06-01-2009, 02:48 AM
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500+
The male was unmoving as he replied. The woad bound ears moved forward as if to catch a sound that evaded her. The eyes that watched him were quiet, and yet they were almost sad. The black fae was silent, responding with nothing. And she believed him; he would not lie to her, or to anyone for that matter. This male simply did not have a need to, this man of near absolutes. Those eyes lifted slightly, imperceptibly in the silence. Each uttered word seemed to be a step taken carefully toward one another. Or were they going about, circling each other as two do when they engage in battle? The silence was deafening—she was afraid that she would miss something important, drowned out by her own mind. Her knees brushed against the bed as she shifted in the silence, that single movement causing a subtle, imperceptible sound that exploded in her ears. Her heart was beating, thundering in her ears. And as the moments drew by, it was as if her senses were spiraling out of control. But the woman stilled herself and was still, even as she struggled through the white noise. There was still some control yet within her.
Finally, he turned to look at her. The black fae straitened slightly as he did so, the white eyes tentatively crossing the features of his face. When he spoke, his voice silenced the din that rang in her mind, and suddenly she could think clearly. Her gaze fell to his eyes hidden beneath that cloth, his words wrenching at her soul. But she was silent for a moment longer. She wanted to tell him why. She wanted to tell him that she had taken action because that was all that she knew. She wanted to tell him that she had done what she had because she wished to avoid further conflict, that perhaps what she had done would keep the two males from facing conflict that did not need to be made. And yet, as she thought it through over and over, it all seemed so foolish, so futile. With a soft sigh, her gaze fell to an empty spot upon the sheets. Perhaps, she thought at length, it would be better to speak than to be silent. "I believed," the woman began, her voice quiet and her words spoken with care, "that such action would keep possible confliction between you and Haku, and between you and myself, at bay." Her gaze lifted to search his face once more. "But it seems as if such action had been foolish, that what I sought to avoid was only met directly." And the woman was tired of running.
At least she had admitted to her fault now, at least that was out of the way. There was another length of silence in which she simply watched him in a way as if this would be her last time. "Forgive me, Onus," the soft melody continued, breathing it into the quiet air. It was not spoken as a plea. She did not beg it of him. She said it because she regretted. She regretted that she had hurt him, that she had caused him pain. She had not wished such a thing upon him, and she never would. And she was not arrogant; she could learn from her mistakes. A wry smile crossed her maw as she looked down, closing her eyes briefly as she shook her head. "I am not perfect," the soft melody admitted, "And I failed to foresee the consequences of my actions." As if this were a military matter.
500+
The male was unmoving as he replied. The woad bound ears moved forward as if to catch a sound that evaded her. The eyes that watched him were quiet, and yet they were almost sad. The black fae was silent, responding with nothing. And she believed him; he would not lie to her, or to anyone for that matter. This male simply did not have a need to, this man of near absolutes. Those eyes lifted slightly, imperceptibly in the silence. Each uttered word seemed to be a step taken carefully toward one another. Or were they going about, circling each other as two do when they engage in battle? The silence was deafening—she was afraid that she would miss something important, drowned out by her own mind. Her knees brushed against the bed as she shifted in the silence, that single movement causing a subtle, imperceptible sound that exploded in her ears. Her heart was beating, thundering in her ears. And as the moments drew by, it was as if her senses were spiraling out of control. But the woman stilled herself and was still, even as she struggled through the white noise. There was still some control yet within her.
Finally, he turned to look at her. The black fae straitened slightly as he did so, the white eyes tentatively crossing the features of his face. When he spoke, his voice silenced the din that rang in her mind, and suddenly she could think clearly. Her gaze fell to his eyes hidden beneath that cloth, his words wrenching at her soul. But she was silent for a moment longer. She wanted to tell him why. She wanted to tell him that she had taken action because that was all that she knew. She wanted to tell him that she had done what she had because she wished to avoid further conflict, that perhaps what she had done would keep the two males from facing conflict that did not need to be made. And yet, as she thought it through over and over, it all seemed so foolish, so futile. With a soft sigh, her gaze fell to an empty spot upon the sheets. Perhaps, she thought at length, it would be better to speak than to be silent. "I believed," the woman began, her voice quiet and her words spoken with care, "that such action would keep possible confliction between you and Haku, and between you and myself, at bay." Her gaze lifted to search his face once more. "But it seems as if such action had been foolish, that what I sought to avoid was only met directly." And the woman was tired of running.
At least she had admitted to her fault now, at least that was out of the way. There was another length of silence in which she simply watched him in a way as if this would be her last time. "Forgive me, Onus," the soft melody continued, breathing it into the quiet air. It was not spoken as a plea. She did not beg it of him. She said it because she regretted. She regretted that she had hurt him, that she had caused him pain. She had not wished such a thing upon him, and she never would. And she was not arrogant; she could learn from her mistakes. A wry smile crossed her maw as she looked down, closing her eyes briefly as she shook her head. "I am not perfect," the soft melody admitted, "And I failed to foresee the consequences of my actions." As if this were a military matter.