magiken

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀﹒ ✶ ⎯⎯           @appleseeds. 
            
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ (i. ⠀⠀)  ⠀
                  ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ THERE  WAS  ONLY  RUIN.          a coveting of spells corded through each cobblestone of this wayward way. no mortal could he count, as he released his right forearm. the tendon of muscle flinched, loosening from his grip, and a chant, as vast as the canopy of the cathedral, seemed to linger through the old stone. his hood lilted back, releasing messy strands as he watched in a frenzy of keen observation. history, as once spoken of in olden tales, was etched into the greek art, and he lowered his eyes to her.                (en)chantress.. he thought to himself, his gaze narrowing at the stretch of her fingertips. wolfe reached inside his pocket. the cold, silver dagger clasped tightly between his fingers, halted between them, sat siftly. he was uncertain, as one could be of an enemy praying under false pretence; why he gave in, but he did; never taking his eyes off her.

&.      dear ol’ angst.      here we go again in round about of life. 

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀﹒ ✶ ⎯⎯           @appleseeds. 
            
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ (i. ⠀⠀)  ⠀
                  ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ HIS   FINGERS   FASTENED,   A   CURL  OF   TIGHT  STRING;   UPON   HER  SMALLER  WRIST.             that much he was evidently aware of, the size difference. if he stood as much again, he’d dwarf her in height. his jaw nearly mawed in tightness of his clench, causing the molars to ache. but he reacted little to the effect, however; he released the woman. the fresh linen around his wound pulled against his skin whenever he moved, carrying the sharp scent of crushed herbs and rainwater. her touch was that of a nursing mother, a nurturer; yet he couldn’t possibly distinguish the difference, or so he wondered if this was what kindness was like when bestowed upon a child or a man of his age.        yet; that still unsettled him. bitterness was a sour pit, it made his teeth grind. though, distracted by the meticulous drops of rain, he slowly rose from the ground, folding the large blanket about his naked shoulders. wolfe edged closer to the window.           the grey fort of the city outside felt freer, though no less of a prison. he wanted to be free, and out there where he could maw at the grass, or run his fingers through the corn fields or the wheat field.     solemnly, he dragged a low at his bare feet; then back at her again. a profuse of language he knew not; yet.. he’d understood her. he just..   (  .. )    couldn’t speak.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ (ii. ⠀⠀)  ⠀
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ THE FIRE INSIDE GREETED HIM WITH AN ADDICTING WARMTH, leaving his bones in a mellow comfort. wolfe dragged his exhausted limbs to the couch, and took a seat, letting out a long, tired exhale. alone at once, he threw his hand back, tirelessly reaching for the biscuit on the plate, and took a bite, letting out a satisfied sound.           there was no sweeter taste than sugar filling his tongue, and rendering him speechless at how much he had missed knowing meals, and what little snacks tasted like.      the /quiet/ was better. no questions, no unfamiliar voices pressing against his ears, no hands reaching for him or eyes waiting upon his face for an answer he could not give. here, he could eat without being watched. that alone was enough.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀﹒ ✶ ⎯⎯           @BELOVAS. 
            
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ (i. ⠀⠀)  ⠀
                  ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ THE  FRAIL,   IT  IS  HOW  THE  TRUE  MUTINY  LINGERED  WITHIN   THE  TIGHT  CONFINEMENT  OF  HIS  SUIT.    such a garment of royal clothing did not abide well upon his muscular frame, rather it bulged across his shoulders, and even the nearest attempt at reaching forth; or hence leaning upward, made the fabric graze against his skin.           wolfe counted sheep, rather strictly, focusing his attention on grabbing the biscuit. the dainty thing shook beneath his fingers, and he was certain there were crumbs of the last biscuit left as a remnant upon his lips. which, he was certain he’d cleaned, now again. he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand quickly, turning in time to hear that nagging chirp of a bird. she was similar to that of a mockingbird, or so; rather squeamishly so, chattering and filled with too much noise and information. did she even breathe? he wondered, but ignored her. wolfe managed to get the biscuit, and ignored the string of feminine laughter that sounded behind him.                  too much, he thought.. wincing, and deftly, maneuvered between the row of ladies circling him, and milena. once at a distance, he made his way to the hall, then crossed the open balcony. twas only with a look after himself, that he made haste toward the carved stone gallery connected to the quiet guest room, all the while holding his plate firmly in hand, and climbed over to the second balcony, slipping inside. he was glad the door had been left ajar as he’d intended for his escape during this lavish palace party.

\please\ .. it won’t happen again.