COLT
She's a runner, she's a lover, always stuck in her ways
Pull her closer, think you know her, now she's turning the page
She gave a warning if it's storming, she'll be gone with the rain
Pull her closer, think you know her, now she's turning the page
She gave a warning if it's storming, she'll be gone with the rain
Thunder has descended upon her. Those clouds from earlier finally broke apart into something that means to howl.
It's her pulse, and it tears through every last plane of her, roaring over the promises she's made to herself too many times to count since he left. Barricades she set to avoid the risk of vulnerability around him again, already shown how that ends, but they shudder when he stops like some of the weather got in anyway. Behind him, she matches the standstill, dreading departure as surely as reunion.
Abruptly, everything drops away. No clawing breeze, no trembling sky, just the dark meadow and the quiet starlight. His gaze glints like the sort of glow in the dark you'd put a wish on. Her throat moves, but the burn that's found the back of her head eats through the words until just a frayed sound is all she can manage. It's a familiar rush of heat—not anger—grief.
It's a loss so staggering an entire region hasn't managed to fill the hole it left in her. Her ranch, her home, everything that she had been for her whole life, consumed by the endless hunger of the world. She hadn't even gotten a chance to fight to save it, and all she's been able to do since is fight. No one's been able to offer enough, or apologize right, or understand it properly. Just him, silently reaching out over the space set between them and offering her the first good thing since she'd last held him. It breaks her open so thoroughly she visibly sags.
Her legs drop her down, a hand reaching back into the grass to take her weight and find something sturdy. If he leaves now, she won't have the strength to keep up, struck like a bird on a window. The hand that isn't trying to keep the ground steady threads into the wig-hair, cheek settling on her palm as her elbow angles against a drawn-up knee. "It was," she manages, softness and sincerity cracking through the low sound of her voice as it tries again. That hardly does it the justice it deserves, but it's the only judgment she can dole out at the present, given her state.
Gradually, the pressure of the storm seeps back in, tight and cold and threatening to numb her as she sits in the brunt of it. Countless days wasted on wondering, pulling apart reason and sense and want until none of them even resembled themselves by the end. All of it, to still end up so wrong, and left with no certainty about what the right of it even is when he's still halfway gone across the meadow, and fully left before then. His question settles, sliding her stare from some dark, distant shape on a horizon she can't fully see, back to the glitter of his gaze in the night. Always drawn back to that, in the end. "I kept two feathers," her voice stays small, as if half of it has already been stolen by the wind before it even leaves her lips. "One for me, one for you." Hers, stuck in the hat she wears, treasured more than most anything else she still possesses. "I asked Jack to pass it along to you." She'd not trusted herself to add words to a note, not when all she had was a hunch he was even behind it. The feather would have meant more than enough, or so she thought.
It's her pulse, and it tears through every last plane of her, roaring over the promises she's made to herself too many times to count since he left. Barricades she set to avoid the risk of vulnerability around him again, already shown how that ends, but they shudder when he stops like some of the weather got in anyway. Behind him, she matches the standstill, dreading departure as surely as reunion.
Abruptly, everything drops away. No clawing breeze, no trembling sky, just the dark meadow and the quiet starlight. His gaze glints like the sort of glow in the dark you'd put a wish on. Her throat moves, but the burn that's found the back of her head eats through the words until just a frayed sound is all she can manage. It's a familiar rush of heat—not anger—grief.
It's a loss so staggering an entire region hasn't managed to fill the hole it left in her. Her ranch, her home, everything that she had been for her whole life, consumed by the endless hunger of the world. She hadn't even gotten a chance to fight to save it, and all she's been able to do since is fight. No one's been able to offer enough, or apologize right, or understand it properly. Just him, silently reaching out over the space set between them and offering her the first good thing since she'd last held him. It breaks her open so thoroughly she visibly sags.
Her legs drop her down, a hand reaching back into the grass to take her weight and find something sturdy. If he leaves now, she won't have the strength to keep up, struck like a bird on a window. The hand that isn't trying to keep the ground steady threads into the wig-hair, cheek settling on her palm as her elbow angles against a drawn-up knee. "It was," she manages, softness and sincerity cracking through the low sound of her voice as it tries again. That hardly does it the justice it deserves, but it's the only judgment she can dole out at the present, given her state.
Gradually, the pressure of the storm seeps back in, tight and cold and threatening to numb her as she sits in the brunt of it. Countless days wasted on wondering, pulling apart reason and sense and want until none of them even resembled themselves by the end. All of it, to still end up so wrong, and left with no certainty about what the right of it even is when he's still halfway gone across the meadow, and fully left before then. His question settles, sliding her stare from some dark, distant shape on a horizon she can't fully see, back to the glitter of his gaze in the night. Always drawn back to that, in the end. "I kept two feathers," her voice stays small, as if half of it has already been stolen by the wind before it even leaves her lips. "One for me, one for you." Hers, stuck in the hat she wears, treasured more than most anything else she still possesses. "I asked Jack to pass it along to you." She'd not trusted herself to add words to a note, not when all she had was a hunch he was even behind it. The feather would have meant more than enough, or so she thought.
When she's in it, she's all in it, ain't no holding her back
When I'm with her, she's a river moving steady and fast
She's afraid of all the ways her heart is broke like glass
When I'm with her, she's a river moving steady and fast
She's afraid of all the ways her heart is broke like glass
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.
