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Private  - last year I abstained

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Elchanan
Guest
#1

this year I devour.

The lake is always still, but especially so now. Its surface is clear and smooth and glass and from where Elchanan stands at the edge of the rocky shore, he can see straight through and down: to the place where the bank slopes steep and low, to the wide whitish stones that line the bottom, and the place, far, far out, where the water is mottled by the brightly-colored suggestion of fish wriggling around. 

On top of it all there is a mirror-slick lacquer of silver, where the moon comes down to frost the lake. Everything underneath is, too, stricken with pale light.

This is where he belongs. In the near-dark, in the kiss of the stars, in a place and time where he can only really be seen by the faint silvery outline that flashes over him from above. So as he stands, knee-deep in the water, he is not cold or scared or even on alert. Elchanan only looks out and watches the stillness of the lake as if he’s expecting it to be interrupted.

It is not so bitterly chilly as he’d expected, even with the singing wind. Praise Caligo for that. 

Humming some homeland tune under his breath, Elchanan begins to dance.

Only a little swish of his white tail, the flexing of one wing that skates out to touch the tips of his blue feathers over the surface of the water: what is there not to love, what is there not to dance for? From over the mountains there is the faint sound of laughter and raucous music, and for a moment he ponders returning to the markets, to the parties, to see who he might find.

But oh, there is someone much more interesting coming from the other side of the lake, and when Elchanan sees her he stands still and grins. His teeth flash stark-white. They have met before, long before, he is sure of it; shaking the water from his coat, he steps onto the shore and toward her with a little prance, his head held high.

“Samaira!” he calls out, and in the darkness, tinged with magic, his voice could almost be a siren’s call.


"Speaking"
credits










Played by Offline Katherine [PM] Posts: 60 — Threads: 8
Signos: 0
Inactive Character
#2

hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam

The festivities had not managed to make her feel better; had not managed to fill nor remove that place inside her that was drip, drip, dripping its emptiness behind her with every step she took. The laughter, the smiles, none of it had worked its way to her lips, which remained somberly downturned at the corners—when they lifted it was only for the sake of her patients, or her colleagues.

Samaira had stood outside the Shed-Star’s tent, looking beyond it’s darkened opening, wondering if going inside would bring her any peace. She had stood there, waiting for her hooves to carry her within, to ask the questions on her heart. She hadn’t, even after the man made of moonlight had gone.

She also hadn’t gathered the courage to approach the altars. Her heart ached too fiercely to set her eyes upon them, to accept the truth that stared her in the face every day in Terrastella.

So, the pegasus had sent off her bonded to do something on his own; eat, rest, celebrate in his own way, she did not mind what. Only that she was left alone, to wander the night and the quiet with only her heart and the ghosts that resided within it.

That was how she came upon the lake, leaving the joviality of the court behind her for its stillness and tranquility. For the stars, and the moon, and the shadows, which brushed across her curves like a breeze. Something inside her was missing, or buried, or lost. Some piece of her that had wanted so badly to trust. Something—

“Samaira!”

Something tugged on her, like an invisible string, compelling her to lift her head despite her desire to be alone. The voice was familiar, and her eyes were moon-bright and wide, and she wore the night like she wore the earth as blue wings and brown eyes framed by pale lashes came into focus toward her.

“Elchanan,” it took her a moment, just a moment, to recall his name. But only a moment. She remembered him because they had met on her first distant flight after her wing had healed. In a cave, somewhere north of here, she thought. Somehow, though her heart laments, she stops for him. “What are you doing out here?”

take me far away to the hills that hide your home





[Image: 13481303_KpOIcOG7drxHK9U.png?1556314753]
we'll fulfill our dreams
and we'll be free





Played by [PM] Posts: N/A — Threads:
Elchanan
Guest
#3

this year I devour.

She looks just as he remembered her—so tall, so svelte, dark as deep earth and just as sweet-smelling. And her wings both lay the right way now, miracle of miracles; Elchanan’s heart seems to swell in something like happiness, or maybe pride. She walks quicker now, and more confidently. Perhaps a little sadder, but not as uncertainly. He cannot imagine what it would have been like to have his own body crippled. What it be like to be held to the ground without refuge, without any freedom. 


A kind of shudder runs up the priest’s spine as he imagines it. His mouth goes dry as the Mors, it itches like a bug bite from his teeth to the back of his throat, and for a brief moment he pauses and stands perfectly still, letting the barely-there waves of the lake wash up against his hooves. A chill lances up his legs. Underfoot, the white stones roll and tumble over one another, softened by the water, bumping gently against his ankles and hooves, a ghostly reminder of all the ways the world has changed.

For a moment there is a heart-pang, as if of wanting, or despair. Then he shakes off the melancholy and smiles. 

Elchanan notices but does not comment on her sadness—the look in her eyes that says, even now, she is thinking of something else. The soft brown of his gaze tracks her face without ever really stopping. He does not make outward note of the sad curve of her mouth, or the strange, sorrowful silver of her eyes. There is nothing to do about it. And he has never been the kind to wallow. No, the night is young and bright with stars, and there is a whole lake for them to dance across. To waste it would be just pitiful. So they won’t.

“Waiting,” he says simply. It is so open, so possible; perhaps on purpose, but Elchanan would never be so brash as to admit it. Instead he half-smiles, a quick and dirty slice of almost-fanged white teeth. He presses a wide eggshell-blue wing up against his chest and drops into a knight’s deep bow, hooves scattering a shower of rocks, knee landing against the almost-sand; looking up at her from a place just above the ground, those dark brown eyes glint with something only a little darker than charm.

And the priest says, with a voice sweet like honey and weighted down by magic, “Don’t be so sad, Samaira.” The brown eyes blink; Elchanan’s tone is unexpectedly sympathetic, on the surface, at the very least. “You would like to dance. It will help, a little.”

He stands and extends a wing, an invitation.

"Speaking"
credits










Played by Offline Katherine [PM] Posts: 60 — Threads: 8
Signos: 0
Inactive Character
#4

hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam

She watches the water of the lake brush up against his skin and it looks like he is standing in the sky, so perfectly does its surface reflect the stars above. Elchanan looks like a bright moon in the heavens; brighter and greater than each pinpoint of light, he manages to steal and keep her attention from his place on the shore.

Samaira looks at him as he looks at her, but all she sees is his smile and the way his pale lashes flutter against his cheeks every time his eyes close. Though he sees in her all of her raw, and longing, she says nothing too.

He says he is waiting, and she wonders, for a moment—almost asks—if he is waiting for her. But the pegasus woman knows that is silly, even as her heart skips and trips over itself at the smile upon his face. She is being foolish, she knows she is being foolish. Her heart is wanton and wanting, and betrays her at the simplest of actions.

A grand bow, sweeping low to the ground, and eyes so warm and deep and brown like the color of her skin; like they were made to look upon her skin. No, she wants to tell her heart, you have barely begun to miss the boy with twilight dancing across his curves and sea water at home within his bones.

But then Elchanan speaks, and it is like something else is living inside her veins, or someone else. Someone who does not ache, or love, or miss. Samaira thinks of the altars she had been too afraid to approach in the market square, knowing one would have his face upon it. And then he says, “You would like to dance…” and she is lost.

There is another day, with the sun above instead of the stars, and music in the air instead of the promise of winter. There is another boy. She thinks, she hears his voice, “But if you are moved to dance…” Yes, she thinks. Yes, she is.

Samaira blinks, and her moon-bright eyes find Elchanan standing before her with an outstretched wing. “Nothing would make me happier,” she responds, voice accented and soft. The words feel like an echo of something, but she isn’t quite sure what.

Still, the earthen woman smiles and, too, extends a gold flecked wing. “If you lead, I will follow,” and she takes the first step closer to him, and to the water that is as the sky. It has been so long since she has touched the sky.

take me far away to the hills that hide your home
| @Elchanan <3





[Image: 13481303_KpOIcOG7drxHK9U.png?1556314753]
we'll fulfill our dreams
and we'll be free





Played by [PM] Posts: N/A — Threads:
Elchanan
Guest
#5

this year I devour.

It has been quite a while since Elchanan has used his magic. This new world seems less opportune for it; more than a few of the strangers he would’ve used it on have magic of their own, far better suited for combat than his, if it came down to it.

But it does not feel rusty, or strange, or old. He does not think it ever will. Using it is as easy as breathing, as familiar as a heartbeat; as soon as Elchanan draws on it he is all himself again, nearly glittering with power, the sound of his voice smooth as a ribbon,  and a cold, vicious, ophic kind of satisfaction rises in him as he watches Samaira react.

The slow, almost calflike blink.

The way her eyes catch on something that stands almost where he does, but not quite.

The faint curl of her lips, as if dazed.

Then she extends her wing, a mockery of a rainbow bridge made in sepia, and Elchanan pulls her gently (gently) toward him. Now they both stand ankle-deep in the water, which, disturbed, spreads in strange concentric circles like the inside of an agate. Behind them the trees let out faint, unnameable sounds, something between a whisper and a moan; there is no one around for miles, it feels like, not even a god or n animal. The stars blink lazily overhead.

This world is far too quiet, Elchanan thinks. And he is disgusted, but does not show it.

He bumps his chest against hers, a brief, gentle flirtation, and then they are off. Dancing. Little steps through the water, ripples and waves. There is no music but the rustle of the leaves and the dull, sweet thump of Elchanan’s heart in his chest, relaxed, insistent; from here it seems Samaira is nothing less than clay in his grip, pliable, easy, beeswax melting under the heat of a hand.

Elchanan lets out a soft, warm breath. It ghosts over the base of Samaira’s ear, down the curve of her neck, twists and turns inside the coils of her hair; now his mouth tastes like metal, suddenly, like a desire more than desire.

Like hunger.

“Tell me,” murmurs the priest,“what ails you so.”

In the darkness, Samaira cannot possibly see the glistening curve of sharp teeth under his lips; she cannot see the sudden blackness of his eyes, the pupil growing; he cannot see how, when he smiles, it looks almost like a predator baring its teeth.

She cannot see because they are already oh-so-close, because, his voice has sunk in like an intravenous drug. 

She has already let him in.

"Speaking"
credits










Played by Offline Katherine [PM] Posts: 60 — Threads: 8
Signos: 0
Inactive Character
#6

hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam

Samaira lets him pull her close without struggle, lets him take her into the water until it is brushing against her ankles with its near-winter chill. She almost doesn't feel its gentle touch, almost doesn't feel…

Beneath them, the reflection of the sky and the stars dances too, among the ripples made by their movement through the lake. The stars spin and twirl until they are no longer stars, and the breeze through the trees is like a soundtrack. There is peace. Samaira thinks, is this what peace is like?

When Elchanan's chest touches hers, the heat of his skin ignites a feeling like electricity all the way down her spine. Her cheeks warm, her dark lashes fluttering against the fine tattoos upon her cheeks. A soft sound escapes her lips, like a rush of air, a gasp.

Samaira's heart beats faster. Somewhere, in her memory, the earthen woman thinks she hears the sound of music, of hooves upon cobblestone. Something about this does not feel right, like she is not meant to be dancing with him.

But something feels all too right about it, too.

And when his breath skates over her skin, playing in her hair, something in Samaira is lost to it. A shiver flits its way across her body, over each curve, delightful and terrible.

"Elchanan," her voice is nothing more than a breath, nothing more than a whisper. If it is a prayer, or a plea, it's hard to say. But his voice buries itself deep within the pegasus' veins, lingering, racing. She feels like she is drowning in a sea, but also that she does not want to come up for air.

She wants to get impossibly closer to him.

"Someone," she starts, pauses as if to reconsider her thoughts, and then continues anyway, "someone I cared for went missing on the island." Her silver eyes are downturned to the stars and sky below, her heart beating hard against her chest.

They are still swirling their way through the lake. Samaira is too aware of his body being so close to hers, that she is both dizzy and enthralled. She cannot stop herself from speaking. "There is an altar for him at the festival, I cannot bear to visit it." Her heart wants to ache, but it can't. It can't, it can't.

take me far away to the hills that hide your home
| @Elchanan <3





[Image: 13481303_KpOIcOG7drxHK9U.png?1556314753]
we'll fulfill our dreams
and we'll be free





Played by [PM] Posts: N/A — Threads:
Elchanan
Guest
#7

this year I devour.


She is suppliant in his hands, utterly.

That almost takes the fun out of it.

But Elchanan tries to push away his dissatisfaction. He chokes it down into the pit of his stomach, where it settles like acid, to deal with later. Now—now he must focus on keeping her here, and keeping her happy. Or—at the very least—enchanted. 

He does not miss the soft sound that comes from her, nearly a gasp, maybe a pant. Satisfaction curls Elchanan’s pale lips into something that is not quite a smirk, but far too smug to be a genuine smile; he is only lucky that from where Samaira is standing, she cannot see the flash of his sharp, sharp teeth, glinting under the pale moon.

The stars shift under their feet. The water ripples gently, clear as dark glass. Elchanan hears the beat of her heart pick up speed, the way it sounds through her chest, all the way into his. With exaggerated gentleness, he noses at a piece of her long, dark hair, gives it the faintest tug, lets his breath—with purposeful scarcity—drift across the richly colored earth of her skin.

She is… warm. Human. No matter how much Elchanan’s blood pumps, he is always cold, cold, cold, and as they sway in the dark night he absorbs more and more of her heat from all the places they are pressed together.

It makes him feel especially alive.

Elchanan, she says, and his ears prick. (The sound of his own name has always been attractive to him, for reasons he has never quite bothered to dissect.) He listens carefully as she speaks; it could almost be real interest, but their proximity makes it impossible to tell. From this close, everything looks real. From this close, everyone looks angelic.

“Would you like to?” It is a simple question, no magic necessary. (Anyway, he is interested in the real answer this time.) The priest draws back just enough to meet Samaira’s eyes. His gaze is steady, unflinching, and the certainty of it could almost be unsettling, if he weren’t oh so trustworthy. 

The eyes, and their confidence, seem to say: you could not possibly care for this man as much as you care from me.

Elchanan’s mouth turns down, just barely. It is hard to know what prompts it. But then his face settles back into its usual placidity; the warmth returns to his eyes, degree by degree, then all at once. Intently, he watches the way Samaira’s eyes have dropped to the strange, still facsimile of the that has been painted below them, as quiet and beautiful as any Denoctian artwork. 

He breathes out, stirring the fine hairs on Samaira’s neck. “But you would like to?” And the magic has come back, though she cannot possibly tell: the touch of it is as light and clean as the feathers that line Elchanan’s wings, just-there enough to ring in someone’s ears but not enough to cause suspicion. He lets out a little exhale, in exaggerated disappointment, and admonishes her gently: “Would it not merely cause y more pain? Why not stay here, Samaira?”

And her name is the gentlest word of them all, like silk unspooling from his lips.

"Speaking"
credits










Played by Offline Katherine [PM] Posts: 60 — Threads: 8
Signos: 0
Inactive Character
#8

hold me on your heart as the brave sea holds the foam

His touch is like velvet, like butterfly wings, and something so intimate she has never experienced before when he tugs at a strand of her hair. There are so many places that they are touching she can hardly count them all, each one like a blessing. She thinks she could be spiritual if this is what grace feels like; like his breath ghosting over the fine hairs on her neck, like she is a flame to his winter chill.

Samaira looks into his eyes, earthly and deep, and she wants to say that yes, she would like to return to the court, to the candle crowned altars and commiserative stares. Where others will dissect her heart like she is dissecting it all her own. She wants to say yes, but she cannot. For all the hiding her heart has done, it cannot lie.

“No,” No, she would not like to. The thought of standing before an altar with his name and his face upon it, lit with flickering flames by all those who held him dear… it is the unknowing that hurts her the most. That they all just disappeared, no trace of what happened to them. That she will never know if she could have told him the truths in her heart, if she could have ever trusted anyone with them the way she so desperately wants to.

“But,” she nearly stops, nearly breaks away from Elchanan’s careful, gentle embrace. She turns her eyes toward the hills, where she knows the court sits beyond them, full of life and laughter and waiting there for her is an unlit candle and so many unspoken words. “I should,” Samaira says, softly, as if trying to convince herself.

She should, she should. It’s the right thing, the good thing. He meant something to her, if the aching of her heart tells her anything about that, no matter how hard her thoughts are trying to distract her. But the press of Elchanan’s skin against hers is terribly, wonderfully foreign and the tender ringing of his voice is settling in her veins like liquid mercury; warm and poisoning. “I don’t want to keep being hurt.”

The earthen woman says it like an admission, or a plea, and the shadow in her moon bright eyes speaks to more than just an altar. Samaira doesn’t know where the honesty comes from—she has never been this honest with anyone—but she feels intoxicated and safe, with him. Why would she want to be anywhere else but here?

take me far away to the hills that hide your home
| @Elchanan <3





[Image: 13481303_KpOIcOG7drxHK9U.png?1556314753]
we'll fulfill our dreams
and we'll be free





Played by [PM] Posts: N/A — Threads:
Elchanan
Guest
#9

this year I devour.


When he pulls at that strand of dark hair and sees how she flinches—how she melts under the tense and certain dare inside of it—something inside him gets hungrier and hungrier. It foams at the mouth. It gnashes its bright teeth, which up close look much more like fangs. (Much more like Elchanan’s.) He feels a little sick suddenly, dizzied by the want that washes over him: the want to kiss her,

to touch her,

and the deeper, darker desire to sink his teeth into the beautiful, satin-soft curve of her throat and pull, and pull, and pull.

The smell of blood fills his nostrils. The taste of it floods into his mouth. He is trying not to look at anything but her face, trying desperately not to be distracted by the way he can feel her little prey-animal heartbeat stirring under her skin, trying not to pay attention to the unbearably constant knowledge that he could—could just, so easily—

Elchanan bites his lip hard. Swallows thickly. Presses his nose to the slope of her dark shoulder and breathes in, breathes out, letting the movement of it stir the fine hairs of her coat as he tries to focus on something (anything) but the ache that is building and building and building in his jaw, sore as a toothache, deadlier than a broken leg. It throbs with a heartbeat of its own, a movement like the flapping of wings. It pulses until it overwhelms him, leaving his real, actual heart nothing but a shadow in the cavern of his chest.

Should is useless,” Elchanan murmurs, and he means it. His voice is soft, but the word is emphatic; and his eyes glitter like stars in the dark when he gently tilts her head back to meet her gaze more evenly. “Do only what you would. What you want. And if what you want is not to be hurt...”  A thread of magic again, like Rumpelstiltskin unspooling his neverending golden thread. “…then I can help.” 

It is a promise, sweet and simple as that—but something underneath it is almost like a threat, something with a sharper edge, filled with a wanting that never ends. It is the sound of his heart. The sound of his breathing, dry and labored in the cold. The sound of the effort it takes for him to swallow, suck the salt from his teeth. Push down the swelling taste of vinegar and the want of moonlight and blood.

"Speaking"
credits










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