this is who we were, before bones, before dirt, before even light. this untameable expanse. this blue mirror-of-god. this heaving, churning proof that we have always been deep, restless souls.
Torix knows what it feels like to be studied. He knows it is accompanied by a certain, underlying tension. He feels that now, but he does not allow it to unsettle him. No. The wind simply continues to blow; the sea continues to sing her siren song; his dragon flies on the horizon. And he studies her in return.
Alabaster and tiger-striped bay; god-blue eyes. She carries an aura of confidence Vercingtorix has never seen on a woman before and that, that he takes particular note of. He is nearly certain in the way she speaks, the way she holds her head, she had never been made to feel less because of the disadvantage of her gender.
And that, he thinks, is dangerous.
Thank you. But one false step and it can quickly lose its charm. " I’ve found anything with charm is similar.” Duel-sided; contradictory; dangerous. Few charming things are chaste. “A pleasure. I’m Torix.”
He does not give his full name, because of ceremonies he has seen performed on clifftops with crushed shells and blooded doves. Her name, however, seems familiar. His smile is languid—nearly boyishly charming, with the way his hair falls disheveled into his eyes. “It can’t be coincidence that’s the name of Denocte’s Sovereign.”
Damascus is nearer, now; with each pump of his duel-pair of wings, his size becomes more evident and so, too, his darkness. When he reaches them he does not land near them, but on the jagged rocks below where the surf crashes.
"Speech" || @Antiope
we lick saltwater stains from our hands, and yes, they taste like all the shipwrecked songs of our forefathers, but also like every sorrow we used to be afraid of devouring until we understood that this is a place of rebirth too
