Amalia
the shield of safrin
He lifts her from the bed and she follows obligingly, feeling weightless in his hands, a warm and delighted laugh resounding through the little room. As Deimos finds his boxers Amalia hunts for one of his shirt, pulling it over her head and following through with underwear from her (her!) drawer of clothes. By the time she turns back he is already clothed, standing near the staircase, a challenge in his eyes.
Ah, so he wants a repeat, does he? The owl is more than happy to oblige.
She shifts with the ease of the frequently practiced, pulling a cloak of feathers around her, avian skin fitting neatly over her slender form. Leaping up behind him she leaps into the air, wings beating in a powerful stroke before pulling tight around her, plunging, descending, a bullet in silver, a streak of tawny starlight. It's not enough to beat the eagle, of course, but as she shifts back and lands on her feet Amalia is laughing, delighted in the simple act of play. "You're always so big," she says with mock sulkiness, sticking out her tongue. "How am I supposed to compete?"
Ah, so he wants a repeat, does he? The owl is more than happy to oblige.
She shifts with the ease of the frequently practiced, pulling a cloak of feathers around her, avian skin fitting neatly over her slender form. Leaping up behind him she leaps into the air, wings beating in a powerful stroke before pulling tight around her, plunging, descending, a bullet in silver, a streak of tawny starlight. It's not enough to beat the eagle, of course, but as she shifts back and lands on her feet Amalia is laughing, delighted in the simple act of play. "You're always so big," she says with mock sulkiness, sticking out her tongue. "How am I supposed to compete?"
you drew memories in my mind
i could never erase
you painted colors in my heart
i could never replace
