[Quest] Lay Your Head Down And Stay Awhile [Private]

[Valan]

swallowed up in the sound of my screaming
cannot cease for the fear of silent nights
oh, how i long for the deep sleep dreaming
the goddess of imaginary light

It starts with a flinch. A subtle slip against her mind, a wayward thought about it being too hot. The wayward thought had the female concerned, looking around, side stepping further from the windows as if the touch of the sunlight had reached her despite the blackening curtains drawn tight. She doesn't think on it again until a few hours later. This second whisper is like a touch that prods at her mind, a subtle image that flashes across her subconscious. This time, however, it's the slightest image of a bird in flight - like a still pulled from a book and printed off for her eyes alone. Why was she thinking about birds at all. Was she thirsty enough that even a bird sounded love? No, it couldn't be that, she kept her own thirst quenched with the chilled blood kept on hand in the manor, usually indulging herself on a glass or two a night. With the thought of a toffee-hued little lamb showing up at her doorstep at any moment, Valan had no desire to be caught with her eyes even a shade darker than the rose hued color she kept. 

There's silence again for a long while, hours passing to which the mare began to think the odd thoughts were just two one of chances of her mind wandering. The day began to stretch late, and as the vampire found a place to settle herself down with a book, humming under her breath with each turn of the page, reading a soft romance tail between a maiden and a pirate. How rakish the pirate seemed to be, daring enough to sweet the maiden off her hooves, showing no fear as he battled for her heart. Why couldn't Valan be that sort of brave, to tackle love like it was a quest, not a battlefield littered with mines? Why did she shy away from memories and thoughts of her precious, but limited time with Thomasin, rather than strike up the decision to visit on her own?

How long do you wait after getting the girl's number, before you dial-up? What passage of time marked the differences between 'obsessively-desperate, 'just right', and 'play-girl-taking-too-long?' Particularly as she just wanted to sink into the familiar warmth and softness she felt around the soft mare, with a garden growing in her chest. To lose herself in the sterling eyes that promised her she wasn't a monster, wasn't meant to be run away from. Avoided at the very least, hunted down at the very most. Why with Thomasin did she feel safe, and like just another mare, rather than a vampire so old she has forgotten when she was born? It wasn't love, Valan was certain of that. Why would the little lamb be in love with her, why would she fall for the little lamb? The lamb and the lion made obscure friends, they didn't warm each other's beds. 

A flash of an inquisitive emotion and the sleepy stirring of a petal against her cheek had the mare's head snapping up, eyes wide. All thoughts of her little lamb gone from her mind as she turned slowly to see the roses climbing to her bodice had shifted slightly, twirling through her mane when she hadn't noticed, and one was now cuddling and snuggling against the flesh of her face. Valan jump to her hooves, and instantly she was ignoring the setting sun that still poked and prodded and heated her skin. The licking of pain, the feeling of the burning was largely ignored as she ran to his rose bush, the one that had been carefully nurtured from the smallest cutting of her mother's rose gardens so long ago. She dove beneath the willow that helped to keep her safe from the sun would visit him so long ago, "Rosario!" The plant had previously been rather wilted, not dead but hibernating every time she had visited. Buds had been tightly closed, and the leaves rolled up, closed up. Now those same leaves were stretching for the sunlight, those buds beginning to unravel.

A sleepy sense of contentment drifted through the bond-link with the planet as the rose spirit that had attached itself to the mare basked in her familiarity. Instantly small vines and roses curled up around her legs, the flowers blooming as soon as they touched her body. The petals fluttered against her as if gifting her with hundreds of butterfly kisses, of hugs meant for just her alone. Additional vines seemed to weave in with the ones that she normally carried around with her, and slowly the flower that had been nuzzling her cheek returned to her shoulder, a little more aware of everything as the time came along. I need to tell Thomasin! The thought startled her. Sure, she had promised to introduce them when Rosario rose out of hibernation . . . but the rose was only just beginning to wake.

Regardless the mare allowed the handful of wayward vines to intermingle, splitting themselves from the host plant to join with the 'main vine' of the hive that was always clinging to her shoulder. She smiled brightly, a fangy touch of delight, before stepping out of the willow. She hissed, as the sun burnt the already tender, and heated flesh, before making a wild dash inside. Okay, so maybe not visit Thomasin just yet. Instead, the dainty mare checked her back and sides, her face, relieved only to see some strong red patches, but no seriously detrimental burns. But . . . Thomasin . . . Valan turned towards the entrance hall, the closet off to the corner, and grabbed a thick, heavy black cloak.

It was never really needed, her own body not minding the cold no matter how chilly it was, how much snow or wind was blowing. But . . . She dawned the thick cloak anyways, drawing it over her face, and wincing before having to jerk it hard over her head so her horns penetrated the top and would help anchor it low over her face so she was less likely to be caught out in the setting sunlight. Grinning, the mare nuzzled the drowsy plant who filled her mind with confusion, before merely holding onto her tighter, vines clinging to her forelimb, tangling into her mane. She didn't pause, she didn't hesitate, she took off at an exciting run to Denocte, to reach the mountains, to aim for a cottage at the base of them on the other side. 

The trek up the mountain was easy, her hooves silent, but sure, as the mare climbed with one destination in mind. It also wasn't her first time crossing the mountains, as she'd visited Denocte many times before, one such time had been when she'd met the coffee-dyed mare she was now on a mission to visit. And so crossing the mountain was no issue, the true struggle came with finding the hut mentioned to her at the base, as there was still a lot of ground to cover. And so the vampire allowed a different sense to aid, ignoring the desire to search with her eyes and instead of breathing in the scents to search for Thomasin's trail. The scent of candles, herbs, and baked goods was easy to identify, further proven to be her little lamb's by the aromatic scent that she associated with Thomasin and her chest of foliage.

Valan's eyes brightened before she started off in that direction, "Hold on Rosario, and we'll be there soon. Thomasin will love you." She stated to the plant that was growing more awake as time passed. Spotting the snow-laden hut was easy, the scent of baked goods proving it was the right home, and then Valan paused, hesitating. Should she have sent a note ahead? What if it wasn't a good time? What of Thomasin had company? W-what if she had romantic company? Maybe she shouldn't have come. Maybe she should go home. Maybe she sho- A glimpse of that toffee-tinted pelt was all she needed, Valan's limbs carrying her forward even before she could encourage herself. A sailor enchanted by the lament of the siren, and Valan would willingly throw herself at her siren's mercy and pray that Thomasin be gentle with her. Valan knocked at the door, even as she drew her hood back, so her features would be visible, wild curls half-tucked into the cloak, pooling around her aristocratic features. She waited with bated breath for that door to open, knowing if her heart could move, it would be pounding against her chest right now.

It was just nerves, she was just worried Thomasin wouldn't like Rosario, that was all. Nothing else, not at all. Yet, Valan couldn't keep the soft smile off her face when that door was opened, her rose gaze softening, even as she kept her fangs hidden to not upset her little lamb, "Thomasin" It was less of a greeting, and more of a prayer of salvation dropping from her lips. The subtle shift of the main rose, perking its petals up past the hood, pulling down on the cloak fabric with a vine reminded her why she was here, those thoughts having fled so quickly when in front of her obsession, "I promised to introduce you to Rosario when he awoke from hibernation . . . Is this a good time?"

@Thomasin

in my field of paper flowers
and candy clouds of lullaby
i lie inside myself for hours
and watch my purple sky fly over me

x | x

[Thomasin]

In the last stretch of winter, Thomasin’s normal routine was simple, but honest work. Today she awoke early, while the sun still slept, and blinked her twinkling, mousey eyes. She stumbled from her bedding of assorted pillows and patchwork quilts, shaking off the bit of cold that had crept into her home during the night. After stacking wood in the beehive shaped fireplace, she would light it, eager to melt the chill, then make herself a cup of tea. As it brewed, she would visit the altar in the back of the cottage, where a small statue of Caligo’s likeness stood, surrounded by various valuables: an assortment of thrifted teacups, delicate heirloom jewelry, and an ornate plate where she would share her offerings. Her worship would be uninterrupted.
 
She would enjoy breakfast by herself and await the first rays of daylight, then step outside to maintain her gardens. She would ensure all perennials were still hibernating peacefully in their winterization, check her compost pile, and then gather some more wood from the shed in the back to be used throughout the day.
 
When afternoon rolled in, Thomasin would move on to trying to tidy her house. The mare would dust the lace-lattice curtains, prepare a potpourri of cinnamon and thyme, and try to sweep away the flour from the kitchen floors – only for it to become even messier as she decided she craved warm bread. The dusty lamb would then begin to do the only thing she thought she did best, and bake bread.  After chores and the warm smells mingled in her home, she’d make time to get another cup of tea -ginger was her flavor for the day – and lost herself within the pages of a well-loved book.
 
In the midst of her reading, she grew lonely and melancholy, but her sadness would soon give way to a sleepy pout and she’d curl back up into her throws and nap: content and cozy.
 
It wasn’t until a knock on her door that the dryad would lift her head, still bewitched from her slumber, and move to the door. Perhaps it was her father coming to pay her a visit – she wishes he would have at least tried to come earlier so that she would have had time to make him a meal. With a yawn and a cat-like stretch, she takes a peek out the peep-hole to double check it was him.
 
It was not her father at the door, but a cloaked figure. For a fleeting second, her heart dropped at the idea of a stranger coming to her door – a shadow of a predator coming to steal away her life. Yet, as the hood fell from this creature’s head, Thomasin’s heart still struggled to find its cadence. Wild curls spilled around their porcelain face, and tender pink eyes would meet her own, each of her lashes a perfect arc to frame her intoxicating stare.
 
Valan.
 
Thomasin felt herself grow nauseous with anticipation, a sudden panic trickling into her body as she whipped her head around and looked at the haphazardous state of her abode. She winced at the flour still on the floor, and the way her wood walls looked so plain and ancient, the cobweb that hung in the corner of the living room with the house spider that she was too scared to shoo away. The brick accents in the kitchen were showing wear and pale in color, and somewhere you could hear the drip of something leaking.
 
At least the house smelled good.
 
But she had also forgotten about how she looked. “Just a minute!” She called out as she pirouetted, scrambling swiftly to tie her hair back into a mess of a braid, attempting to appear put together and important. She cursed quietly, rubbing the drool stain from her jaw, fluffing the flowers in her ribcage and staging them to hide her heart, praying for more time but alas she knew she couldn’t keep her friend waiting.
 
She would unlock the behemoth oak door, and with a whistling creek, the light from inside would spill onto Valan, illuminating all those features Thomasin had grown to admire.
 
Why does she have to be so beautiful? It almost felt like mockery at this point: the face that was carved from the moon, the way her hair moved like fire around her long neck and slender shoulders.
 
As if the sight of her alone could steal her breath, Thomasin whispered gently “Valan.” Her eyes were rimmed slightly with a fond wetness. “I didn’t think you’d ever come.”
 
The lamb stretched her head forward to take a closer look at the flower that seemed to move with it’s wearer, astonishment peppering her face before she shook her head and stepped aside. “Please come in, should I draw the curtains for you?” She spoke, her voice hurried as a glance was thrown at the sunset bleeding into the sky, remembering that Valan could not be exposed for long.

“I wasn’t expecting company. I am so sorry for the mess – “she mumbled; if Thomasin had hands, they’d be rubbing the back of her neck, ashamed that such a regal lady was in her dwelling – a mound no better in her mind than a mud and stick fort you might build with your childhood friends.
 
She would await Valan’s instructions for the curtains by lighting a few candles, and then motion for her to make herself comfy. As soon as she would be settled, Thomasin would eagerly sit across from her, a little wiggle of her hips a tell-tale sign of her delight, impatient to learn about her friend’s rose petal companion.


"talking."
tagged: @Valan

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[Valan]

swallowed up in the sound of my screaming
cannot cease for the fear of silent nights
oh, how i long for the deep sleep dreaming
the goddess of imaginary light

When was the last time she felt excitement like this, not including when Thomasin had so indeed stated she was not a monster? But while Thomasin gave her butterflies and made her feel alive again . . . Rosario was home. He was everything she had left of who she was. And to feel his consciousness start to rise, to feel his touch gently probe her mind, the soft movements of his vines climbing up her leg, over her shoulder, wrapping around the curls of her hair. The nuzzle of his petals against her neck and the quiet hum of contentment as he slowly woke up.

It was odd to think he was so much more than just a flower. But rather a creature that had been formed through the tragedy of the fire that had ransacked her ancestral home. He was all that was left of her, her beloved Rafie, her parents, everything before that fateful night . . . when she had died among a bed of flames and smoke. Even now, when the fire is open, more significant than the flicker of a candle, she gets antsy. Bonfires were a desperate fear that would leave her heart pounding against her ribcage if it still moved.

Would Thomasin smooth her hair and promise her it would be okay if she saw that side of the delicate vampire. Or is Thomasin merely counting the ways to hurt her, to turn on her . . . no, her little blossom was nothing like that, a flower beginning to bud, but she knew Thomasin's soul was more pure and beautiful than the rarest rose in the world. She couldn't deny the desire to approach, to show her Rosario, to introduce her to her bonded. One day she'd do the same when her master came home from his travels, eagerly introduce the two most important people in her life to one another. And so, she knocked upon the door.

Valan hears the soft movement, almost imagine that her favorite flower was peering through a peep hole, and removing her hood so as to not frighten the lost lamb she had taken to calling her own. A creature so pure, so innocent; at times Valan felt dastardly for claiming her friendship.

A brief call of 'Just a minute!' had a small smile touching the slender vampiress's muzzle, and she could only assume she'd startled Thomasin with her arrival. Not that the little dove could have been prepared. In fact, Valan herself had braved more than just reject by approaching. Even now, with the light of the evening, she could feel the sting of heat against her face, and she carefully shifted herself further into the shade, out of the rays.

The door suddenly unlocks, and Valan forgets to think as a nymph greets her, hair wild even in it's braid, perfect in all of her inperfections. A sudden desire to sweep the little flower close and hug her until time could stop fills the vampire and she stomps such a desire down. The whisper of her name was nearly her undoing. So long of being alone, how was one small creature able to make her still, and dead heart flutter anew. "Oh, little flower, you should know. Not even the sunlight could keep me from you." Her words were soft, teasing, gentle, ignoring the fact she had literally braved the sun to travel to her, had hiked the mountain, crossed the lands when the sun was at it's zenith, just to see this little creature.

Suddenly she wished she'd come sooner, but fear was a taxing demon and it had weighed heavy upon her thoughts. That Thomasin wouldn't be happy to see her. That she'd come this way to find Thomasin busy, put out by her interruption. In rare moments that told her all too well of what this fondness for the small mare was, she feared she'd come upon Thomasin hosting another, wrapped in their embrace, and laughing at her distraught face. She knew, in her heart; none of these reactions would be the real Thomasin . . but fear and anxiety could ruin one's mood with just the wrong 'what if' delivered at the worst moment.

She gave into temptation, her muzzle brushing against the cheek of the coffee-stained flower, wiping those tears from her eyes, "I'd have come sooner, had I known I would make you cry. I'm sorry." Her words were more sincere, more soft and gentle upon her precious treasure, before she smiled to see Thomasin look towards the flower. Valan shifted, silently encouraging the flower. As Thomasin stepped aside, Valan gently walked through the threshold as permission was given, even as the vampire smiled, her fangs carefully hidden, a closed lipped smile, "No need, I should be alright. The setting sun isn't as dangerous as the sun at it's highest point. As long as I avoid being in direct light, I should be alright."

She chose to keep her cloak in place, to obscure the red patchy bits of skin, from where the sun had touched her in her mad dash out to Rosario's plot in the garden early that morning. Even the slight tinge of pink to her cheek was proof of the sun's effects however, the risk she'd taken to see Thomasin now. The risk her heart was already aware she'd take again. The apology was cute, and Valan took the moment to look around, even as she settled down in the comfortable, homey atmosphere, her gaze soft, "It's alright. I like it, your home is . . . well, warm and comfortable . . . like you are, Thomasin."

Her attention turned then, as she gently prodded the little flower, "Come now Rosario, I know you're still tired, but I have someone I wish for you to meet." Sleepy vines lifted slowly, wrapping around her muzzle, the largest of the roses separating from the bunch as it clung to her face. Valan gently set him down at her folded knees, and the little flower seemed to lift slightly with his vines as limbs, the flower opening a little more with each moment he grew more awake, more aware. There was a soft reach of one vine, gently reaching out to the odd creature his bonded wanted him to meet, "Rosario, this is one of my dearest friends; Thomasin. Flower, I'd like you to meet my bonded, Rosario." The rose seemed to shake, and despite having no face or head, it obviously turned back towards Valan in surprise before turning once more to the one he was being introduced to.

He sluggishly moved, still obviously tired, before he merely wrapped himself briefly around the leg of the little mare his bonded was apparently taken with, nuzzling his petals against her in greeting, before happily returning right back to Valan's embrace. "You'll have to forgive him, he's still not fully awake yet." Valan added apologetically. "I am sure you have many questions."

@Thomasin

in my field of paper flowers
and candy clouds of lullaby
i lie inside myself for hours
and watch my purple sky fly over me

x | x

[Thomasin]

Not even the sunlight could keep me from you.
 
It kicked her in the heart, a sucker-punch to the stomach, Thomasin more surprised that she didn’t suddenly start coughing up blood from the impact of Valan’s words. She could only swallow the sudden nausea, praying it doesn’t try to crawl out of her throat and embarrass her even further.
 
The apology would only drive the pain deeper inside of her, and as she would reach out to caress away a tear, Thomasin would stay very still, terrified to move, her skin screaming at the touch of another. Her eyes would close very briefly and she would savor this strange pain; this seemingly harmless gesture would threaten to bring her to ruin, making a fool of Thomasin, coveting the sensation like a virgin clinging to the cross, begging for mercy.
 
Alas, robotic as she moved away to allow Valan to pass, her cheeks an angry red as she tried to decipher her feelings.
 
The lamb confused why Valan had such a power to stupefy her.
 
These moments, although fleeting, were laced with suspicion and a brewing bitterness. Was this witchcraft?
 
She wouldn’t allow Valan to see any of these conflicting emotions, not a single hint of this internal struggle was present on her face, just a quiet content, a half-smile of warm friendliness as she drew the curtains, regardless of what was suggested, certain she would be more comfortable in the darkness.
 
Quietly, mouse-like, she would move to settle herself across from Valan, putting her emotions on the shelf to explore later so that she could divert her full attention to the winter flame and her budding companion. She watched in tender wonderment as the rose would crawl across the distance between the pair, thorny and delicate vines acting like unusual limbs, and petals unfurling as he came came
 
“What a curious thing –“ she mused modestly, gentle admiration painted on her face as she would carefully lower her muzzle to try and sneak a sniff of his ruby-colored petals. “How is he sentient? How long have you had him, Valan?”
 
The vampiress was correct, the coffee-house girl had a menagerie of questions. Perhaps if she were a dog, instead, her tail would have been wagging eagerly. “Can he understand you, and you can speak to him?”
 
Could he speak to other flowers? She would ask Valan later, when the time was right. Her heart murmured in her chest with the possibilities; she imagined her own gut flora perking up, suddenly alive with all the answers she craved.
 
But alas, they did not move like the alien rose, instead they thrummed in sync with her pulse, responsible for directing the blood in her body from her heart to all of her extremities. They would never be able leave her bones; removal of her flowers would be akin to a cut to her flesh – she would bleed.
 
Happening to notice she was still shrouded, Thomasin returned her raincloud eyes to the woman’s face, meeting the opposing pair of blush-toned irises. “How have you been? Shall I remove your garments?” she would ask, a catch in her throat, wishing to hang her cloak by the door so that she could be more comfortable.
 
The strange sickness would return to the lamb, and she would chew her lip as she awaited Valan’s answer.


"talking."
tagged: @Valan

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[Valan]

swallowed up in the sound of my screaming
cannot cease for the fear of silent nights
oh, how i long for the deep sleep dreaming
the goddess of imaginary light

There was something about the little coffee colored mare that kept Valan coming back. It was the soothing presence that chased away her self-loathing and struggles. It was the soft look in those pewter eyes that could take her breath away. Or the way her heart was threatened to restart by her gentle touch. But, it's also her knowledge of who she is that keeps Valan at a respectful distance from the beloved little flower beginning to blossom, afraid her own monstrous nature would destroy the delicate being before she could ever realize what she had done.

There was always a lingering part of her that worried Thomasin would wake up one day, and realize she truly was a monster, would deny her company, would chase her away with pitchforks and flame. Still, she reaches towards the little flower, taking silent note of how still she had gone, and her retreat would be just as quick, savoring the scent of Thomasin that still clung to her muzzle from that frail touch, but being careful to never overstep, never give the small mare a reason to fear her . . . She didn't know if she could handle the only creature to accept her in so long . . . fearing her.

Thomasin moves away, and instinctively the vampire takes a step forward, a moth to the flame that was the unknown earthy temptress. Eager to follow her to the ends of the world, if only to spare a few more moments in her company. She is dumb to Thomasin's own struggles, her own mind silently shutting down her own flurry of uncertainties, what-ifs she kept expecting to fall. But as the small mare moves towards the curtains, securing them closed, it's another piece to the cold heart in her chest that is thawed. The simple gesture, for her comfort.

But she didn't come here today to stare at Thomasin, even if she was certain she could look at her for all time, and never grow tired of staring at that facade . . . and perhaps that was what terrified her the most. To be lost in the throws of a first crush after so long, and with another female no less. Her mother would have sent her to a priest, or a nunnery (odd now, to think her mother would send her to the gallows at the first sign of fang, a monster to be hunt down). Her mother always did stress the importance of upholding the family name, the need to be perfect and unflappable . . . Being a vampire likely didn't fit the De'Chrys lines.

Thankfully her family was long dead, and her new family would always support her, even if it was just to support a fleeting crush on a mortal to pure for her dangerous company. It was her own weakness that she couldn't keep herself away. So she allows herself these fleeting moments of bliss, watching the wonderment on the face of the doe-like mare, as the rose ventured to inspect her companion. She smiles to hear Thomasin's words, watching her sniff at the petals of the flower, "For a very long time. He was originally just one of the rose bushes in my parent's estate . . . After the fire claimed the manor, the gardens were in ruins. I came across his bush, and in a desperate bid to hold onto something of my past, something precious to myself and my loved ones, I took it to my master's home. It was years later before he began to truly show any sentience. But from what I understand, the tragedy of the area eventually filled him with enough energy that he became a spirit of sort." She explained patiently.

She smiled at the next questions, nodding lightly, "Yes, he can, and I him, in an odd way. He understands all that is spoken around him with little issue, although his version of communication is typically through mental images, and feelings. He works as a small piece of a larger plant, and can send off his vines elsewhere. While I slept, he had his thorns out, gently scratching those who would walk past him to feed me the blood while I was unable to drink it myself." She added. The vampire moved her head towards the rose, nuzzling the petals that instantly engulfed her muzzle in a hug, "He has been my one constant companion since my death." She admitted, before her head tilted at the other's questions, and had the mare been capable of it, blood would have rushed to Valan's face, "I have been well. Master has been out for a while, so I have the manor to myself at the moment, so it has been a rather quiet and relaxing passing of time." She pauses at the idea of giving up the covering, and she shifts, "You may, but . . . do not fret . . ." The vampire finally admits, pulling the garment from her skin, the slightly odd patchy hues along her back and sides from where the sun had burned her on her mad dash to Rosario visible, "I was not thinking when I felt Rosario stir, and went out into the sun before I remembered it was daylight." She admitted quietly, shifting as if to obscure the unsightly burnt patches of her skin, while striving to make sure Thomasin knew the journey to her home had not been the cause of the injuries.


@Thomasin

in my field of paper flowers
and candy clouds of lullaby
i lie inside myself for hours
and watch my purple sky fly over me

x | x

[Thomasin]

In retrospect, a different headspace within a different host, Thomasin was riddled with fear. There would could a time that the lamb would succumb to her knees, staring up at the winter flame, confessing the terror that gripped her mercilessly. 

To start, there is a surface level of dread: it is a thin veil, like an oil sheen on top of a body of water, and it is the byproduct of instinct. Valan is, and will always be, an undead. And while the specifics of how that works, and the mess of details that it entails, would always be out of reach for Thomasin – she was too simple minded to even try to understand the mechanics of that strange magic. If just the walking dead, it would be simple, but it wasn’t just reanimation that sat unwell in Thomasin; Valantine was a vampire and her very livelihood depended on the blood of mortals.

Yet, these facts were not what caused her sleeplessness.

Her friend was also a hawk-sore. 

And the attraction she felt was the root of her trepidations. Thomasin was more afraid of the sweet words that flowed from Valan’s mouth, not the cage of teeth guarding that saccharine voice. Thomasin was crippled by a constant angst that she would come closer to her, catch her off guard, steal away her own voice with a kiss. The bend in Valan’s lashes made Thomasin weak, the delight in her rose-colored eyes as she spoke of her bonded and their shared history, the way her curls framed her ivory cheekbones like blood spilling down the swell of the moon.

Oh, the thought of it made her nauseous. 

Butterflies raged in her stomach, threatening to overcome her processing center with expanding, unpredicted feelings. A festering of doubt and self-criticism would occasionally cause Thomasin to disassociate from the conversation, and instead of listening, she would be thinking of Valantine in the peak of her youth, a virtuous smile on her face as men kissed her feet and bowed in awe, digging for the courage to ask her to dance. 

The mention of tragedy would motion her to surface from thought, a respectful nod of her head. She couldn’t imagine the kind of horrors the noble lady had endured. Whatever pain she suffered could only be sympathized with, a gentle grimace on the brown mare’s face as she egged her to continue.

After learning the way Rosario and Valan communicate, Thomasin smiled. “I think it’s beautiful you have such a close bond.”

Yes, beauty incarnate, Valan was. Well-spoken, educated, polite, effortlessly dazzling, sure to win the hearts of any she pursued. 
The realization of her own blandness in comparison could have sent her to an early grave. 

Valantine was someone to celebrate, and Thomasin just someone to tolerate. 

With her consent, Thomasin would move slowly, deliberately, to take a hold of the dark cloak, removing it with a considerate gentleness so that she would not further agitate the angry, sun-split skin. Her lower lip trembles at the sight, absorbed in her helplessness. She whispers, close enough to the other’s ear as she scrutinizes her burns. “Oh, Valan. You must promise me to be more careful.”

A tiny, bittersweet smile touched her peachy mouth. “Rosario –“ she calls out quietly, as to make sure the bonded knew she harbored no anger and only carefully jested, “you have to keep a better eye on our lady now that you’re around.”

An amused giggle falls from Thomasin as she takes the cloak to the door, hanging it out of the way. She rushes back to her seat, folding herself up across from the vampire. “I heard a festival is being held in Delumine. I volunteered to make pastries,” she mumbles, hoping the change of subject would soothe her nerves. “Have you received an invitation?”


 


"talking."
tagged: @Valan

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[Valan]

swallowed up in the sound of my screaming
cannot cease for the fear of silent nights
oh, how i long for the deep sleep dreaming
the goddess of imaginary light

Valan always held a sort of . . . trepidation when it came to her little flower, and somewhere down in her heart she'd taken to considering the little flower as hers. Her friend. Her treasured friend who would brave the lion to thee the thorn in her paw and free her of the pain her existence caused her. Perhaps one would humor it was a fang in her paw. But, there was always that sense of worry, that one day Thomasin would see her for the monster her species was. Would cast her away from her, sentence her to loneliness once more.

Would she hold still if Thomasin was the one aiming the stake to her heart?

What Valan had no way of knowing was that it wasn't just her status as an undead bloodsucker that brought worry to the little flower. But Valan herself that was the cause of the doe's hesitation. In another life time, would they have caved to this unparalleled attraction. When even in Valan's youth, Rafie hadn't stuttered her heart like Thomasin did. Rafie, sweet Rafie that she had grown up with, promised to run away with. Was like a forgotten sentence amongst a saga where Thomasin had been cast the lead.

Did the doe think on how she effected the lion? How the moonspun eyes gleamed into Valan's memories, like her own promised touch of moonlight. Or the way Thomasin's carefully controlled curls made Valan ache with the need to pull them free, and bury her face to see if the baker's scent would be more thickly buried there. Would she still smell of herbs and bread fresh from the oven, and flour. Or in those bound back waves, was there a hidden treasure trove of scents just out of Valan's reach.

Did the little flower know how her lean, delicate body, with the flora growing from her song like Valan's own personal Garden of Eden? Who needed Heaven, when you'd found the promised land in soulful eyes, and a shy, tender smile.

Valan was so careful to keep these thoughts at bay, even as she speaks about Rosario, introducing the two with a fondness for the rose plant, but the thoughts are never far from her mind, a constant wondering of where such emotions had bubbled up from the delicate dame with an oasis in her chest, "I think you're beautiful." The words come without forethought and immediately the vampiress is struck by what just left her muzzle; as her head snaps up, briefly hoping she'd spoken too low to be over heard, searching for a way to spin it around and save face before she is buried by the weight of embarrassment, "You're kindness shines for you to think so." It's not the best save, but playing it off as a response to the compliment seemed the safest bet.

She'd explore her outburst later. Instead she continued to focus on Rosario, even if her gaze would trail to the interactions between the two. Unfortunately, the address of her cloak soon becomes a point of conversation, and Valan head ducks with shame as the cloak hiding the wounds from the sun are exposed. The whispered breath against her ear causes her to suck in a breath, but she nods as she buries the attraction down further, "I'm sorry to cause you alarm . . ." She returns in a whisper, lifting her face, her soft rose eyes turning towards the smaller mare, her muzzle bumping against Thomasin's gently - ever so lightly, before she turns her head to observe the heatened, chapped skin, burnt and split and "It shall heal soon enough. It is not the first time I've attempted to outwit the sun."

She smiles however as Rosario is the one who is playfully told to keep an eye on her, but it is the possessive touch of 'our lady' that has Valan's chest suddenly feeling tight. Through that bond the image of soldier at attention, affirmative acceptance of orders are sent, even as one vine salutes at the top of the rose's petals, "He has accepted your order as if you were his general." She muses softly, as she watches Thomasin hang the cloak, and even as the mare returns to her previous spot, Valan is already missing her presence beside her. Would it be too forward to stand and approach her, to sit beside her.

Yes, most likely. So instead the vampire continues the conversation, smiling gently with a nod, "We have received an invitation at the manor. I plan to attend once the sun has set." Her gaze pierces across the distance, her long lashes hooded over pale pink eyes, "If you intend to take part in the bonfire and dance - perhaps you could save me one?" She asks softly, a faint smile to her muzzle, "I'd be sure to attend if I was permitted time to spend with you, little flower." Where had that moment of bravery come from - she could only pray it wasn't her undoing.

@Thomasin

in my field of paper flowers
and candy clouds of lullaby
i lie inside myself for hours
and watch my purple sky fly over me

x | x

[Thomasin]

“I think you’re beautiful”

Static.

An internal explosion threatened to ruin all the poise Thomasin desperately clung to; her grip had already been compromised by the mere presence of the winter flame, but the mountain of self-doubt and timidity she had always been accustomed to climb began to shake under her hands, a tumultuous rumble disturbed the peace, and the little coffee-house mare couldn’t hold on anymore.

The eruption blindsided her.

Thomasin was falling now.

Yet, falling was like second nature: a plethora of petals and flowers around her, a headrush like a gale of fresh spring air, a freefall where the butterflies braided her wild hair and the bumblebees whispered and giggled gayly in her ears. Her vision colored by promises of milk and honey, butterscotch toffee clouds and sunshine like melted butter and brown sugar. For the first time, in a long time, she wasn’t scared.

She embraced the fall.

With both ears ready to cup any more words that spilled from Valan’s mouth, her heart racing fancy-free, the flora at her sides vibrating with the pulse of her abrupt adrenaline rush – no, like a sugar high – she leans forward with an eager mouth and a brightness that could swallow both the ladies, ready to tell her, ready to confess that she had been helpless ever since their first meeting in the candlelit sanctuary of Caligo.

“You're kindness shines for you to think so –“

The impact from hitting the ground knocks the breath out of Thomasin.

“Oh,” she says, soft, defeated. “Of course.”

The sparkle in her once wide and alive eyes decays, her gaze redirected to the familiar floors of her humble home. “Of course,” she repeats herself, as if confirming her own strange death.

Unfortunately, she flexes her jaw, chewing on the inside of her cheek as her brow furrows, blinking wildly as she tries to pick herself up from the wreckage of self-sabotage. Watery, raincloud eyes try to hold back the flood of tears, but she is tired, and so they spill over her cherub cheeks in fat rivers. She is quiet, her breath just a shiver.

All the butterflies were now snakes, the bees just an echo of cruel laughter. 

She lies to Valan. 

 “I am sorry,” deadpan voice finally slips from the cage of Thomasin’s teeth. “Forgive my tears, I am such a babbling baby. I am just so - so overcome with emotion that you would be willing to spend time with me at the festival.” Without hesitation, she lifts her chin, forcing to carve a smile into that peachy muzzle. “You really are a wonderful friend.” Briefly, she glances at the flower Rosario in a weak apology, the grimace growing on her delicate face.

“If there is nothing else, perhaps we should call it a night.”

Thomasin finished crying, her face puffy from raging emotions that she chose to bury instead of face, her line of sight ripping away from the beautiful, moon-bathed woman before her, to the door in desperate fashion to shoo Valan away, in hopes that once the vampire had returned home, that the dryad would be free to smother herself in pillows and weep over the missed opportunity of sharing her feelings, to cry hard and heal from the assumption that her feelings were only one sided, and she felt like a terrible friend to even consider wanting to stay by Valan’s side for the rest of her life.

Valantine was a friend, and Thomasin was wicked for trying to twist it any other way.



"talking."
tagged: @Valan

CODE IMAGE

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[Valan]

swallowed up in the sound of my screaming
cannot cease for the fear of silent nights
oh, how i long for the deep sleep dreaming
the goddess of imaginary light

Is it easier to regret saying something, or regretting that you tried to cover it up. As soon as those four words had left Valan's muzzle, she felt like her world had ended. She hadn't meant to say it, it had been spur of the moment, released from her muzzle before she could even think of what she had to say. The way those curls of cinnamon and cream danced around that delicate face, soulful eyes the same color as a drowsy sky. The very nature of the mare across from her calling her in closer, and closer, with an aching need that filled her belly and heart as if she was so close to perfection; and yet it lay outside of her canvas, and she couldn't sketch it just right.

And it scared her. Oh gods, how it scared her. It toyed with her heart, tangling that red string connecting one hoof to the other until it was a fraying knot that if she studied too hard; would snap and keep her away from Thomasin forever. That by leaving it knotted together she wouldn't discover her end sawed off half way through the knot's untangling while Thomasin could be spiralled off into the arms of some shrouded stranger - never to be reached for again. When you love something - you let it go? What if you weren't sure if you loved them or lusted them? How was Valan to even know how she felt.

Just looking at Thomasin seemed to have her world crawling to a stand still; something that shouldn't be even possible since her world was already frozen, her place in it never ending - immortal. Which was a whole different problem. The monster shouldn't lust after the prey. The lion didn't fall in love with the lamb. Those are fairy tales. And in those stories, how does one know if the lamb falls for the lion? How does one know that the lamb wasn't just playing along so it wouldn't die? Was that how Thomasin saw her? A monster that needed to be gently led along so that Thomasin wouldn't have to die? Was that how anyone was with her?

It was like a thousand wars of words acting upon her brain whenever Thomasin entered her thoughts. So many what ifs, and is it real, and what am I feeling, and the scariest part of all: What does Thomasin really feel? Because there was no way that Thomasin could see a monster as anything more than a monster - right? And so, Valan had found a way to cover her slip up, before Thomasin could deliver the spike through her heart while she wasn't looking. Because she was a monster, a damned being to a life of blood letting and destruction. And Thomasin was an angel who deserved the best; and she was not the best.

The soft words, so defeated sounding had that regret spurring again, the way her eyes seem to die out - that sparkle fading, her gaze falling. Suddenly Valan wanted that sparkle back. Wanted to breath it to life with every fiber of her being. Would promise to never drink blood again, even if it meant she would wither and die; just to be that perfectly imperfect non-monster to bring that sparkle back to Thomasin's eye. She would wither away to nothing; if only so she could be what Thomasin needed - because who craved the touch of a monster.

But she couldn't deny who she was. And apparently, who she was was a monster, as she watched the tears gather in Thomasin's eyes. Valan hears the voice that asks for forgiveness, hears the assurance it was overcome with emotion to spend time together. But it was like a knife to her heart - to hear herself being called a wonderful friend. Her gaze turns away, trying to hide the own distress such words had suddenly caused, the way they flayed her still heart, leaving it exposed for vultures to pick at - the rightful punishment for daring to believe she deserved anything more wonderful. Yes . . . a wonderful . . . friend." She echoes, an odd tone to her voice.

This all suddenly felt fake, felt unreal, felt like something put on for a show. Who was lying, who was acting; who was pretending. What an oscar-winning performance she was putting on as she forced herself to stand at Thomasin's desire for them to call it a night. The way she'd moved her gaze to the door, as if pushing Valan out, pushing Valan away. I . . . l-leave. She couldn't think, couldn't get her limbs to move with the sudden want, the sudden need to soothe those tears, to beg it to not be true that she felt Thomasin was lying in their cause. To beg that it was true, that she was just overcome with positive emotions. Because Valan. was. just. a. . . . it was Valan's own fault. The vampire shifts, her gaze turning to the ground, then to the door, Of course, as you wish . . . Thomasin. She breathed quietly, before turning to leave.

She pauses at the barrier of the door, her gaze briefly glancing back, as Rosario climbs up her tail, nestling in among the other roses, and she hesitates, she lingers, her gaze tracing over Thomasin briefly; If you need me, do not hesitate to call; however." She doesn't add on the fact, it could be midday with out time for a cloak; and she'd still run - fully exposed to the sun's rays for Thomasin's sake. Instead, she slings her cloak back over her pale hide, Until next time, Thomasin . . . . Goodbye.

As she leaves the home, starts her way back home . . . she realizes.

She now hates that word.

Goodbye.

@Thomasin

in my field of paper flowers
and candy clouds of lullaby
i lie inside myself for hours
and watch my purple sky fly over me

x | x