[m] - blackbird singing in the dead of night

Alaine Winters · 01-07-2011, 04:17 AM

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table © Mel
ooc: I'm game if you are? XD
SoSuWriMo: 477

There was a potent energy that crackled through the tense, dark air. Something otherwordly, something that sent premonitions running cold fingers up and down her spine. She would have been cold, but his eyes flamed her skin, the feel of sculpted muscles beneath tentative fingers enticing flames to run along the hollow corridors of her veins. He was the sun, and she the moon - Never could the be together, not really, not in this life. Maybe they had been presented with a chance once, but that golden youth had been twisted away all too soon, and lingered now only as the most delicate of faded photographs in the back of her mind.

She'd been lost to him long ago, regardless of how fate may have brought him together. Perhaps, even before her birth, this had been the path set for them both. How the cruel hands of destiny, God and fate turned her world, Alaine cared little to know. To dwell on it would be to seek the absolution of her minuscule life, the irrelevance of her freedom. It would be to be trapped again.

Alaine knew the plight of the cage-cornered canary was overrated. She had tasted this freedom. No god would take it from her.

There was a sudden desperation that burned in the holy man's gaze, and she felt it connect with some small scared part of her - The part that wanted to be reassured, the part that craved promises of safety, the small child within that wished only for the warmth of his embrace to shield her from those worldly monsters. It could never be so. Together, they would run for the rest of their lives - She away, he to, back and fro in endlessness.

But here, now, the monsters were held at bay. For this moment of weakness, this fraction of lives torn asunder by the merciless talons of fate, the moon and the sun could be together. Just for this moment, she could pretend that this was the reality she had.

It was a sink or swim moment. His husky voice made her tremble, but she was converted by him, a wild thing temporarily tamed to man's gentle touch. The words settled deep in her bone, and she believed. Hands rose from chest to twine delicate fingers through the locks of spun midnight, entranced that she could touch him so, that he was not spun of the twilight madness and the lurking shadows that plagued always those bright emerald eyes. As delicate dancer's body finally, finally came into contact with the masculine planes of the Warrior King, the Dark Prince, those wandering moonspun hands claiming that which a portion of her wished she might have owned, the war-torn face, the ravens-wing hair.

"Show me," Pained words. They were for the nighttime, now. The Shadow was in them both.

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