|WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.|
The tide keeps calling, tugging
The soft pads of her feet felt cold against the slush of snow that she'd stepped on in approaching the hefty quarter of stone and grime. The ruins, a place she could have moved to any time she desired, was not necessarily a home she'd ever taken the moment to consider. Millstone Village had all she needed, a small, indoor garden that she grew her herbs in, despite the chill that she normally faced outside, the traps she went to check on, on a daily basis, the small cat that often patrolled her kitchen, searching for mice and wayward bugs that crawled from the cracked, rotting floorboards that squeaked and moaned under her weight.
The desperation in which she'd often come to Loki's home was a long forgotten thought in the back of Calla's mind. Weeks had passed since the interaction between them, her on the verge of tears, him somewhat speechless, making excuses. While the fox-like girl cared very little for the things she'd garnered during her stay in Salsola, the few things that stayed with her made her heart beat in her chest. Her relationship with Loki was one of those, something she'd gotten used to little by little. Blue eyes, reminiscent of the crystal water she'd only seen once or twice on the beaches of her old home, searched callously over the front of the building that Loki called home.
She needed him, for what, she couldn't remember. Perhaps it was the bad dream she had or even the idea or notion that it had been prophetic. The peridot dress that hugged tightly against her bodice hung damp against her chilled fur, the cool metal of her butterfly pendant teasing passed the warmth of her fur to send shivers down her spine as it touched against bare skin. She shifted in her step, the dark of evening overtaking the landscape as dusk slowly took hold of everything around her.
She inched close, one step at a time before hands nervously brushed at her dress, clearing it of dirt and dust that had come from her leaning against the tree she'd hidden behind as she'd watched his home. She was not a stalker, not at all. She simply had questions.. that and the idea of being near him still calmed the Valentine girl more than anything else. Diminutive hands lifted, the sharp brushing of her knuckles against the door announcing her visit with the quiet, but eager sound of her knocks.
All the angst