Sunbeam Lair you yes you
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february theme: infatuation
@Stigmata

Winter’s peak was behind them and though the world was still frozen and frigid, there were smudges of light to be found amongst the darkness. The air smelled fertile, and with minimal effort, the newest of grasses could be unearthed from beneath the snow. It made Olive proud to weather out the worst of the northern country’s weather amongst the relative sanctity of her willows, with close friends by her side and her wife in her bed. The best of things had yet to come. 

It was almost silly of the woman to be in such high spirits, since her two natural born children had departed from Elysium in search of culture and travel and adventure merely days before. A younger Olive would have been torn to pieces at this news. The Olive of today knew that Séamus and Eleuthera were good children with kind hearts, and she trusted that she and Seabreeze raised them well. For her cubs to spread their wings and fly only mean that she had fulfilled her duties as a mother — and as the wonderful souls they were, the sylph knew they would return to her one day and they would tell her of their adventures. Olive could not wait for that day, whenever it might come. 

In this universe, there were no coincidences. The departure of her two youngest babes freed her hearth, heart and home for what her heart called very strongly towards: another generation of wolves to thrive amongst the willows. Her season would come soon — as a woman experienced in these things, the fae knew this. She and Seabreeze had recently discussed their intentions and would soon bring their idea to Delight, when the time felt right. Yes indeed, the best of things had yet to come!

Knowing that her mobility would soon become limited, Olive began to enjoy long jaunts from her sanctuary more and more often. She enjoy the strength in her limbs and the peace of mind that it brought. She even found herself seeking the heights of mountains more and more, closer yet to her beloved stars, and found herself reveling in the general loveliness that was life. But here, in the weak beams of daybreak after a long night’s stargazing, Olive found herself finally becoming tired and tried feverishly to blink the sleep away from her eyes. It was a fight that, if no one interceded, that she was destined to lose.
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

all creation myths need a devil
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a shadow shifted in the gloom, and stigmata materialized from it with a flash of scythe-silver eyes and a flick of brown, brooding ears. his gaze was set intently upon the wayfaring dove of elysium - the personification of light and splendor - and he pondered over her presence here, feeling eager to assume her intentions were nefarious. but she glided in no particular direction and seemed to track nothing but the stars overhead, guided by them unwittingly, right into his serpentine reach.

coincidences didn't exist in this universe, and the devil couldn't ignore fate when she delivered his gifts so nicely wrapped. stigmata licked his lips as he made up his mind, and began to prowl quietly after the willow wolf, waiting slyly to be noticed.
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The world seemed so oddly, eerily quiet in the early hours of the morning. The singing insects and belching frogs quieted when the nighttime began it’s perpetual retreat, but no other living things seemed to stir — unless you counted the wind through the trees’ winter-bare branches, or the perpetual turning and spinning of the earth on its axis, or the steady march of time as it moved ever forward. As luck may have it, Olive saw the life and the vivid energy that existed in these things, and marveled at these small occurrences as she would a crashing waterfall, or yawning chasm in the earth. There was splendor and wonder to be found in all corners of the earth, at all times of the day, if one knew where [and how] to look.

So taken with her surrounding was she, that the quickly-tiring wolf found herself eventually seeking rest. Everything seemed still and at peace, so the shrouded sylph let her mind be the same — she floated easily in the nothingness of her conscious thought and bobbed along to the silent song of the earth’s energies. Perhaps this might be why she did not detect the Diaspora King as he approached and followed her — she sought a place to lay her head and nothing more. Very little of this required critical thought to process, so when Olive came across a misted dell, and a particularly dry spot beneath the aegis of an arbor, she curled in on herself, tucked her nose beneath her tail and closed her eyes as a light snooze slowly overtook her. 
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

all creation myths need a devil
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in the dark and hazy quiet of pre-dawn in the lair, stigmata actively battled with both the pull of an obsession and his powerlessness to stop it. he watched her in the way that god marvels over man; the way an artist admires their work, and wonders idly if they could duplicate or destroy it. but death, never far from his thoughts, invaded the beauty of the scene before him and he felt it did not fit. even in her tired strides there was grace. there was beauty. something everlasting and reincarnated again and again. something classic and unkillable - an idyllic light to be preserved and never disparaged.

and he felt like darkness; hungry and selfish; privately fearful of what he might do to the light or what it might do to him, but incapable still of withdrawing from the brightness. stigmata watched the willow wolf tuck in for the night, leaving herself bare for the basilisk's approach, and though a part of him wanted to leave her be, for the sake of them both, there was no apprehension to his stride when he finally drew close.

he paused every few feet to see if his coming had disturbed her, but as long as she remained still, the tungsten general would go as far as to sniff the guard hairs along her spine; closer than he was necessarily allowed.
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Her dreams, as they had come to be, were a pleasant place. They came to her early in her slumber and she succumbed to them easily, gliding along in some alternate reality while her body found repose in this one. Just as she was when earthside, nothing was bad and nothing was good — it just was, and because of that, it was divine. Olive found herself smiling softly in her sleep, curled into her own comfort, finding a source of warmth amongst herself and amongst the snows.

When the faintest of touch registered upon her faculties, the druid almost mistook it for Seabreeze, rustling and moving beside her. Imperceptibly and magnetically the ophelia leaned towards the other’s gravitational pull, unknowingly pulled to wakefulness by another’s nares. It then came to her that she was not in her home amongst the willows — in fact, she was very far from Elysium, and the idea that someone was so close to her suddenly became very, very concerning. Her ivy gaze peeled open and she saw that darkened figure of another that was not immediately identifiable; but that was not important at the moment; now she was aware of him, and she knew that he saw, and she knew that he knew.
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

all creation myths need a devil
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stigmata froze when, like a feather roused by his examining breath, her muzzle lifted towards him blindly; a look of pure serenity curling upon her delicate features as he watched. he had never seen such an expression - having lived his life filled to the brim with rigidness and strife, alongside wolves just as grievous as himself - and he openly marveled at it. at her.

he could not relate to a creature such as this: fashioned of an unfathomable beauty, and sculpted tenderly around a heart of impenetrable light. she had already struck a familiar chord with him by sharing his mother's phenotype, but it was this brief and seemingly innocuous gesture that made him fixate on her. a yearning roaring up inside him like a gaslit flame.

fissures of emerald, revealed from beneath a pair of heavy velvet lids, dispelled the illusion, and though stigmata turned his muzzle away to put an end to the bewitching moment, the damage had already been done. when he looked back at her, his stone mask was decidedly up, and he narrowed his eyes at her as if in suspicion. "you have strayed far," the ophidian general observed mildly, lifting a sharp brow in question, and angling his rugged muzzle towards her in solemn authority.

this is my domain.
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Her heart, at this moment, froze with uncertainty. She could not imagine that there was a good reason for another — especially one so dark and hulking — to be so close to her, especially while she slumber. It was such an intimate action, that who would even dare? For a brief second, the idea flashed through her mind that this was Dakarai’s ghost, come to exact some perturbed sort of vengeance upon her from beyond the grave… but the man’s presence was far too real, and far too commanding, and even though she lay helpless and innocuous upon the ground, she found she wasn’t afraid of this stranger. 

It was when she heard his voice that she recognized him. Some time had passed since she had found the General prowling upon her borders, seeking information of what lay inside; seeking information about her. He had disturbed and perturbed her, ruffling a dove’s feathers in a way that no one had dared to do in quite a while, if not ever. Here, he continued to do it again. A man without decency, a gruff soul that operated from a place of domination. It was so starkly different from philosophies she subscribed to that he could almost be considered fascinating — like a venomous snake, who’s rattle drew her closer, instead of warning her of the danger. 


“I am not one who strays,” the woman appealed to him. “for all the gods’ creation is my home.” The shrouded sylph did not like to be so vulnerable around him, but there was no other way for her to be. If he decided to end her, there were nothing she could do to stop him. Despite her defenselessness, she was not a victim, so she pulled herself atop willowy, sleepy limbs and danced away to put another foot or so between them. There was something that kept her from leaving the situation entirely, though she could not put a finger on it.“You are far too familiar,” the argent dove advised while watching him carefully.
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

all creation myths need a devil
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as her tongue danced, so did the dove's body, and she wisely created a small rift between them - scolding stigmata for having closed it in the first place. only his eyes followed her, the rest of him still and razor sharp. he zeroed in on her with reptilian focus, and lashed his tail once, maybe twice to express a similar displeasure. "if you are no stray, as you claim to be, then do i not have a right to be forward? we share a home, after all."

he paused on an inhale, expression turning coy, as he thought she would object to the lack of a pack pressence. "though diaspora does not occupy this lair, i can assure you it is mine."
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The prophet watched as displeasure flashed across his face. At that, she felt strangely pleased and emboldened. He said that he indeed did have the right to be so familiar — a wonderfully stigmata sentiment if there ever was one — and Olive smiled and gave a small snicker. His tough act was strangely endearing to her, as it did come off quite authentic for the general, whereas it felt so false for so many others.

“Oh yes, I do understand,” she teased. “Everything that lives in all the world is subject to your claim and no other wolf is allowed to enjoy your dominion besides you. Everything is always…” the druid lowered her head and glowered at him in a not-unwelcome manner. “…always for you.” Then she raised a suggestive brow, daring him to say it wasn’t an ironic truth.

Then she turned her head, trying to speak matter-of-factly.
“But I know you will not harm me,” she glanced over her shoulder, perhaps with the unintended meaning that there were other things in the world that might.“So I must continue on my way. I am… expected at home. My wives will be waiting.”
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams

all creation myths need a devil
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with a growing edge of uncertainty, stigmata watched as the will he attempted to assert over her only seemed to buoy her impish spirits further. it was like watching coal being pressurized into a diamond, and it unsettled him deeply to find himself... wanting. wanting for things outside his grasp. it upset him further to hear that she held no fear of her life around him, even if the sentiment was terribly true. it appeared, however, that the same couldn't be said of the opposite, seeing as it had become alarmingly clear that the intuitive willow-witch knew right where to strike if she wanted to agitate the proud beast.

he wasn't used to feeling so affected - and it drew him in despite what his past experiences of emotion dictated. stigmata couldn't help that he liked things that challenged him, but he could at least pretend as if he didn't like it.

the hound did nothing but scowl at her; his tail lashing as she turned to flee for her home. wives? his mind shrieked - a confusion that became articulated through the slight bugging of his eyes. he lurched after her, as if tethered, and then seemed to struggle with some minor indecision; taking a great deal of effort to stop after only a few steps and remain where he was from there. "i will see you again, my lady," he offered cryptically. "would you be so kind as to tell me what i should call you, for next time?"

he tried to keep her. anything to prolong this chance encounter.
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Olive looked wistfully at the horizon, leaning her weight into her front paws, making as if she were about to leave — but she really wished to do nothing of the sort — but still, her gut told her it was best to remove herself from this situation, with this particular man. She had Seabreeze and Ariel waiting for her at their home, safely tucked away between boughs of the sanctuary’s willows, and what was she doing teasing and provoking the Alpha of another pack? If ranks were to be compared, Stigmata far outweighed herself, as Elysium had no true ranking and all wolves were considered equal; the situation was nonsensical, as they were opposites in nearly every way. It repelled her as much as it drew her forth.

The hulking brute seems to mirror her duality, from the sneer on his face to his hasty inquiry — it was comforting, in a weird way, to know she was not alone in these foreign impulses. The misted druid turned to glance at Stigmata over a narrow, featherlight shoulder. With her eyes, she attempted to communicate a message: I understand. She did not want to leave either, but she must; and she must, because they both had duties to uphold and responsibilities that could not be squandered.When she bedded down with her wives that night, she would speak neither of this meeting of Stigmata nor their first at Elysium’s own borders. 

Still, the woman relished the moments in-between his words and hers. Wishing to pull every pleasure she could from this, she let the single word fall from her tongue like honey.
“Olive,” she answered, her voice a saccharine treat, and sprang forward onto pointed paws and away into the underbrush of the forest — a sylph, not to be seen again for a long while.
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams