LET ME SHOW YOU
what you've been missing
They know there are gazes that linger, that trace patterns along their starry skin and the wonderment of the star maps on their wings. But most of the gazes, surely, settle somewhere on their face and bore holes within the bone, staring, staring, staring. Cicatrix is used to this, though they would be lying if they said they enjoyed the fact they were used to it. The stares can make them uncomfortable at times, especially where they are naught but a stranger in the tides of bodies here. They came here with the hope to perhaps settle, make a life.
Live to the fullest that they could, even if this existence in these lands could be nothing but a drop in the bucket of their longevity.
The pitch of their head lifts, and tilts to one side, glancing from underneath the cloak they so covet to glance toward someone nearing them. Would there be sharp words, or an olive branch? It's strange to hear what they say, and if Cicatrix had eyes, perhaps they would have blinked them in their mild confusion.
What the stranger receives from a stranger themselves is a quiet stare and a soft laugh between gilded teeth. It rumbles, and the giant seems so small in the way they lie there, hooves digging slightly into the earth, enjoying the heat of a fire on a night like tonight. "Are you so certain? It isn't often I meet someone like myself." Divinity had cursed them, but they do not utter that fact. They instead only exhale a soft chortle, words delicately woven. Soft, expressive.
When one doesn't have the muscles or face to create expressions, they learn to speak to show what they mean. It's in this way that Cicatrix is blessed; being able to at least articulate what they feel in soft tones.
Still, they are happy someone is at least talking to them, they cannot deny the loneliness they have carried on their shoulders through the years. "...I am Cicatrix."
Live to the fullest that they could, even if this existence in these lands could be nothing but a drop in the bucket of their longevity.
The pitch of their head lifts, and tilts to one side, glancing from underneath the cloak they so covet to glance toward someone nearing them. Would there be sharp words, or an olive branch? It's strange to hear what they say, and if Cicatrix had eyes, perhaps they would have blinked them in their mild confusion.
What the stranger receives from a stranger themselves is a quiet stare and a soft laugh between gilded teeth. It rumbles, and the giant seems so small in the way they lie there, hooves digging slightly into the earth, enjoying the heat of a fire on a night like tonight. "Are you so certain? It isn't often I meet someone like myself." Divinity had cursed them, but they do not utter that fact. They instead only exhale a soft chortle, words delicately woven. Soft, expressive.
When one doesn't have the muscles or face to create expressions, they learn to speak to show what they mean. It's in this way that Cicatrix is blessed; being able to at least articulate what they feel in soft tones.
Still, they are happy someone is at least talking to them, they cannot deny the loneliness they have carried on their shoulders through the years. "...I am Cicatrix."
@Alecto
ooc|| echo let me love u
