"Part of her mystery is how she is calm in the storm and anxious in the quiet "
~Jm Storm
I wish I had a chance to get him to stop breathing, I wish I had used my last one properly, and I wish I knew when my next would be,so I could just get the time to really plot it this time.
Oh!! To see the light leave his dead blue eyes and watch his so put together figure fall out.
I move my fingers across my thigh to feel Loralie, she's not just a dagger but my anchor.
A reminder that I yield the will to death.
What are the chances I could take him out on my own?
I asses him to guess my stance
He dwarfs my room with his height, his imposing figure commanding attention. His sharp features are chiseled, accentuating his strong jawline and prominent cheekbones. His skin has a warm, golden undertone, a testament to his rugged, outdoorsy lifestyle.i
His dark, ruffled hair is perfectly imperfect, with just one stray strand rebelliously out of place. His piercing blue eyes seem to bore into those he meets, as if sizing them up with a mixture of curiosity and quiet confidence and his suit that hugs his muscular physique in all the right places. The fabric seems to shimmer in the light, accentuating his broad shoulders and powerful build.
Despite his polished attire, there's an undeniable air of ruggedness about him. A hint of woodsmoke clings to his skin, mingling with the scent of clean, crisp air. It's a primal, intoxicating aroma that's impossible to ignore.
I force myself not to take a deep breathe in
As he stands legs crossed , his warrior pose is unmistakable. Yet, there's a nonchalant air about him, a sense of quiet self-assurance that's both captivating and intimidating. It's as if he's always ready to spring into action, but is perfectly content to simply stand there, exuding an aura of calm, powerful authority.
And then, of course, there's the subtle but unmistakable hint of something more – something wild, something primal, something that sets him apart from the rest.
With that I cross out taking him on my own..... physically.
"Are you done?"
I don't reply as I just turn to the dressing table and begin to take out my braids...
Or
I could just spell him
Still facing the table,I try to focus on the light and darkness within...
"You're going to need a lot more than that" I hear his voice not so far away from me.
I ignore him and resume my summoning
And now with just a peep into his subconscious I could play around a little with this lost pup,not that he's small.
I look into the mirror in front of me than fails to reflect my image
To find him staring at me like he's daring me or something
I turn and give him an innocent stare ....
The calm before the storm
I finally gained balance and was able to copy his emotional flow and pattern.
Finally
I find myself standing before a foreboding structure,the air was heavy with the scent of despair, and the ground beneath my feet seemed to tremble with the weight of unshed tears.I pushed open the creaking door, and a faint light spilled out, illuminating the dark recesses of his mind.
A young boy
A lad
He sat in the center of the cell, his body a canvas of bruises and scars, his eyes cast downward in defiance,he refuses to yield despite the evident pain, his jaw clenched in a determined silence.
And then an older man walks in.
His captor
He hissed....with a voice like that of a rusty gate"You are not ready to die... yet."
And then the door opens and light spills in once more
A young woman.
I think his mother,was dragged into the cell, her eyes wild with fear as she beheld his battered form.
She was thrown beside her son,whom she enveloped before even landing .
The moon exited and made way for the sun in sequence of days while the young boy and his mother were subject to torture.
The boy's eyes would sometimes flicker towards his mother, filled with a desperate apology, as if he could bear the pain but not the weight of her gaze.
After days of digging a certain block in the cell a sweet yet nauseating smell fills the room.
The mother handles it like a trophy
Nightshade
With a sad smile she fed the boy the poison,she took the same poison herself. As the life drained from her eyes, the boy's gaze locked onto hers, his face contorted in a silent scream.
But even in death, the mother's eyes seemed to hold a message, a promise that she would always be with him, that she would never leave him to face the darkness alone. The boy's head bowed, his shoulders shaking with sobs, as the weight of his grief threatened to consume him.
His grief is heavy
I feel his dejection,the young boy was left alone now
By his mother and death itself.
"VALAR"
I find him staring hard at me and I fear for myself
His breathes become deep
His eyes a darker shade of blue,his jaw clenched.
I really deserve death this time.
And then....
He turns and leaves.