01-16-2012, 05:20 PM
632
Such violence. Such anger. It raged all around him, within him turning the dark world a bloody red color, tinting everything in crimson. He was a stone bathed in pale moonlight, a statue for all that he moved, the only hint that he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed in and out. Even his ears and tail remained motionless as he stared forwards. He had killed a man. He had taken the life of another. And yet... he could not bring himself to feel guilt, to feel shame or regret for his actions. There was no sorrow in the two toned eyes of Lorenzo Knight. In a flurry of movement the man seated himself down upon the chair to his desk, the wooden contraption groaning audibly underneath his enormous weight and then he was still again, once more a shadowed carving of wood or stone. His breaths were quiet and shallow, held such so that he did not disturb the lady sleeping fitfully in his bed, his Juliet the Flower Girl. Once again the only sign he was alive were the movement of his shoulders and the slow crawl of blood down his arm from where the bandages were not sufficient to hold it in.
Though it did not seem he was paying attention to her, the only sense that was not tuned to completeness upon her was his vision. He could not stand to watch her twist and turn, upset at the contents of her dreams. Boiling hatred welled up inside of him again and the man's hands shook as their grip upon his knees tightened, claws digging in deep to fur and skin. Every time a tortured whine came from the huddle of fur behind him he felt as though a dagger, red hot and glowing was plunged into his back digging as much pain from him as possible. She was hurt, was hurting and he could do nothing to help her. Such helpless feelings, such worthlessness were what had him hard as diamond, staring out into the moon's hungry eye. He had ceased being a boy when he had come upon the scene that he had, brutal disgusting images came to his mind's eye and the man tensed even more so than he already was, a huff of breath leaving between clenched teeth, a tightened jaw to hiss into the world quietly.
He closed a single orb from the world so that the only one looking out was the one of emerald. Within it glinted the moisture he wished to shed but would keep locked inside. The second breath that left him was more a sob albeit a quiet one. The bed creaked behind him and the sound of covers being drawn back whispered lightly in the still air. Her scent floated towards him with the breeze of her actions and he sighed ever so slightly,
"Yahh should be sleepin'." He shifted body around so that his back was to the window and he could see her visage illuminated by the light of the moon. The sight was so beautiful to behold and so sad for the bandages that littered her perfect body, covered up by the shirt she had thieved and refused to give back. The contours of his face changed as they looked at each other, the hard lines softening and receded to be replaced by a tender expression, he was confused about his feelings for her. Standing slowly so not to startle her the Knight son padded forwards steadily and turned himself to sit upon the bed at her side although careful not to actually touch her, ducking his head to better capture a view of her face, pinched and withdrawn with the echos of her nightmares.
Such violence. Such anger. It raged all around him, within him turning the dark world a bloody red color, tinting everything in crimson. He was a stone bathed in pale moonlight, a statue for all that he moved, the only hint that he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed in and out. Even his ears and tail remained motionless as he stared forwards. He had killed a man. He had taken the life of another. And yet... he could not bring himself to feel guilt, to feel shame or regret for his actions. There was no sorrow in the two toned eyes of Lorenzo Knight. In a flurry of movement the man seated himself down upon the chair to his desk, the wooden contraption groaning audibly underneath his enormous weight and then he was still again, once more a shadowed carving of wood or stone. His breaths were quiet and shallow, held such so that he did not disturb the lady sleeping fitfully in his bed, his Juliet the Flower Girl. Once again the only sign he was alive were the movement of his shoulders and the slow crawl of blood down his arm from where the bandages were not sufficient to hold it in.
Though it did not seem he was paying attention to her, the only sense that was not tuned to completeness upon her was his vision. He could not stand to watch her twist and turn, upset at the contents of her dreams. Boiling hatred welled up inside of him again and the man's hands shook as their grip upon his knees tightened, claws digging in deep to fur and skin. Every time a tortured whine came from the huddle of fur behind him he felt as though a dagger, red hot and glowing was plunged into his back digging as much pain from him as possible. She was hurt, was hurting and he could do nothing to help her. Such helpless feelings, such worthlessness were what had him hard as diamond, staring out into the moon's hungry eye. He had ceased being a boy when he had come upon the scene that he had, brutal disgusting images came to his mind's eye and the man tensed even more so than he already was, a huff of breath leaving between clenched teeth, a tightened jaw to hiss into the world quietly.
He closed a single orb from the world so that the only one looking out was the one of emerald. Within it glinted the moisture he wished to shed but would keep locked inside. The second breath that left him was more a sob albeit a quiet one. The bed creaked behind him and the sound of covers being drawn back whispered lightly in the still air. Her scent floated towards him with the breeze of her actions and he sighed ever so slightly,
"Yahh should be sleepin'." He shifted body around so that his back was to the window and he could see her visage illuminated by the light of the moon. The sight was so beautiful to behold and so sad for the bandages that littered her perfect body, covered up by the shirt she had thieved and refused to give back. The contours of his face changed as they looked at each other, the hard lines softening and receded to be replaced by a tender expression, he was confused about his feelings for her. Standing slowly so not to startle her the Knight son padded forwards steadily and turned himself to sit upon the bed at her side although careful not to actually touch her, ducking his head to better capture a view of her face, pinched and withdrawn with the echos of her nightmares.