swallowed up in the sound of my screaming
cannot cease for the fear of silent nights
oh, how i long for the deep sleep dreaming
the goddess of imaginary light
cannot cease for the fear of silent nights
oh, how i long for the deep sleep dreaming
the goddess of imaginary light
Is it easier to regret saying something, or regretting that you tried to cover it up. As soon as those four words had left Valan's muzzle, she felt like her world had ended. She hadn't meant to say it, it had been spur of the moment, released from her muzzle before she could even think of what she had to say. The way those curls of cinnamon and cream danced around that delicate face, soulful eyes the same color as a drowsy sky. The very nature of the mare across from her calling her in closer, and closer, with an aching need that filled her belly and heart as if she was so close to perfection; and yet it lay outside of her canvas, and she couldn't sketch it just right.
And it scared her. Oh gods, how it scared her. It toyed with her heart, tangling that red string connecting one hoof to the other until it was a fraying knot that if she studied too hard; would snap and keep her away from Thomasin forever. That by leaving it knotted together she wouldn't discover her end sawed off half way through the knot's untangling while Thomasin could be spiralled off into the arms of some shrouded stranger - never to be reached for again. When you love something - you let it go? What if you weren't sure if you loved them or lusted them? How was Valan to even know how she felt.
Just looking at Thomasin seemed to have her world crawling to a stand still; something that shouldn't be even possible since her world was already frozen, her place in it never ending - immortal. Which was a whole different problem. The monster shouldn't lust after the prey. The lion didn't fall in love with the lamb. Those are fairy tales. And in those stories, how does one know if the lamb falls for the lion? How does one know that the lamb wasn't just playing along so it wouldn't die? Was that how Thomasin saw her? A monster that needed to be gently led along so that Thomasin wouldn't have to die? Was that how anyone was with her?
It was like a thousand wars of words acting upon her brain whenever Thomasin entered her thoughts. So many what ifs, and is it real, and what am I feeling, and the scariest part of all: What does Thomasin really feel? Because there was no way that Thomasin could see a monster as anything more than a monster - right? And so, Valan had found a way to cover her slip up, before Thomasin could deliver the spike through her heart while she wasn't looking. Because she was a monster, a damned being to a life of blood letting and destruction. And Thomasin was an angel who deserved the best; and she was not the best.
The soft words, so defeated sounding had that regret spurring again, the way her eyes seem to die out - that sparkle fading, her gaze falling. Suddenly Valan wanted that sparkle back. Wanted to breath it to life with every fiber of her being. Would promise to never drink blood again, even if it meant she would wither and die; just to be that perfectly imperfect non-monster to bring that sparkle back to Thomasin's eye. She would wither away to nothing; if only so she could be what Thomasin needed - because who craved the touch of a monster.
But she couldn't deny who she was. And apparently, who she was was a monster, as she watched the tears gather in Thomasin's eyes. Valan hears the voice that asks for forgiveness, hears the assurance it was overcome with emotion to spend time together. But it was like a knife to her heart - to hear herself being called a wonderful friend. Her gaze turns away, trying to hide the own distress such words had suddenly caused, the way they flayed her still heart, leaving it exposed for vultures to pick at - the rightful punishment for daring to believe she deserved anything more wonderful. Yes . . . a wonderful . . . friend." She echoes, an odd tone to her voice.
This all suddenly felt fake, felt unreal, felt like something put on for a show. Who was lying, who was acting; who was pretending. What an oscar-winning performance she was putting on as she forced herself to stand at Thomasin's desire for them to call it a night. The way she'd moved her gaze to the door, as if pushing Valan out, pushing Valan away. I . . . l-leave. She couldn't think, couldn't get her limbs to move with the sudden want, the sudden need to soothe those tears, to beg it to not be true that she felt Thomasin was lying in their cause. To beg that it was true, that she was just overcome with positive emotions. Because Valan. was. just. a. . . . it was Valan's own fault. The vampire shifts, her gaze turning to the ground, then to the door, Of course, as you wish . . . Thomasin. She breathed quietly, before turning to leave.
She pauses at the barrier of the door, her gaze briefly glancing back, as Rosario climbs up her tail, nestling in among the other roses, and she hesitates, she lingers, her gaze tracing over Thomasin briefly; If you need me, do not hesitate to call; however." She doesn't add on the fact, it could be midday with out time for a cloak; and she'd still run - fully exposed to the sun's rays for Thomasin's sake. Instead, she slings her cloak back over her pale hide, Until next time, Thomasin . . . . Goodbye.
As she leaves the home, starts her way back home . . . she realizes.
She now hates that word.
Goodbye.
@Thomasin
in my field of paper flowers
and candy clouds of lullaby
i lie inside myself for hours
and watch my purple sky fly over me
and candy clouds of lullaby
i lie inside myself for hours
and watch my purple sky fly over me
x | x
