i dream in phosphorescence

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He felt it again. That familiar tug drew him in, back and forth like the gentle surf he used to walk on lost beaches. It was only when he slept that he felt it, when his stomach rolled and his mind drifted to the past. A life forgotten in the presence of another, if only marginally. Though no matter how much he might will it, wish it, even, it was her he could never forget. The woman of spun golden silk that pressed upon his memory with every step, every action taken.

Try as he might to conjure a woman of her magnitude, the reality of it was that he could not feel her in this world. Not when he was awake. She was lost, to him, for as sure-footed and sharp-minded as she was, she would not find herself in a place she did not wish. But him, Raihn, he had. Lost without her, lost without the tangle of the viper's tongue, lost without the shield of prosperity that was the princess—the warrior he'd met. He was not as sure-footed in this sense.

So he escaped, chasing after the familiar feeling of being wanted even in his dreams. The calling—the demand—it beckoned him. And then she was there when his eyes opened, when the world changed and glistened beneath his stare. She was the same, neither weak from the efforts of childbirth or ill-minded from the stress of an impending war, but healthy. Free. Captivating.

His steps were slow as they progressed, heavy still, but not hurried—not haste. He would cherish the dream, draw it out for as long as he might; and with any efforts, he may never leave. His words came swiftly—softly—as to not disturb her awe. “I have always preferred the splendor of summer upon you more than I do winter.” Raihn's eyes never left her. His friend. His protector. His Queen. “The glow of it when it hits your skin is different, your body welcomes the heat. Soaks in the attention.” As he does her. His sun.

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Her recognition of him even before he'd spoken came as no surprise. Though many did not believe it, could not allow their minds to bend to the will of the supernatural even after everything they'd endured, Raihn was adamant and steadfast in the fact that they were connected. The Golden Queen and her Shield. He'd found her in every lifetime, traversed across terrains that would've killed most men, most wolves, in search of her. An ever-desperate search, hindered always but unstoppable. He would always find his home.

Her words, honey-slick and trickling like molten gold down his spine like usual, made him smile. “Speaking freely, my Queen? Yes. As stalwart as your kingdom was, as steadfast as the people were inside it—the company littering beyond your territory was a waste of time.” His steps led him to her, a mere moth to her incandesce. “A waste of space.” He whispered, his breath smelling of ripe berries while the remnants remained stained at the edges of his lips.

Her second question earned her nothing but the hint of a laugh, neither the confirmation or denial she was seeking but she knew him in and out—a reply wasn't necessary for her question to be answered.

Raihn never could deny it. The pull, the want, the love. The entire duration of his commitment, he had blamed it on the means of which they were connected. Soul-bounds were chosen, plucked and welcomed into a community guided by her—illuminated by her. It was only right, only inevitable, that he'd grow attached. But as he grew from youth to man, as their bond blossomed from obligation to friendship, he found himself reaping the effects of her golden touch. Wanting it, dreaming of it, desperate for it.

His body fell to her side, ashen tan meeting spun gold as he made to stand at her back. “How often, must I ask my Queen, do you dream of me?” His lips fell to the cusp of her ear, every movement familiar in the same manner they've always treated each other as friends—comradery. “If it is both us dreaming, I wish to remember.” His head fell to her shoulder, both weakened by her smell and the presence he'd so dearly missed of his friend. “I do not think I could bear the thought of forgetting again. Forgetting anything.”

He slid his forehead to her spine, desperately committing every piece of her to memory before he must waken. “If you will any power, my Queen, do not let me forget.” His words fell in a whisper against her back, his nose inching across silken fur.

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She spoke so honestly, her words true enough to make his heart stagger in place. He knew neither of them to wield no true power in the world, and yet she spoke with a sureness that had him believing otherwise—hoping for anything else. The means of which they left were by no means calm, instead abrupt and so surreal in their happenings that Raihn would forever reel over the company he'd lost—the friends and family he'd only instead yearn to see again.

His head was slow and his touches gentle, every inch of her curvature singing to his body. When her next words hit him, Raihn lifted with a chuckle, heavy and hearty before the seriousness stilled his amusement. As it always did, desire mingled with the attention he'd pour onto her; how was he to react to such an admission?

“Then let me remind you there are more instances of revelry you can dwell on while you slumber, not war-torn men groveling at the feet of pretty women.” At the end of the day, he was not worth any inch of her mind, but it was not surprising when his chest warmed at the idea. He was feeble in her presence, fraught with boyish inklings of desire and enamor. Fraught with every desire to be this great man that was deserving of a goddess’ touch.

Hardened and tired eyes fell as he withdrew, reluctant and almost stiff in his retreat. “You misconceive me.” He whispered to her as he laid alongside her, legs kicked out to the side. “Should we wake, my heart will be gone. Trapped with memories I’ll only ever think about, notions of a past I’ll only find in my head.” His chest lifted with a deep breath, eyes cast outward while his mind remained in place —constant on what might never be.

“My heart lives with you, or have you forgotten?”

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