“I think you’re beautiful”
Static.
An internal explosion threatened to ruin all the poise Thomasin desperately clung to; her grip had already been compromised by the mere presence of the winter flame, but the mountain of self-doubt and timidity she had always been accustomed to climb began to shake under her hands, a tumultuous rumble disturbed the peace, and the little coffee-house mare couldn’t hold on anymore.
The eruption blindsided her.
Thomasin was falling now.
Yet, falling was like second nature: a plethora of petals and flowers around her, a headrush like a gale of fresh spring air, a freefall where the butterflies braided her wild hair and the bumblebees whispered and giggled gayly in her ears. Her vision colored by promises of milk and honey, butterscotch toffee clouds and sunshine like melted butter and brown sugar. For the first time, in a long time, she wasn’t scared.
She embraced the fall.
With both ears ready to cup any more words that spilled from Valan’s mouth, her heart racing fancy-free, the flora at her sides vibrating with the pulse of her abrupt adrenaline rush – no, like a sugar high – she leans forward with an eager mouth and a brightness that could swallow both the ladies, ready to tell her, ready to confess that she had been helpless ever since their first meeting in the candlelit sanctuary of Caligo.
“You're kindness shines for you to think so –“
The impact from hitting the ground knocks the breath out of Thomasin.
“Oh,” she says, soft, defeated. “Of course.”
The sparkle in her once wide and alive eyes decays, her gaze redirected to the familiar floors of her humble home. “Of course,” she repeats herself, as if confirming her own strange death.
Unfortunately, she flexes her jaw, chewing on the inside of her cheek as her brow furrows, blinking wildly as she tries to pick herself up from the wreckage of self-sabotage. Watery, raincloud eyes try to hold back the flood of tears, but she is tired, and so they spill over her cherub cheeks in fat rivers. She is quiet, her breath just a shiver.
All the butterflies were now snakes, the bees just an echo of cruel laughter.
She lies to Valan.
“I am sorry,” deadpan voice finally slips from the cage of Thomasin’s teeth. “Forgive my tears, I am such a babbling baby. I am just so - so overcome with emotion that you would be willing to spend time with me at the festival.” Without hesitation, she lifts her chin, forcing to carve a smile into that peachy muzzle. “You really are a wonderful friend.” Briefly, she glances at the flower Rosario in a weak apology, the grimace growing on her delicate face.
“If there is nothing else, perhaps we should call it a night.”
Thomasin finished crying, her face puffy from raging emotions that she chose to bury instead of face, her line of sight ripping away from the beautiful, moon-bathed woman before her, to the door in desperate fashion to shoo Valan away, in hopes that once the vampire had returned home, that the dryad would be free to smother herself in pillows and weep over the missed opportunity of sharing her feelings, to cry hard and heal from the assumption that her feelings were only one sided, and she felt like a terrible friend to even consider wanting to stay by Valan’s side for the rest of her life.
Valantine was a friend, and Thomasin was wicked for trying to twist it any other way.
"talking."
tagged: @Valan
Static.
An internal explosion threatened to ruin all the poise Thomasin desperately clung to; her grip had already been compromised by the mere presence of the winter flame, but the mountain of self-doubt and timidity she had always been accustomed to climb began to shake under her hands, a tumultuous rumble disturbed the peace, and the little coffee-house mare couldn’t hold on anymore.
The eruption blindsided her.
Thomasin was falling now.
Yet, falling was like second nature: a plethora of petals and flowers around her, a headrush like a gale of fresh spring air, a freefall where the butterflies braided her wild hair and the bumblebees whispered and giggled gayly in her ears. Her vision colored by promises of milk and honey, butterscotch toffee clouds and sunshine like melted butter and brown sugar. For the first time, in a long time, she wasn’t scared.
She embraced the fall.
With both ears ready to cup any more words that spilled from Valan’s mouth, her heart racing fancy-free, the flora at her sides vibrating with the pulse of her abrupt adrenaline rush – no, like a sugar high – she leans forward with an eager mouth and a brightness that could swallow both the ladies, ready to tell her, ready to confess that she had been helpless ever since their first meeting in the candlelit sanctuary of Caligo.
“You're kindness shines for you to think so –“
The impact from hitting the ground knocks the breath out of Thomasin.
“Oh,” she says, soft, defeated. “Of course.”
The sparkle in her once wide and alive eyes decays, her gaze redirected to the familiar floors of her humble home. “Of course,” she repeats herself, as if confirming her own strange death.
Unfortunately, she flexes her jaw, chewing on the inside of her cheek as her brow furrows, blinking wildly as she tries to pick herself up from the wreckage of self-sabotage. Watery, raincloud eyes try to hold back the flood of tears, but she is tired, and so they spill over her cherub cheeks in fat rivers. She is quiet, her breath just a shiver.
All the butterflies were now snakes, the bees just an echo of cruel laughter.
She lies to Valan.
“I am sorry,” deadpan voice finally slips from the cage of Thomasin’s teeth. “Forgive my tears, I am such a babbling baby. I am just so - so overcome with emotion that you would be willing to spend time with me at the festival.” Without hesitation, she lifts her chin, forcing to carve a smile into that peachy muzzle. “You really are a wonderful friend.” Briefly, she glances at the flower Rosario in a weak apology, the grimace growing on her delicate face.
“If there is nothing else, perhaps we should call it a night.”
Thomasin finished crying, her face puffy from raging emotions that she chose to bury instead of face, her line of sight ripping away from the beautiful, moon-bathed woman before her, to the door in desperate fashion to shoo Valan away, in hopes that once the vampire had returned home, that the dryad would be free to smother herself in pillows and weep over the missed opportunity of sharing her feelings, to cry hard and heal from the assumption that her feelings were only one sided, and she felt like a terrible friend to even consider wanting to stay by Valan’s side for the rest of her life.
Valantine was a friend, and Thomasin was wicked for trying to twist it any other way.
"talking."
tagged: @Valan
