent was whisked toward her nostrils, a scent in which she drank greedily (butterfly forgotten), the very focus of her dubiety; her father. His scent, amongst all else, was familiar to her - in the few times her mother left the children unattended, she would frequently trail his own tracks, purely with morbid inquisitiveness. To see what it was her mother did not wish her to see.
And now he was here, a lingering shadow of tenebrosity. Glacial eyes of beryl flickered backward, behind her spine, in order to gauge his whereabouts - and in her typical, commanding silence, she awaited his reveal.
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Messages In This Thread
the good ones always die - by Niebla - July 25, 2019, 09:47 AM
RE: the good ones always die - by Cry - July 30, 2019, 11:39 AM
RE: the good ones always die - by Niebla - July 31, 2019, 07:33 AM
RE: the good ones always die - by Cry - August 04, 2019, 03:36 PM
RE: the good ones always die - by Niebla - August 06, 2019, 02:02 PM
RE: the good ones always die - by Cry - August 09, 2019, 04:25 PM