Rhoswen ►
Summer was a beast she loved: it did not question nor beseech her, did not feather the darkness with deceit and disappointment and upon a cloud of blistering heat it had not once failed to gild her dreams in gold leaf. Rhoswen was aureate beneath the burning eye of the sun; it suited the woman - this incandescence. Her body rolled and coiled in waves of amber, silver, red and the earth cracked beneath her feet. It was not happiness, it was not Solterra, but it was something: a nameless, faceless sensation in the hollow space between her lungs that breathed with them too and split a smile behind her own when she turned to face the sky. Was this the end? The beginning? The part where she clutched the climax of her story with a firm grasp and ripped victory from the jaws of defeat? It was not Solis to whom she turned for answers, but herself. She was the architect of her own future, and like all great artists she intended to draw blood.
Rhoswen could not tell if she was imagining the clamouring taste of ash in her throat, still, for perhaps the memory of it remained too strong to shake. That blue fire upon the mountain - it wasn't an easy sight to forget. Her own fire still raged within; it had not been quelled by the distance that stretched on with each step they made toward Delumine and away from Denocte, if anything it had been stoked. She had been a volcano laid dormant within the borders of Night, bubbling and hissing, but latent beneath a cloak of despair that had sheltered her for too long. A thousand questions to consider - a lifetime of choices to catch and dismember with a rusted scalpel. Loyalty, family, betrayal, forgiveness: what was life without such conditions? But what, then, did her heart desire? Such a fickle thing it was, to snarl like a lioness and howl like a wolf, with nothing but the pull of the wind to guide her due north.
Finally, she knew: it desired the truth, and the truth was not Raum.
One, two, three, four - the sound of her hooves against the earth, a warbeat to hail the fray. Rhoswen had been leading them for hours now, cutting ahead like an arrow through flesh, her skin set alight like a house on fire beneath Solis golden gift; she was not alone now, He was watching his prodigal daughter through molten eyes. Behind the red woman trailed a small travelling party - three shadows cast behind her flame - and to them now she looked (a brief glance, sharp and torrid). Sabine seemed to grow every time she looked away: her daughter's willowy legs had already begun to curve into femininity, her roseate narrow hips deviating between child and woman - it would not be long now before she would hook the eyes of men. Sabine's horns glinted in the white light, casting specks of aquamarine against her adjacent father's skin. Raum, in perfect step with Acton. Rhoswen's chest burned, and back to the path her cheek turned.
Words unsaid, thoughts unfurled - a volcano cannot lie dormant forever.
@Raum
Rhoswen could not tell if she was imagining the clamouring taste of ash in her throat, still, for perhaps the memory of it remained too strong to shake. That blue fire upon the mountain - it wasn't an easy sight to forget. Her own fire still raged within; it had not been quelled by the distance that stretched on with each step they made toward Delumine and away from Denocte, if anything it had been stoked. She had been a volcano laid dormant within the borders of Night, bubbling and hissing, but latent beneath a cloak of despair that had sheltered her for too long. A thousand questions to consider - a lifetime of choices to catch and dismember with a rusted scalpel. Loyalty, family, betrayal, forgiveness: what was life without such conditions? But what, then, did her heart desire? Such a fickle thing it was, to snarl like a lioness and howl like a wolf, with nothing but the pull of the wind to guide her due north.
Finally, she knew: it desired the truth, and the truth was not Raum.
One, two, three, four - the sound of her hooves against the earth, a warbeat to hail the fray. Rhoswen had been leading them for hours now, cutting ahead like an arrow through flesh, her skin set alight like a house on fire beneath Solis golden gift; she was not alone now, He was watching his prodigal daughter through molten eyes. Behind the red woman trailed a small travelling party - three shadows cast behind her flame - and to them now she looked (a brief glance, sharp and torrid). Sabine seemed to grow every time she looked away: her daughter's willowy legs had already begun to curve into femininity, her roseate narrow hips deviating between child and woman - it would not be long now before she would hook the eyes of men. Sabine's horns glinted in the white light, casting specks of aquamarine against her adjacent father's skin. Raum, in perfect step with Acton. Rhoswen's chest burned, and back to the path her cheek turned.
Words unsaid, thoughts unfurled - a volcano cannot lie dormant forever.
@Raum
