she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
Charmed, she repeated in her thoughts, feeling each letter tease with the softest pressure on her mind.
There was something magical about him and his word, something that pulled Maerys' velveteen lips into a small smile. He bowed like a knight would and it is with tightening nerves that she watched the action. It dawned on her then like lighting - a brilliant shock of white in a graphite sky, forking silently to the unsuspecting target with a thunderous boom following mere seconds after - he was poetry defined in the endless expression of what his body didn't reveal but his voice tantalized and teased.
Maerys did not know who the man was or what he did, but she envisioned him as some sort of spiritual figure with tresses so neat, a body so polished, and a staff so biblical. (Very different than herself.) The girl was a warrior now and though she wasn't renowned, she would be one of few in this world's history to draw forth weapons and deliver such furious slashing blows that would be capable of splitting and clefting opponents asunder from nose to tail.
But who was Elchanan?
She watched his legs continue to dip as his wing extended and though it didn't show on her features, her pumping heart raced and her breath was lost on the salty wind.
She recalled when the common folk years ago used to bow to her. She never had understood it - why were elders and children alike greeting a filly in such a manner? Her father had always said it was a sign of respect (you are a royal, he would say), but part of her had always felt as though it meant one was inferior to another. Even still, it now felt valid and stirring to be greeted in this way, almost as if she was home once more.
(She was sure no one in Delumine still bowed to others.)
"Elchanan - I hast known no others with yond moniker," is all she quipped at first. He speedily moved into questioning the girl of dawn, asking her what brought her to the island which left her little time to dwell on his name - on anything - because the tone his words leech onto suggests deeper and darker things Maerys had not experienced. The girl was one of love and connection. She wanted someone who would become more than her anchor; someone who would also be the boat and the glowing sunny rays that kiss her flesh so softly so tenderly so that she may be the same for them. But there was a little voice in the back of her head that spoke nothing of boats and the sun, but instead, spoke of things mothers and fathers do at night when their children are fast asleep.
"Curiosity hath brought me to the sand tonight, Elchanan." Maybe it is dangerous to play a game she has never played, but her eyes are not afraid to roam the contrasting lines where tawny meets ivory along the slow dips of his body. "What hath brought thee?"
There was something magical about him and his word, something that pulled Maerys' velveteen lips into a small smile. He bowed like a knight would and it is with tightening nerves that she watched the action. It dawned on her then like lighting - a brilliant shock of white in a graphite sky, forking silently to the unsuspecting target with a thunderous boom following mere seconds after - he was poetry defined in the endless expression of what his body didn't reveal but his voice tantalized and teased.
Maerys did not know who the man was or what he did, but she envisioned him as some sort of spiritual figure with tresses so neat, a body so polished, and a staff so biblical. (Very different than herself.) The girl was a warrior now and though she wasn't renowned, she would be one of few in this world's history to draw forth weapons and deliver such furious slashing blows that would be capable of splitting and clefting opponents asunder from nose to tail.
But who was Elchanan?
She watched his legs continue to dip as his wing extended and though it didn't show on her features, her pumping heart raced and her breath was lost on the salty wind.
She recalled when the common folk years ago used to bow to her. She never had understood it - why were elders and children alike greeting a filly in such a manner? Her father had always said it was a sign of respect (you are a royal, he would say), but part of her had always felt as though it meant one was inferior to another. Even still, it now felt valid and stirring to be greeted in this way, almost as if she was home once more.
(She was sure no one in Delumine still bowed to others.)
"Elchanan - I hast known no others with yond moniker," is all she quipped at first. He speedily moved into questioning the girl of dawn, asking her what brought her to the island which left her little time to dwell on his name - on anything - because the tone his words leech onto suggests deeper and darker things Maerys had not experienced. The girl was one of love and connection. She wanted someone who would become more than her anchor; someone who would also be the boat and the glowing sunny rays that kiss her flesh so softly so tenderly so that she may be the same for them. But there was a little voice in the back of her head that spoke nothing of boats and the sun, but instead, spoke of things mothers and fathers do at night when their children are fast asleep.
"Curiosity hath brought me to the sand tonight, Elchanan." Maybe it is dangerous to play a game she has never played, but her eyes are not afraid to roam the contrasting lines where tawny meets ivory along the slow dips of his body. "What hath brought thee?"
M A E R Y S
![[Image: maerys-pixel.png]](https://i.ibb.co/kM48w8r/maerys-pixel.png){kind=tracking}
x
force and magic always permitted
