r e c k i t t
crash through the surface
where they can't hurt us
where they can't hurt us
A
nother breath, the simplistic act of breathing was certain, familiar, as she was parading through this realm- a charade. Bearing a mask of something else, other, someone else even; Kitt was remade into a thing that was uncertain. A being that she was realizing she knew so little about, though she had once thought she had known much more, it was laughable, and she lets out a small chuckle- breathy, quiet. It’s a laugh that almost is not there, clinging in the air as it pulls her silken hair with it, rolling the pale chords end over end until it braids it into tethers. Tethers, until it falls loose again, splays evenly like spiderwebs against the florid tones of Rou’s wings.“I was safe there,” she comments, watching her khaki colored hooves as they met the earth, steadied by the structure of her savior. Rouge was playing the part she once had, starring in a role she was eager to coddle, to welp into life, though she had never been a Mother. Building a pack of her own, a Kingdom, she wondered what had happened to the rest of her self-made family. Kitt wanted to pray to the Moon that they were safe, that perhaps they had found some way to carry on, that Fate had been benevolent and not sent them onward.
Like it had done to her.
On the topic of how she will be able to relate, how she will be able to avoid issue with the long-faces, she hopes it is truth the red one speaks. However inside, she wants to scream until she has no voice left, until the mass and weight of her pain is heard. What was it like to be hunted, to be seen as the next meal for the hungry belly of a Wolf? Kitt didn’t want to find out, she did not want to beg for her life, not this way, not in this flesh.
O,how she would miss the moon, the praying to it’s luminous surface as it bore silver light down from the indigo night.
“That’s all I wanted for us, peace among our species,” there are many truths that feel like secrets now, but she gives them open palmed to the winged stallion. If this was a mistake, she supposed she could welcome her end in this body, she might even invite his anger willingly if he so chose to turn her words to daggers against her. To mar her saintly skin with ragged wounds of coral, until she was bled from existence, they would not have to miss her.
She does not imagine they could.
“On our way to Dawn,” she steps ungracefully over a rise, her knees wish to buckle, “you said before. We will be meeting the Sun, or the Horizon?” Was that what they called their Home, Dawn? What did that mean?
@Rouge | "speaks" | notes: 489
Liv boo I'm sorry lol
Liv boo I'm sorry lol
