[font=Roboto]Life had an interesting way of derailing Rhailo's plans, and what motives she had that were once considered priority were slowly being shuffled to the bottom of her list of things the woman eventually meant to accomplish. There were countless hopes she clung to, but none so adamantly as Demagol's acceptance, as that would be what decided her position, and existence, from here on out. She knew this, and no matter what amount of reassurance she was given, the facts hovered in the back of her mind like baleful ghosts; lingering just out of obvious reach. Demagol was giving her thanks, though she couldn't accept them. Not genuinely. Instead, the Auroun nodded a brief acknowledgement into the nape of the hunter's neck before fluttering silvery lashes open to study the tempo of his exposed pulse. Were memories always meant to be nightmares, or were nightmares the memories someone least wished to recall?
Her memories were strange, foreign, and inevitably unshaped. She didn't return to the places she least wished to visit within her dreamscape, nor could she understand why humanoids had a habit of doing so; one couldn't change their past. One couldn't relive their mistakes to remedy them. Instead, her dreams were a fantastical and vibrant collection of the unique and abstract. Places she couldn't reach without the assistance of an extended and overtaxed psyche- though it seemed natural to the Auroun, given the layers of reality impacting upon the fleshlands were equivalent to dreams for Rhailo. Beautifully crafted, but thoroughly caustic to the viewer of such realms, she tread a fine line every instance of dreaming she explored. Rhailo dwindled ever so slightly with each viewing, and peeking into the lost places Demagol had been was safer than visiting her own planes created for the purpose of exploration. The existence of one Auroun was enough to create worlds, but with so many of her kind in circulation, the umbral paths branching through the existing network of newly created space was staggering.
If she wasn't careful, she could lose herself in the dream.
But not dreams of Demagol's creation. The only consequences she felt for spying was the guilt attached to the act, and while the hunter was apparently knowledgeable of her slight, Rhailo didn't bring direct attention to the fact. It appeared easier for the creature to listen for the time being, her body rising and falling with each steady breath the Mandalorian took beneath her frame. Fingers crawled over his muscles, tracing his arm where the tips of wandering digits could inspect veins and ligature through the barest of caresses. Her touch was casual, albeit intimate in it's own right. He was still new to her, despite the past few days the two had been together. It was hard to believe how quickly the duo had moved along with their relationship, and by some fortunate twist of circumstance, Rhailo Destros shared a bed with her companion rather than being forced to occupy a holding cell.
"I'm not afraid," she lied quietly, her lids fluttering once more as the remnants of sleep were blinked away. "But I agree. With the nightmare, that is... You seemed troubled." Shifting, thighs squeezed slightly as she made to remove herself from Demagol's torso, his cock freed from the captivity she had kept it in over the course of the last several hours. Palms flattened against the bed to aid in standing, and with a slow crawl away from the Mandalorian, Rhailo straightened next to the bed with a soft expel of air through her nostrils. Despite sleeping, she felt tired; fatigue wormed it's way through her slender figure. "Are you often troubled by nightmares, Demagol?" Rhailo's voice never seemed to rise much louder than a pleasant lilt, and as her vocals cut through the darkness, her faintly glowing presence drifted through the mire of their conversation. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy speaking with the male. On the contrary, she wished they did more talking- but now felt incredibly uncomfortable in terms of subject matter.
Delicately, she meant to avoid returning to the topic of Demagol's deceased brother and the dream she had witnessed.
"You've seen what I'm capable of. That really doesn't have much to do with this." Rhailo protested under her breath, a faint smile crossing her lush lips as she added matter-of-factually, "I just thought it was time to get up, and it's easier not to startle you if you're awake as well. Otherwise, you might have pulled a knife on me, and that would have been a problem..." Pale fingers rose to motion from one side of her throat to the other; a sharp indication of her fears concerning her companion's possible reaction. "But now we're both awake, and I have to ask: Where are we going?" After all, Rhailo was curious of this as well as Demagol's past, but their current plans were a safer topic to approach with small talk. Twirling where she stood, the woman paced around the bed to the other side of the room, continuing to speak throughout this series of actions. "I think I should shower again... Maybe this is something I should wait to ask until you're more awake? I don't really know if you're a morning person or not."
Attention rose to her pale locks, and as equally fair fingers raked through the pigmentless strands, Rhailo resembled the opalescent sheen seen on pearls and sea shells. As deceptively human as she could appear at times, there was no mistaking her otherworldly attributes when the two of them were alone. A lack of background influences like overwhelming light sources really put her alien qualities into perspective, and on the same note, she looked at Demagol in that curious fashion indicating she was assessing him. He was a foreigner, and his customs differed from her own. His world was new and frightening, and no matter what brave smile found it's way across her features, her stomach was in knots. "You know... You're very attractive." Her pacing paused at the end of the bed, where the Auroun hovered with her arms crossed just beneath the swell of her breasts.
"It makes me feel like you should have someone somewhere waiting for you... Why don't you?"
Her memories were strange, foreign, and inevitably unshaped. She didn't return to the places she least wished to visit within her dreamscape, nor could she understand why humanoids had a habit of doing so; one couldn't change their past. One couldn't relive their mistakes to remedy them. Instead, her dreams were a fantastical and vibrant collection of the unique and abstract. Places she couldn't reach without the assistance of an extended and overtaxed psyche- though it seemed natural to the Auroun, given the layers of reality impacting upon the fleshlands were equivalent to dreams for Rhailo. Beautifully crafted, but thoroughly caustic to the viewer of such realms, she tread a fine line every instance of dreaming she explored. Rhailo dwindled ever so slightly with each viewing, and peeking into the lost places Demagol had been was safer than visiting her own planes created for the purpose of exploration. The existence of one Auroun was enough to create worlds, but with so many of her kind in circulation, the umbral paths branching through the existing network of newly created space was staggering.
If she wasn't careful, she could lose herself in the dream.
But not dreams of Demagol's creation. The only consequences she felt for spying was the guilt attached to the act, and while the hunter was apparently knowledgeable of her slight, Rhailo didn't bring direct attention to the fact. It appeared easier for the creature to listen for the time being, her body rising and falling with each steady breath the Mandalorian took beneath her frame. Fingers crawled over his muscles, tracing his arm where the tips of wandering digits could inspect veins and ligature through the barest of caresses. Her touch was casual, albeit intimate in it's own right. He was still new to her, despite the past few days the two had been together. It was hard to believe how quickly the duo had moved along with their relationship, and by some fortunate twist of circumstance, Rhailo Destros shared a bed with her companion rather than being forced to occupy a holding cell.
"I'm not afraid," she lied quietly, her lids fluttering once more as the remnants of sleep were blinked away. "But I agree. With the nightmare, that is... You seemed troubled." Shifting, thighs squeezed slightly as she made to remove herself from Demagol's torso, his cock freed from the captivity she had kept it in over the course of the last several hours. Palms flattened against the bed to aid in standing, and with a slow crawl away from the Mandalorian, Rhailo straightened next to the bed with a soft expel of air through her nostrils. Despite sleeping, she felt tired; fatigue wormed it's way through her slender figure. "Are you often troubled by nightmares, Demagol?" Rhailo's voice never seemed to rise much louder than a pleasant lilt, and as her vocals cut through the darkness, her faintly glowing presence drifted through the mire of their conversation. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy speaking with the male. On the contrary, she wished they did more talking- but now felt incredibly uncomfortable in terms of subject matter.
Delicately, she meant to avoid returning to the topic of Demagol's deceased brother and the dream she had witnessed.
"You've seen what I'm capable of. That really doesn't have much to do with this." Rhailo protested under her breath, a faint smile crossing her lush lips as she added matter-of-factually, "I just thought it was time to get up, and it's easier not to startle you if you're awake as well. Otherwise, you might have pulled a knife on me, and that would have been a problem..." Pale fingers rose to motion from one side of her throat to the other; a sharp indication of her fears concerning her companion's possible reaction. "But now we're both awake, and I have to ask: Where are we going?" After all, Rhailo was curious of this as well as Demagol's past, but their current plans were a safer topic to approach with small talk. Twirling where she stood, the woman paced around the bed to the other side of the room, continuing to speak throughout this series of actions. "I think I should shower again... Maybe this is something I should wait to ask until you're more awake? I don't really know if you're a morning person or not."
Attention rose to her pale locks, and as equally fair fingers raked through the pigmentless strands, Rhailo resembled the opalescent sheen seen on pearls and sea shells. As deceptively human as she could appear at times, there was no mistaking her otherworldly attributes when the two of them were alone. A lack of background influences like overwhelming light sources really put her alien qualities into perspective, and on the same note, she looked at Demagol in that curious fashion indicating she was assessing him. He was a foreigner, and his customs differed from her own. His world was new and frightening, and no matter what brave smile found it's way across her features, her stomach was in knots. "You know... You're very attractive." Her pacing paused at the end of the bed, where the Auroun hovered with her arms crossed just beneath the swell of her breasts.
"It makes me feel like you should have someone somewhere waiting for you... Why don't you?"
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I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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