Calliope could rage for the way he trembles.
They crumble with sorrow and regret and she could hate him for all this feeling that boils inside her. It's more like a tempest than her old storms, her shadows, the lion hunger. Skin is not made to hold all the things Raymond brings. This is too much for even unicorn bones that have broken a million times (and reformed more than that) to bear.
They are made to conquer darkness, to wander the lands of sadists and slayers of innocents and met out justice and karmic vengeance. They are not made to carry this light, this fire, this trembling of the heart between the iron cages of their chests. But--
When he touches a kiss to her cheek Calliope feels as if she has been conquered and her heart booms louder that the war-drum chant of her anger. “I will always forgive you.” It sounds like a treaty on her lips and she forgets to scald eventually into his skin by the fire of her teeth.
Calliope, for a moment, has forgotten that a feral beast lives inside this scarred skin of hers. And for a moment she lays her head against him. She smears blood across his withers when she touches him vein to skin. Perhaps then he might feel the way she sparks inside, a thousand lightning bolts charring all her insides. The way she lashes her tail against his perhaps feels more of lash than tender intertwine for the moment is already passing, the beast inside her refusing to be buried in love.
“If you do it again I will come raze all the things you hope to save me from with blood and rage.” When she speaks it feels like the only threat Calliope has left, to sacrifice to save her heart from shattering and turning black, black, black. Novus would not survive Calliope mad with rage and sorrow. There are few worlds that could.
But the words when she presses her lips to his skin and nips at his jagged mane feel instead like a vow that she will always live for him, with him.
It's only now that she's twined around him again that she looks up at the Night Court, at the silent walls that are dusted like the pages of an old, forgotten book. Perhaps it could have been lovely, dusted with stars and silks and other things that promise to be reckless and lovely.
All she can see now is walls, more walls, endless walls and buildings that are made to contain horses and shelter them from the wilds. “Tell me of this Court.” It's the same request she made once of Florentine and like then she looks and sees walls and feels regret that this is world in which she is made to live, to defend. One in which all the mortals have forgotten what is means to be feral and free, free, free.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
They crumble with sorrow and regret and she could hate him for all this feeling that boils inside her. It's more like a tempest than her old storms, her shadows, the lion hunger. Skin is not made to hold all the things Raymond brings. This is too much for even unicorn bones that have broken a million times (and reformed more than that) to bear.
They are made to conquer darkness, to wander the lands of sadists and slayers of innocents and met out justice and karmic vengeance. They are not made to carry this light, this fire, this trembling of the heart between the iron cages of their chests. But--
When he touches a kiss to her cheek Calliope feels as if she has been conquered and her heart booms louder that the war-drum chant of her anger. “I will always forgive you.” It sounds like a treaty on her lips and she forgets to scald eventually into his skin by the fire of her teeth.
Calliope, for a moment, has forgotten that a feral beast lives inside this scarred skin of hers. And for a moment she lays her head against him. She smears blood across his withers when she touches him vein to skin. Perhaps then he might feel the way she sparks inside, a thousand lightning bolts charring all her insides. The way she lashes her tail against his perhaps feels more of lash than tender intertwine for the moment is already passing, the beast inside her refusing to be buried in love.
“If you do it again I will come raze all the things you hope to save me from with blood and rage.” When she speaks it feels like the only threat Calliope has left, to sacrifice to save her heart from shattering and turning black, black, black. Novus would not survive Calliope mad with rage and sorrow. There are few worlds that could.
But the words when she presses her lips to his skin and nips at his jagged mane feel instead like a vow that she will always live for him, with him.
It's only now that she's twined around him again that she looks up at the Night Court, at the silent walls that are dusted like the pages of an old, forgotten book. Perhaps it could have been lovely, dusted with stars and silks and other things that promise to be reckless and lovely.
All she can see now is walls, more walls, endless walls and buildings that are made to contain horses and shelter them from the wilds. “Tell me of this Court.” It's the same request she made once of Florentine and like then she looks and sees walls and feels regret that this is world in which she is made to live, to defend. One in which all the mortals have forgotten what is means to be feral and free, free, free.
BUT THE BEAUTY OF HER FORM BRINGS VIOLENCE
A LONG AND LOVELY FALL NO WILL OR FIRE CAN OPPOSE
@Raymond
