RHOSWEN,
Derision dripped from this haunted man - haunted because of the rage in his gaze, haunted because of the anguish lingering upon his scarlet skin, haunted because she could not bear to look away from this house on fire; watching as he burned from the inside out. For a moment she was almost breathless, her heart ticking to a curious beat; who was this dying creature?
Yet, breathe she did: her lungs expanding smoothly as they had done countless times before. And she brushed off his malevolence with unadulterated ease, swatting it from her shoulders with swift precision - curiosity would not kill this kitty cat. The man's words poured into the air, hot and scathing, but she only smiled; teeth glinting in the dim light. Rhoswen did not mock him with her amusement, for in a sweeping rush of something close to pity she almost felt sorry for the horned stranger - how little he knew of her world (the world). From Denocte he had come, and once more Rhos allowed her torrid gaze to study his bones, his lips, his bitterness. A stranger indeed. He had merely adopted Night Court - she had been born to it; darkness ran in her blood no matter whether she had chosen to discard it. The red-haired siren had never suited the soft elusiveness of Night: she was the light incarnate, she was heat and volcanic ash; to the song of the sun she danced.
Having grown up in Denocte, Rhoswen had known every face, every smile - this stallion was new, it was glaringly obvious. "More than you, fool," she hissed back, ocean eyes burning just as hot as his, "I was born beneath Caligo's gaze, were you?" She'd heard the myth, who hadn't? If only she could bring herself to care. "Perhaps your Lady should have grown a thicker skin," her head tilted, "and perhaps then I would not have abandoned her for a more tenacious Deity." The dark clamoured around them both, stifling in its absolute power. Rhos did not often dredge up the past - for a girl so confident in herself, it was perhaps the one thing to penetrate her guard. But she did not break her gaze, did not look away from this nameless man. "Rhoswen. You are?"
Yet, breathe she did: her lungs expanding smoothly as they had done countless times before. And she brushed off his malevolence with unadulterated ease, swatting it from her shoulders with swift precision - curiosity would not kill this kitty cat. The man's words poured into the air, hot and scathing, but she only smiled; teeth glinting in the dim light. Rhoswen did not mock him with her amusement, for in a sweeping rush of something close to pity she almost felt sorry for the horned stranger - how little he knew of her world (the world). From Denocte he had come, and once more Rhos allowed her torrid gaze to study his bones, his lips, his bitterness. A stranger indeed. He had merely adopted Night Court - she had been born to it; darkness ran in her blood no matter whether she had chosen to discard it. The red-haired siren had never suited the soft elusiveness of Night: she was the light incarnate, she was heat and volcanic ash; to the song of the sun she danced.
Having grown up in Denocte, Rhoswen had known every face, every smile - this stallion was new, it was glaringly obvious. "More than you, fool," she hissed back, ocean eyes burning just as hot as his, "I was born beneath Caligo's gaze, were you?" She'd heard the myth, who hadn't? If only she could bring herself to care. "Perhaps your Lady should have grown a thicker skin," her head tilted, "and perhaps then I would not have abandoned her for a more tenacious Deity." The dark clamoured around them both, stifling in its absolute power. Rhos did not often dredge up the past - for a girl so confident in herself, it was perhaps the one thing to penetrate her guard. But she did not break her gaze, did not look away from this nameless man. "Rhoswen. You are?"
@camdis this was really all over the place, sorry D; PS I LOVE HIM
