03-22-2022, 07:22 AM
there are times when she wears the coward's mein, shying from the great shimmering love of @Eira and fleeing well and away within their frore-hollow of sweeping skies and deep dark quiet. it is when she hides herself in this way that the nightingale pilgrims to her own dead and broken plinth and hopes that her faint-hearted flights are only because of the modest swell come to bloom finally her aching ribs. what she had wanted is what he had given her, so she could not fault the rose.
and then there are times like now — when she's crept back to him and he does not ( she prays ) find her some grasping and miserable creature. when he lets her rest in the crook of his arms, while her lone silver eye goes rabbitsoft and the jut of her thin, pallid places gentle into the welcoming nooks of him. it is here that the shawl of sotaherra is shrugged away, and she lets the pink of her nose whuffle with careful ways along the heavy jawline and proud chin; belly cradled against his heavy breast.
she does not tell him of the voices in her dream;
... not in this moment, anyways.
and then there are times like now — when she's crept back to him and he does not ( she prays ) find her some grasping and miserable creature. when he lets her rest in the crook of his arms, while her lone silver eye goes rabbitsoft and the jut of her thin, pallid places gentle into the welcoming nooks of him. it is here that the shawl of sotaherra is shrugged away, and she lets the pink of her nose whuffle with careful ways along the heavy jawline and proud chin; belly cradled against his heavy breast.
she does not tell him of the voices in her dream;
... not in this moment, anyways.
the staff team luvs u