Mudminnow River fiend
i will pry his bony fingers free
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#8
even though the hound remained still, indra could see a rift beneath his skin; the turbulence in his eyes all but struck her down with their roving contempt, and she felt a chill climb the back of her neck to be regarded in such a cold way.

if he thought her poisoned (a thing that might well be true -- it was possible indra came from an entire line of blighted individuals; a barren, black orchard in which nothing but slow decay was sown) she thought him mad; the way he looked at her, the way he stood -- moving, but not.. even his fur seemed to take on the roving of some hidden current, as if governed by the stormy tempest that brewed in his skull.

she wanted to defend herself further, but nothing came. if he shut down physically, she had shut down mentally. bit by bit her arguments deconstructed; seconds passed and the fabrications of her justifications melted away, meted into obscurity by inevitable exhaustion.

she could fight him -- but she would fight no more.

her shoulders sagged and defeat simmered resentful behind her eyes. she had just been trying to do what was right -- but trying wasn't doing, and maybe she had failed him that day. but she wasn't going to admit it on the heels of such a personal attack. she was every bit a redleaf, and that line would cut its nose of to spite its face into all eternity if destiny so demanded it.

indra knew what stigmata wanted - yet she could not deliver it. the sting of her failure was not unfelt - it pooled like a black well around her, deep and stygian and threatening to fill to the brim.

she too felt betrayal, though a different brand of it. it brought her a savage sense of vindication to see the man before her and know he was leaving - same as every other man had -- perhaps a little too much vindication.. to the point where a little to late indra wondered if perhaps the reason men kept leaving in her life was somehow because she was looking for it; in some way perhaps she was a self-perpetuating ouroboros that whirled and milled and spun and crushed everything underfoot with the significant weight of its enormous mental burden.

had she caused all of this?

it was hurt more than anything that stole across her features, but in that moment she quickly turned away. with too much to say and so little ways in which to articulate it, indra felt ultimately defeated -- and conceded into crawling away before his tongue scorched her again.
now the wren has gone to roost and the sky is turning gold,
and like the sky, my soul is also turning.
Messages In This Thread
fiend - by Stigmata - November 08, 2018, 07:22 PM
RE: fiend - by Indra - November 12, 2018, 01:00 PM
RE: fiend - by Stigmata - November 17, 2018, 12:51 PM
RE: fiend - by Indra - November 18, 2018, 03:47 PM
RE: fiend - by Stigmata - November 18, 2018, 07:04 PM
RE: fiend - by Indra - November 18, 2018, 09:15 PM
RE: fiend - by Stigmata - November 19, 2018, 12:01 AM
RE: fiend - by Indra - November 26, 2018, 09:35 PM
RE: fiend - by Stigmata - December 01, 2018, 07:49 PM