"Nico, " I breathe into the waves of multicolored blankets, patterns acting as fish and whirlpools, the darkness of it all blending into the shadows of the room almost literally. The shadow warriors were at the attention of their king and I could almost compare myself to Persephone—in lack of a better metaphor—no offense to Persephone—where I might not have belonged here, but drew myself in to be accepted and winning. My spirit moves away to stand in front of our physical forms for a second to picture what we look like in all our darkness: the blankets blend into the shades but there is a protective barrier around us that assures safety and trust. Whereas I am Persephone, feeling at first scared, enraged, comforted at the same time—Nico is my Hades, yet this isn't our palace because Hades' actual palace feels nice and loving, but, unlike the palace where it is almost tangible at times, there is no tension in our atmosphere of cotton—to the point where I could almost say he didn't care. In our case, the constant sub-tense is replaced with consistent sub-love.
A few easy breaths pass into my hair before he responds, "I'm here," and it takes all the more effort not to just breathe him in and mix our beings together because I can't believe it hasn't already happened.
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I did a thing—I don't plan on going anywhere with this account, don't plan on updating with a schedule, as is obvious, don't plan on making drabbles into several-part stories. I have, though, read through the comments: thank you! For all the requests: I have a note on my SkyDrive labeled "Nico Prompts" that's filled with ideas, some of which I have started and are actually complete, but I'm not completely confident about those yet. It'll come, eventually.
For things more on the personal side of my stuff, visit my tumblr! thespiritworlds.tumblr.com
