07-11-2018, 10:37 PM
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Hazel couldn’t help it: her eyes strayed immediately to the scars and bruises that littered this stranger’s body. She knew that logically, they could be from anything. From the journey, from battle. While this stranger didn’t strike Hazel as the fighter type, she wasn’t one to have the authority to judge. They didn’t have to be abuse scars; and yet? “You know that’s what they are, princess.” Titanium’s voice sneered, bittersweet with enjoyment that dripped like candle wax. It didn’t help that Ti had picked up on Bast’s nickname, the endearment sounding wrong and twisted. It made her skin itch.
It didn’t matter; Hazel was already on edge, tail tip twitching idly in her guard. She eventually forced her gaze to the ground, hardly bothering to mask the haunted chill that shivered along her spine. She wanted to scoot closer to Margaery, to reassurance, but the discomfort working its way through the scars that stitched her own seams together magnified too much, inflamed too many things that Titanium could sink her claws into. Hazel felt rooted to the spot, knowing full well that if anything touched her she’d vibrate out of her own skin, heat acting like a lighter to the memory soaked oil she felt like she was drowning in.
She didn’t understand French, anyway, which was a misfortune. Part of her wanted to ask Margaery what they were talking about, but the other half of her feared something ungodly would come out of her mouth if she opened it. So the cocoa feline stood there, nerves fraying and Titanium whispering cold nothings in her ear and memories of sharp edges tearing at her scars pushing against their confines.
Breathe in, breathe out.
[sup]c) miithers[/sup]
[align=center]hazel elise caelum . nine months . the ascendants . golden girl . tags
Hazel couldn’t help it: her eyes strayed immediately to the scars and bruises that littered this stranger’s body. She knew that logically, they could be from anything. From the journey, from battle. While this stranger didn’t strike Hazel as the fighter type, she wasn’t one to have the authority to judge. They didn’t have to be abuse scars; and yet? “You know that’s what they are, princess.” Titanium’s voice sneered, bittersweet with enjoyment that dripped like candle wax. It didn’t help that Ti had picked up on Bast’s nickname, the endearment sounding wrong and twisted. It made her skin itch.
It didn’t matter; Hazel was already on edge, tail tip twitching idly in her guard. She eventually forced her gaze to the ground, hardly bothering to mask the haunted chill that shivered along her spine. She wanted to scoot closer to Margaery, to reassurance, but the discomfort working its way through the scars that stitched her own seams together magnified too much, inflamed too many things that Titanium could sink her claws into. Hazel felt rooted to the spot, knowing full well that if anything touched her she’d vibrate out of her own skin, heat acting like a lighter to the memory soaked oil she felt like she was drowning in.
She didn’t understand French, anyway, which was a misfortune. Part of her wanted to ask Margaery what they were talking about, but the other half of her feared something ungodly would come out of her mouth if she opened it. So the cocoa feline stood there, nerves fraying and Titanium whispering cold nothings in her ear and memories of sharp edges tearing at her scars pushing against their confines.
Breathe in, breathe out.
[align=center]
WITH EVERY HEARTBEAT I HAVE LEFT
i will defend your every breath; i'll do better