[P] ' ' you're all that glitters, all that's gold *

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 

Beneath her wing she covers him and it is light, like night once was upon his skin. This girl is a cat, her wing the tail and drapes gentle across his torso. He waits for her to twitch, for her tail to start its telltale switch.
 
Beneath her wing and close, close as they are, all is warm. He feathers are satin, her skin silk. It is private here, beneath the boughs of the buttress trees. All of the swamp is a cathedral and vines are strung between them like the tatters of banners – the shredded cloth falling from the torso of a lost god.
 
And now she shreds flowers too.
 
He watches the flower become undone at her asking. Raum watches as she ends the flower like worlds might end beneath a blade. The flower succumbs in silence and the next does too. Oh, the pieces of them drift like cobweb on the wind. Where is the spider to sew them back together?
 
Her voice is honey, it is a whisper but when he is so close it is loud, loud in Raum’s ear. His skin is crimson, the darkest crimson and she speaks of secrecy and secret holding. In her words, in her voice that pours like wine from the sensual curve of her lips, is a smile. If he were closer he might see it, but all he knows is the feel of her wing, like satin and the press of her skin to his.
 
“Of course,” Raum hums when they speak of how there is no scent of the swamp upon his skin.
 
“Mmm” he hums in agreement. The world never gives without expecting something in return.
 
Oh and then she talks of secrets and how Raum feels the eyes of the Swamp upon him, watching, judging, waiting. In the dark are whispers, it might be leaves stirring or voices telling secrets, whispering them to one another, filling the swamp with a thousand secrets he could never begin to imagine.
 
“Depends upon the secret.” Raum murmurs, limned in the white of her. She is the ivory to his crimson skin. They are blood and bone, the essence of all laying in the beating heart of Terrastella. Legion clacks his jaws, but he is gone, released from being close, permitted for fly back to Solterra. It is just Raum, this girl and her grove of secrets.
 
“Are they costly, these secrets of yours?” And his words drift between them, shielded by the arch of her wing. Danger simmers in the heat of Tinea but it is unclear who is in danger of who.
 
About them flowers float upon the breeze, torn into the finest strands, they dance an ethereal dance.

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@Raum - she's gunna have to work for that pound of flesh xDD