07-02-2008, 12:25 PM
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OOC: SOLD. And sorry for the huge wait.
They were such fools. Both of them. She, the beautiful ice princess, the goddess of her own misery, a beauty so ethereal it remained trapped in the mire of despair. And he, a sidekick by nature, a glorious knight in rusting armour, a king's jester turned vigilante... What could he truly offer her, as he sat there on his knee, pleading with her to let him save her? She was a beautiful creature, a longing butterfly encased in amber. Amber. A word like Ember. But this was white where Ember was dark, like polar opposites, like two colours on a spectrum. And in their lives they were the same, but reversed. Dark Ember was joy and happiness and love, an eclectic mix of girl and teen, a child trying to be older, to stand tall, to be perfect. White Mew was sorrow and loneliness and despair, engulfing the world in her own private terror, one who had matured too quickly, too brutally, at the hands of a bringer of suffocation and death.
Wearily, Lubomir shook his head. What thoughts were these? What could he do for her? He got up and looked towards her packlands. He could howl for someone to take her back. But then he would leave and that would mark him a coward. He was too tall for her, he realised. He could shift, yes, but why? He liked being like this, in Optime form, it made him feel strong, like he could truly protect her from all this. Slowly, gently, he crouched down beside her and stroked her muzzle. 'Let me take you away from all this, my lady. Let me take you home. You are weary, my beautiful lady and you need rest. Let me carry you home.' Slowly, he put one arm on her neck, as if to say to her that he would be there with her. If she could understand unspoken words.
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They were such fools. Both of them. She, the beautiful ice princess, the goddess of her own misery, a beauty so ethereal it remained trapped in the mire of despair. And he, a sidekick by nature, a glorious knight in rusting armour, a king's jester turned vigilante... What could he truly offer her, as he sat there on his knee, pleading with her to let him save her? She was a beautiful creature, a longing butterfly encased in amber. Amber. A word like Ember. But this was white where Ember was dark, like polar opposites, like two colours on a spectrum. And in their lives they were the same, but reversed. Dark Ember was joy and happiness and love, an eclectic mix of girl and teen, a child trying to be older, to stand tall, to be perfect. White Mew was sorrow and loneliness and despair, engulfing the world in her own private terror, one who had matured too quickly, too brutally, at the hands of a bringer of suffocation and death.
Wearily, Lubomir shook his head. What thoughts were these? What could he do for her? He got up and looked towards her packlands. He could howl for someone to take her back. But then he would leave and that would mark him a coward. He was too tall for her, he realised. He could shift, yes, but why? He liked being like this, in Optime form, it made him feel strong, like he could truly protect her from all this. Slowly, gently, he crouched down beside her and stroked her muzzle. 'Let me take you away from all this, my lady. Let me take you home. You are weary, my beautiful lady and you need rest. Let me carry you home.' Slowly, he put one arm on her neck, as if to say to her that he would be there with her. If she could understand unspoken words.