a king walks among us
Something of a smile plays on his lips as she flexes her wings and holds her chin high and winks; she is so beautiful, so soft, so fragile. He wants to hold her and keep her and watch her and write her and crawl down to the cellar and hide away with her, in the quiet and the dark and the warmth (and if it is cold, then they shall make the warmth from each other’s bodies.)
”You’re very beautiful.” He stares at her blankly for a moment. ”No one has ever said that to me before.” He is not certain if it is a thing to be thankful for, but she says it with no malice. No one has ever told him whether “beautiful” was a good or bad thing. ”Is that a good thing?”
She asks if he wishes to touch her feathered lovely wings and he everything in him says yes and he says ”Yes.” Her wings stretch so far and long and high that even he has to look up, for something so light must be large to carry such a strange bird. All it takes is her encouragement and he reaches out, snuffling his nose in the soft down of her wings. The feathers tickle his nose and a grin pulls at his cheeks and
he
laughs.
It is an odd sound, perhaps; stuttering and choking with disuse but genuine nonetheless. It does not rattle his chest, but it - really - is a giggle. El Rey does not stop, though; he keeps at rubbing his nose in the feathers until they send an itch up his snout and he stumbles back to let loose a mighty achoo! He looks up at the pretty mare, momentarily disoriented and fuzzy-nosed.
@
”in blood the blade, to its golden hilt, I’ll drown,“
I pledge you now, to death they all are bound,
