Is that what you seek is that what you seek is that what you seek.
Please tell me it is what you're searching for.
Please tell me I'm not wrong.
I know I am.
So very very wrong.
Tempest eyes were wide, wild, the silvery color mottled with some sort of emotion that the stallion didn't have the energy or the time to think about. No, all he could think about was her and the prospect of her leaving, of her taking those claws that she had wrapped about his throat and dug into his skin and simply releasing him without a backwards glance. Far away, some small voice within his head called that she had every right to leave him, to toss him aside like the refuse he was, that she didn't owe him anything - least of all an explanation.
Yet, that wasn't how it felt.
Gritting his teeth, the stallion stoked his anger, preferring the punishing pain of rage to the weighty mass of sorrow. He glared, oh, how he glared at the prim and proper viper that stood before him, bedecked in gold and ivory and all things pretty and vile. Camdis seethed at her, hating those beautiful eyes, that sharp tongue, those all too knowing smiles - but he did not hate her for those things, no, he hated her for the ease with which she had shoved her way into his affections even as he knew what threat she posed. From the first moment she had approached, prattling about "fun" and "interesting," he had had the distinct feeling she had been operating under ulterior motives.
He had known and still fallen under her thrall.
There was a small part of the horned stallion that remained burning in grudging admiration for her skill in manipulation, but it was easily ignored and drowned out by the helplessness that nearly consumed him as she turned those almost feverishly glassy eyes upon him. Camdis refused to let his fear of abandonment show, even as her words lashed at him like glass shards and the stallion glanced at his skin to make sure that they hadn't left marks.
He wouldn't wince or flinch before her, couldn't show that level of weakness to the medusa as her own rage poured from her gilded skin like a river of ice.
Do you think you own me or something?
Fear sliced at the stallion and he struggled to keep his breathing steady as his thoughts banged and clattered against the recesses of his mind. For once, Camdis fumbled for his words, silvery eyes sliding to the grass at his hooves, the darkening sky, the distant horizon - anywhere but at her, at his(?) Pretty Bexley.
"No... Yes? I..." He gritted his teeth, willing his damnable tongue to stay in line with his thoughts, "There's something wrong with me and I don't know why, and I don't want to tell you any of this because damn it." He glared at the earth, silvery eyes flashing as the muscles in his jaw worked to spit out the truth, "You don't need anyone to take care of you, I know that. You don't need anything or anyone but you, and that's good, but I... It's not a feeling of ownership. Not quite. I just want -- need -- to provide for some of those I meet. It's twisted and it's weird and it's not at all natural, but you're mine - and I know that sounds bad, okay? - but you're mine and I..."
Camdis stopped, grateful for his dark coloring and the scarlet that stained his cheeks to hide the heat that had crept up his neck. Straightening, yet with a stiffness to his posture that left him feeling brittle, the stallion focused on the soft spot between Bexley's nostrils instead of meeting her gaze. With a voice as stiff and uncomfortable as his stature, Camdis spoke eight syllables before pivoting and walking back in the direction that he came, "I am leaving. I am sorry."
He had suffered humiliation at his own hands before, this was nothing new.
Please tell me it is what you're searching for.
Please tell me I'm not wrong.
I know I am.
So very very wrong.
Tempest eyes were wide, wild, the silvery color mottled with some sort of emotion that the stallion didn't have the energy or the time to think about. No, all he could think about was her and the prospect of her leaving, of her taking those claws that she had wrapped about his throat and dug into his skin and simply releasing him without a backwards glance. Far away, some small voice within his head called that she had every right to leave him, to toss him aside like the refuse he was, that she didn't owe him anything - least of all an explanation.
Yet, that wasn't how it felt.
Gritting his teeth, the stallion stoked his anger, preferring the punishing pain of rage to the weighty mass of sorrow. He glared, oh, how he glared at the prim and proper viper that stood before him, bedecked in gold and ivory and all things pretty and vile. Camdis seethed at her, hating those beautiful eyes, that sharp tongue, those all too knowing smiles - but he did not hate her for those things, no, he hated her for the ease with which she had shoved her way into his affections even as he knew what threat she posed. From the first moment she had approached, prattling about "fun" and "interesting," he had had the distinct feeling she had been operating under ulterior motives.
He had known and still fallen under her thrall.
There was a small part of the horned stallion that remained burning in grudging admiration for her skill in manipulation, but it was easily ignored and drowned out by the helplessness that nearly consumed him as she turned those almost feverishly glassy eyes upon him. Camdis refused to let his fear of abandonment show, even as her words lashed at him like glass shards and the stallion glanced at his skin to make sure that they hadn't left marks.
He wouldn't wince or flinch before her, couldn't show that level of weakness to the medusa as her own rage poured from her gilded skin like a river of ice.
Do you think you own me or something?
Fear sliced at the stallion and he struggled to keep his breathing steady as his thoughts banged and clattered against the recesses of his mind. For once, Camdis fumbled for his words, silvery eyes sliding to the grass at his hooves, the darkening sky, the distant horizon - anywhere but at her, at his(?) Pretty Bexley.
"No... Yes? I..." He gritted his teeth, willing his damnable tongue to stay in line with his thoughts, "There's something wrong with me and I don't know why, and I don't want to tell you any of this because damn it." He glared at the earth, silvery eyes flashing as the muscles in his jaw worked to spit out the truth, "You don't need anyone to take care of you, I know that. You don't need anything or anyone but you, and that's good, but I... It's not a feeling of ownership. Not quite. I just want -- need -- to provide for some of those I meet. It's twisted and it's weird and it's not at all natural, but you're mine - and I know that sounds bad, okay? - but you're mine and I..."
Camdis stopped, grateful for his dark coloring and the scarlet that stained his cheeks to hide the heat that had crept up his neck. Straightening, yet with a stiffness to his posture that left him feeling brittle, the stallion focused on the soft spot between Bexley's nostrils instead of meeting her gaze. With a voice as stiff and uncomfortable as his stature, Camdis spoke eight syllables before pivoting and walking back in the direction that he came, "I am leaving. I am sorry."
He had suffered humiliation at his own hands before, this was nothing new.
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