#beastdwells

𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑,   its tip halved by twin peaks whose pigments remind her of clouded days spent amidst snow and frost.   The she - fox stubbornly lingers in the odd flower’s vicinity,   slender legs   ❪   inelegantly   ❫   crossed in a barely comfortable posture,   ‘pon whose expanse scattered papers and a little notebook have been precariously settled   ;   elongated is the lapse of time that she has tenaciously spent here,   in this exact position,   for she dares not to move for fear that the flower might feel threatened by a sudden maneuver and thus delay its much anticipated blossoming.

A dainty hand suddenly reaches out,   lithe index finger hovers carefully above the thorn before finally poking it.   Once,   twice,   thrice...   Until,   much to her surprise,   the twin peaks seem to suddenly lengthen their extension for the unique cruel purpose of stinging and thus lacerating her now reddened flesh   ❪   either as a generous warning or as a defensive mechanism to fend off potential predators and threats   ❫   .   A childishly frustrated whine slithers past grimacing tiers as Solise turns her wounded finger from side to side in order to observe the little cut and the droplets of ichor spilling forth   ;   this has been undoubtedly unexpected,   something that she ought to immediately take note of and ruminate over at a later date.   And it is then,   whilst her free hand scribbles barely comprehensible notes across the heavy notebook’s cramped page,   that she perceives a foreign presence lingering closer,   closer,   closer until his frame casts a refreshing shadow ‘pon her.   A vulpine ear obnoxiously twitches,   but she does not lift her gaze from the aggressive flower just yet.   ❝   You did know that this was going to happen,   did you not   ?   You should be fired.   ❞

𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒   native to the Dark Forest:   in virtue of and in loyalty to their self - proclaimed title,   the Wilders place little value on artificially crafted occurrences,   nor do they harbor desire nor greed towards material possessions     /     Both dissipate when all that remains is bones and ashes   (   gravediggers would certainly disagree with this cynicism,   for the greatest treasures are always found where the ephemeral body reposes   )   .   It is thus not surprising that their abodes are humble,   their garments decorated with naught but the gifts of Mother Nature herself and their throats barren of golds and diamonds:   for this culture,   so very elusive and simplistic in their ethics,   the most valuable of jewels is the one that timidly sprouts from the generous soil when springtime comes.   It is thus not surprising that Solise knows little about the art of giving presents to others...   Nor has she ever received a gift herself,   one that wasn’t the frail seed carelessly abandoned by a migrating bird in the wake of its journey or the fresh honey lavishly offered by the diligent bees that inhabit the corners of her gardens. 

This is why,   ‘pon opening the door of her little chalet and being presented with a halcyon floret of simpering blossoms,   the she - fox was left breathless and motionless for an elongated lapse of time.   Gaze instinctively fell,   became instantaneously hypnotized by the brilliant pigments of the festive petals that greeted her and there remained until an echo,   far and barely audible for it was more analogous to a critter’s cough,   piqued her faltering attention and forced her chin to raise and her eyes to meet his own.   HE,   always oh so tremendously proud in his heavy armor and tanned flesh,   now appeared as delicate and frail as the lonely leaf that lamentably caught by furious embrace of the wintry whirlwinds:   he shifted,   hesitated,   stiffened and tensed only to melt afterwards,   a soldier waging a war against himself     /    A soldier bearing arms against the wants of his heart,   for they were certainly much more treacherous than any weapon crafted by men and beasts. 

Dainty hands came forward,   carefully accepted the floral present whilst the hound - like audits above her skull wiggled with unveiled euphoria.   He spoke,   explained the significance behind the jewel that laid in the very center of the sun - kissed floret and Solise found herself almost doubting his words:   why would he ever want her to have something as special and unique as this   ?   Whilst the fingers of a single paw furled attentively around the various stems,   her free hand came to curiously poke at the obsidian gem in the center of the necklace in pursuance of testing the veracity behind his words:   a shiver,   an unconscious reaction,   a faster heartbeat than any before,   the proof that the cold jewel beneath the tip of her finger and the warm jewel imprisoned in the depth of his ribcage were indeed a fragmented whole,   ever in contact with one another.   A suddenly titter came,   honeyed and chirp - like,   sibylline auspice to the love - struck expressionism that soon molded the doll - like features of her visage into the brightest of simpers.   The apple of her cheeks flushed in brazen crimsons,   until even the tip of her nose was painted in the same pigments of the setting sun   ;   neither deep frowns nor hard lines could be found across its beauteous expanse,   for her expression had indeed become as soft as her heart had. 

❝   Can I really keep this   ?   ❞   A query puerile in nature,   one mayhap wholly unfitting of the circumstances in which she found herself but that she could not help but vocalize.   How odd it was,   that she had to travel to the land of warfare and carnage to receive the first present of her life   !   But before any other response could be vocalized,   a voice tickled her subconscious and redirected her attention towards the floret in her hands once more:   the biggest and most beautiful peony,   the one adorned with the necklace,   was demanding her attention.   Solise dared not to disrespect the wishes of such a fiery flower and thus   (   metaphorically   )   turned her ear to it:   the blossom,   nonchalant and shameless as only the proudest of queens could ever afford to be,   narrated with exquisite precision the struggles and hardships that Ciaran had gone through in pursuance of painting a simper across her tiers,   describing in colorful terms the condition of his heart throughout it all and not forgetting to also mention how much he had hesitated and sweated before knocking on the door of her abode,   on the door of her heart. 

Solise laughed a little laughter,   demonstrated her gratitude to the flower with a courteous bow and then took a single step forward,   so that she could nuzzle the side of her visage against his own.   An embrace was not possible in their current position,   for it would have been hazardous to the survival of the floret but she could no longer keep herself in the distance,   far from the man that she craved underneath the sun and dreamt of during the moonlit realm.   ❝   This is beautiful,   thank you.   ❞   A purr,   less thunderous than usual,   weighed down by feelings now wholly roused from their sentimental slumber by him and by his gestures.   Her hand,   the one that had come to prod the authenticity of the obsidian,   now slithered forward so that she could capture his own in a gentle but equally tight hold   ;   fingers intertwined together and she pulled on it.   ❝   Will you come inside   ?   I think I need some help to wear the necklace,   so I don’t accidentally give you a heart - attack because I touched the gem too many times.   ❞

𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆   ?   With her slender arms tightly furled around the military bag that she was oh so generously given by the army,   the once princess made her way through the flourishing forest that occupied the geographical preponderance of the foreign island   ;   she knew not where she was going,   all she knew was that she was desperate to put as much distance as possible from the crowded facility in which she had suddenly woken up.   Her thoughts ran wild and boisterous,   soon turning into all - devouring whirlwinds that left her entirely incapable of properly focusing ‘pon and elaborating her sorely tempestuous stream of consciousness:   she thought of her family back at home,   of her parents who were admired and feared in equal measure,   of all the fairytale - like dreams that she had yet to achieve,   of the love that she had yet to conquer and claim as her own.

Eventually,   her legs began to ache and her lungs threatened to succumb underneath the heavy burden of fatigue.   Beneath the comforting shadows of what had seemed to be a barely alive tree,   Solise finally made camp.   Within her military bag,   she found some canned food and a few bottles of water,   alongside a map of the island and a flashlight...   But the one object that had succeeded in piquing her attention was a weapon,   A HUNTING KNIFE.   She observed it with an attentive eye,   pivoting it in front of her face and carefully poking its sharp edges just to make sure that it was real   ⸻   A weapon meant to slit throats and gouge eyes out.   A wave of nausea made her body tremble at the sole thought of employing this tool of murder and she instinctively let it fall ‘pon the grass,   as if to exorcise its sacrilegious connotations.

WHY had they chosen her   ?   Her father had always served the Nation with utmost loyalty and she had always abided by the rules:   even when she was compelled by the circumstances to sue her high school sweetheart for breaking the law,   she had done so without ever shedding a single tear.   THEN WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY...   Why was she chosen to participate in The Program   ?   And ‘pon discovering what had happened,   had her father fought to bring her back   ?   And what if he was still capable of saving her,   what if she solely needed to stay alive until her father found a way to interrupt the game and make it known that she did not deserve to be here   ?   She would have undoubtedly drown in this blackened sea of hope and despair,   if only the noise of rustling leaves had not dragged her away from the nightmares festering within her mind. 

[   Q.   ⇥   @beastdwells​   !   ♡   ]

❛  i  crave  you ,  even  though  i  know  you  will  destroy  me .  ❜

𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐇,   she is the loyal and ever - bowing servant of nature in all its form,   in beauty and terror both.   And mayhap,   this is why the vulpine - she is incapable of comprehending why he deems her proficient in the   (   sentimental   )   arts of destruction and decay:   was he one of the many blossoms under her care,   she would shield him from the rain and would then dry its drenched leaves,   she would languidly sunbathe with him during the warm mornings before providing him with enough shadows to comfortably repose and reclaim his strength...   She would sit beside him through spring and summer,   and she would continue to stay there even when autumn comes and his green turns into wilted bronze and then she would envelop him into the warmest embrace so that winter may never freeze the ichor in his veins nor wound the softness of an already scarred heart.

But he is neither blossom nor sapling,   she knows that he is more than capable enough to take care of himself without ever relying on the support and aid of another   ⸻   and maybe,   it is selfishness that speaks when she wishes to become more than a passive nurturer,   more than a vine that can only grow roots in the suburbs of his heart.   He speaks and a single hound - like audit twitches   ;   Solise instinctively looks at her hands,   at the generously bruised yet morally untainted palms,   at the naturally carved lines that are whispered to represent one’s fortune and life amidst some cultures and ultimately comes to the realization that never,   could she employ them to destroy.   Instead,   she reaches out.   Even in the dimly lit dusk,   her hand effortlessly finds his own,   gently brings it closer to herself and rests it above her breastbone,   above that ichorous organ that has remained dormant for as long as she could remember and that now sings and chants with unforeseen merriment.   She embraces his hand and the entirety of her petite body collapses underneath the suddenly overwhelming weight of her unadulterated and burning love:   she almost curls into herself,   slumping her shoulders downwards and allowing her eyelids to flutter closed   ;   ‘pon cherry - laden tiers,   a dulcet simper blooms.