Pann
catch me barking up a tree, smile wide as money green
Mmm. Warmth.
It starts like a dream I’d almost forgotten—one where the sun is a woman’s laugh and heat is the brush of fingers down my spine. Fire slips across me like silk and I feel it in places I shouldn’t, not yet, not while half my chest is still stone.
My first breath is slow and thick, like dragging honey through ash. My fingers twitch where they’ve been so artfully tucked behind my head—how considerate of me, truly, to turn to stone in such a relaxed pose—and the moment the last bit of petrification melts from my ribs, I exhale on a groan that’s far too pleased for someone who’s been buried alive.
And then I see her.
Oh.
Ruby horns, tail, fire in her palms and fire in her grin—she’s the first thing I’ve laid eyes on in... who knows how long, and gods, what a sight to wake to.
A slow, crooked smile curls along my mouth as I shift, my body no longer stone but flesh—and dirt, and torn fabric, and an outrageous amount of dust in places dust has no business being. My once-fine shirt hangs open beneath a ruined vest, my boots scuffed, my trousers wrinkled and indignant. Still, I rise with all the grace of a prince returning from exile, stretching tall, vertebrae popping like the world itself is applauding my return.
“Darling,” I say, brows rising as eyes first lower, then lift, “if I’d known salvation would come with horns and a smile like yours, I’d have gotten myself entombed sooner.”
I roll my shoulders, a languid motion that sheds a few last flakes of stone. “Thank you,” I add, sweeping her a shallow, rakish bow. “For melting me free of such a rude and utterly unscheduled nap. Truly, the locals had no sense of hospitality.”
Straightening, I meet her eyes again, mischief and hunger flickering in mine. “Pann Parallax,” I purr, flashing a fanged smirk. “Artist. Musician. Occasional menace. And yours, for the moment, whatever time this moment might be in…?”
It starts like a dream I’d almost forgotten—one where the sun is a woman’s laugh and heat is the brush of fingers down my spine. Fire slips across me like silk and I feel it in places I shouldn’t, not yet, not while half my chest is still stone.
My first breath is slow and thick, like dragging honey through ash. My fingers twitch where they’ve been so artfully tucked behind my head—how considerate of me, truly, to turn to stone in such a relaxed pose—and the moment the last bit of petrification melts from my ribs, I exhale on a groan that’s far too pleased for someone who’s been buried alive.
And then I see her.
Oh.
Ruby horns, tail, fire in her palms and fire in her grin—she’s the first thing I’ve laid eyes on in... who knows how long, and gods, what a sight to wake to.
A slow, crooked smile curls along my mouth as I shift, my body no longer stone but flesh—and dirt, and torn fabric, and an outrageous amount of dust in places dust has no business being. My once-fine shirt hangs open beneath a ruined vest, my boots scuffed, my trousers wrinkled and indignant. Still, I rise with all the grace of a prince returning from exile, stretching tall, vertebrae popping like the world itself is applauding my return.
“Darling,” I say, brows rising as eyes first lower, then lift, “if I’d known salvation would come with horns and a smile like yours, I’d have gotten myself entombed sooner.”
I roll my shoulders, a languid motion that sheds a few last flakes of stone. “Thank you,” I add, sweeping her a shallow, rakish bow. “For melting me free of such a rude and utterly unscheduled nap. Truly, the locals had no sense of hospitality.”
Straightening, I meet her eyes again, mischief and hunger flickering in mine. “Pann Parallax,” I purr, flashing a fanged smirk. “Artist. Musician. Occasional menace. And yours, for the moment, whatever time this moment might be in…?”
you should mind your business, but my business is the place to be
