just breathe through me
we'll keep the fires alight
we'll keep the fires alight
The air between them is brimming with potential, charged and heady, burning, cloying.
Israfel’s eyes remain locked upon Luvena’s own, watching the myriad of emotions that flicker across her delicate, pretty face, cataloguing every detail that is absorbed and understood, that is processed and ultimately decided. She doesn’t pull away as the Sun Daughter grows closer, pressing into her personal space, and bravely, surprisingly, the slighter mare instead dares a step closer.
The distance between them is as thin as a razor but for a single moment longer, a final hesitance, before Luvena, blessed, wonderful, stalwart Luvena, presses the velvet of her nose against Isra’s rose-kissed own.
A tremor shudders through the ivory woman’s body, quaking, leaving her so very weak yet so incredibly emblazoned. They have touched before, certainly; small, delicate moments of affection, of fondness, gentle and fleeting in passing and nothing more. They have lain together to warm, damp from a storm, and that had been lingering, questioning, is this alright? Ultimately deciding that it was fine, despite their brimming, burning curiosities. But this…
This.
It is fire. It burns through Israfel in a way that reminds her of the evening her own fires turned against her, willed by her Godly father, burning her inside and out, stealing the breath from the lungs and the life from her soul… It was frightening, this touch, this burning, this spark between them that they had kindled together, nursing unknowingly to a small ember. Israfel knew, intrinsically, that she had the power to turn that spark into a flame, twist what was building between them into a burning inferno, hot and heady and all consuming, but she also knew that such a raging fire could burn them both if they were not careful.
Luvena was not a fire for her to control. Israfel could bend the elements to her will, could challenge and fight and conquer, could manipulate, twist, and command, but this woman, (so thin, so frail, so delicate), so weak in body but strong, powerful of mind, with keen wit and sharp ambition, could never be tamed… And Israfel did not want to tame her.
Vermilion eyes slowly closed as she breathed, inhaling deeply, letting herself drown in Luvena’s earthy scent. She smelled of warmth, of home, a spice of herb, familiar and grounding. The tension in those ivory shoulders began to ebb, dispersing as she relaxed, her form visibly relaxing as she pressed a little closer, shifting her stance so that she could press both muzzle and cheek against Luvena’s own without breaking line of sight.
Letting her eyes flicker open, peering inquisitively through ivory lashes and emboldened by their touch and Luvena’s open-ended statement, letting silence swallow the words she could not seem to say, the new Queen of Denocte spoke for them both.
“I would like very much, Luvena, if you would allow me to court you.”
