Drinking from a bitter cup, burying the bottles with the bones
Feathers flare out in a ripple effect, her words enough of a stone to leave an impact in a flood. Lightning carves him up in a clear display of unease, but where either would have normally made her pause, her gaze only narrows against the sudden streak of light and the motion of shifts rolling against skin prickling with unrest. Hers might not be so visible as his, but she’s shifting too. He wears scales, and she brandishes ash. He storms with light, and she bears smoke. Feathers to flame.
The thing with fire is it catches so easy, and it’s so damn voracious. It doesn’t take much to get it going again, and if it’s already taken all this from her, what’s another bridge? ”I never asked for every minute. I asked for what you said you’d give.” There’s no sense to it. Not the carcass of her home, not this blaze catching between them, so different from all the other times they’d melted. It’s pain—nerves so fried they don’t feel the same. ”Guess your word doesn’t mean shit though.” It’s not the fences, not really. He’d never promised. She’d always tried not to expect. It’s just finding out hope’s run out, and he stands as part of it, something that’d once been shiny turning dull in the dust.
Her arms cross over one another, holding a barrier between her chest and his, although his has long gone hollow. Maybe with a heart, he would’ve done more than bare his teeth back. Held her, like he once did, knowing tragedy hits but it doesn’t last, because isn’t he proof of that by still standing? Doesn’t matter much in the end what he might have done, what he might have been, what he might have had. Not enough, not enough, not enough. The Heartless, with a land on fire in desperate need of the Flood.
”A day must be longer in your life than in mine!” she hurls it at his back as he turns away, clenching down on the bitter swell in her throat, the strangled tears choking the words into something ragged. “You say you do something for someone every day, then where is it?” Her head tilts, eyes bright and violent through smears of soot. “Where’s the proof, Sunjata? Because I don’t see it.” Is it buried under the ashes too? Is it shriveled up in a box in his room? How convenient that his selflessness is impossible to find.
His wings flare and it fans her frustration. He won’t even stay. ”You know better than most that peace doesn’t last!” She snaps, because biting feels better than bleeding, and motion keeps her from lying down in the debris and crumbling with it. ”The Family’s been gone for seasons, but there's always something left to fight.” The land itself is a battle, half wild in a way that catches your breath, sometimes permanently.
The thing with fire is it catches so easy, and it’s so damn voracious. It doesn’t take much to get it going again, and if it’s already taken all this from her, what’s another bridge? ”I never asked for every minute. I asked for what you said you’d give.” There’s no sense to it. Not the carcass of her home, not this blaze catching between them, so different from all the other times they’d melted. It’s pain—nerves so fried they don’t feel the same. ”Guess your word doesn’t mean shit though.” It’s not the fences, not really. He’d never promised. She’d always tried not to expect. It’s just finding out hope’s run out, and he stands as part of it, something that’d once been shiny turning dull in the dust.
Her arms cross over one another, holding a barrier between her chest and his, although his has long gone hollow. Maybe with a heart, he would’ve done more than bare his teeth back. Held her, like he once did, knowing tragedy hits but it doesn’t last, because isn’t he proof of that by still standing? Doesn’t matter much in the end what he might have done, what he might have been, what he might have had. Not enough, not enough, not enough. The Heartless, with a land on fire in desperate need of the Flood.
”A day must be longer in your life than in mine!” she hurls it at his back as he turns away, clenching down on the bitter swell in her throat, the strangled tears choking the words into something ragged. “You say you do something for someone every day, then where is it?” Her head tilts, eyes bright and violent through smears of soot. “Where’s the proof, Sunjata? Because I don’t see it.” Is it buried under the ashes too? Is it shriveled up in a box in his room? How convenient that his selflessness is impossible to find.
His wings flare and it fans her frustration. He won’t even stay. ”You know better than most that peace doesn’t last!” She snaps, because biting feels better than bleeding, and motion keeps her from lying down in the debris and crumbling with it. ”The Family’s been gone for seasons, but there's always something left to fight.” The land itself is a battle, half wild in a way that catches your breath, sometimes permanently.
Colt
I kept the pain, now I only feel alive inside the flame
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
