[ Post a Response | Desreal ]
Posted by the wraith on November 12, 2008, 3:25 pm, in reply to "slouching towards bethlehem; severus" “What we need is hatred. Severus was surprised the mare came so easily. Most horses these days have such an overinflated sense of importance that they would ignore the law of the land at the drop of a hat if it so suited them – and feel damned justified in doing it, too. He spent a moment out of sight to simply observe her and humor the shard with his eagerness (however tempered with the fear of flame) to drink her blood. The shard offered its small assurances, and eventually Severus appeared before the mare in a flurry of much-subdued wind. He seemed to gleam like polished ivory in the afternoon sunlight, the pale smoke of his mane billowing into the air around him, drawn away by the power of his element. He looked vaguely feminine as he always did, slight and willowy of build and perfectly colorless down to the ice-gray of his eyes. The Wraith was exactly that, as ethereal as the winds that bent to his will. Without a word he closed his eyes, braced himself, and reached out with Transference to touch her mind. It was exquisite agony. Had he not been expecting it, he might have instantly withdrawn, so great was the pain in his skull. But the shard was there, soothing his smoldering mind with its icy presence and assuring that with great power comes great suffering. He breathed in sharply – then, some semblance of control returned to his end of the mental link. The pale beast willed her to love him, drew the emotion out of her like a palpable thing, and when he spoke it was both through his thoughts and his words. “I won’t keep you long. I wanted to congratulate you on your mastery of the Subtle Arts, Dragonet,” Severus offered a curt bow, his muscles set aflame by the inferno in his brain. However, for all the pain in his actions his voice remained perfectly level, perfectly innocent. He was calm. “Your father must be proud.” He could see a little bit of Icarus in the gray mare – just enough to suggest relation – and her brain was alive with his fiery intensity. Dorian had been a fool not to suspect it sooner. The white stallion approached her with his stilted walk, fatigue creeping into his movements like venom. The shard had long since given up soothing his scorched mind, willing him instead to end it and end it quickly before he lost consciousness entirely. The entire endeavor was folly – utter folly. The Wraith drew up alongside her, breathing in the spice of mare and feeling nothing, speaking with thoughts when words were no longer palatable. A gift, that one day you needn't cringe at water’s touch. And then his lips touched her burning shoulder, letting blood flow like hot slag into his mouth, blinding him with the pain and ecstasy of it all. His dark purpose fulfilled, the beast withdrew with a gasp of relief from the Dragonet’s mind and body, reeling from the numbness and exhaustion that he felt all over. The shard’s insidious presence filled the vacancy of his half-conscious mind. Soon, brother, you shall never burn again.
129.110.241.19
From it, our ideas are born.”
- the wraith.
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