[ it had only been once, and then it had been in a dream (an all too real dream, but a dream nonetheless), but even so bishamon felt she knew what to expect the moment their energies began to sync. mana, in general, is still such a foreign concept to her, but when she clears her mind and allows the exchange to happen — there is a faint sense of familiarity about it.
as if it were some long-forgotten skill she were relearning.
for her part, she succumbs to the exercise entirely. lets her eyes close so that she may better focus and process. it is his mana that she feels first — certain and firm, much like the man himself. she feels the hairs on her back begin to stand, prompting a slight furrow along her brow, and for a moment she nearly pulls her hand away — the last mana she'd felt had given her the feeling of a meadow too, but it had been daylight then, wide and open and the winds were at her back, ruffling her hair, making her light. here, there is only the light of a distant moon, and the chill that clings to the air, knowing something is coming but not knowing where to turn or look, whether it would be wiser to stay or remain.
then like a ray of light through the cracks of heavy curtains on a quiet morning, she feels it — her own mana, pouring through as if to claim its home. and for those few moments, she suddenly feels home, there in the quiet stream behind her takamagahara complex, hidden from eyes that cannot help but ask too much of her, though she knows it is only her duty to provide.
with a breath, she allows herself to fully process the sensation. like stepping into a gentle stream in spring, the water cool at first, but quick to grow warm as one settles. here, in this quiet space, she is both bare but hidden, vulnerable but safe. ]
no subject
as if it were some long-forgotten skill she were relearning.
for her part, she succumbs to the exercise entirely. lets her eyes close so that she may better focus and process. it is his mana that she feels first — certain and firm, much like the man himself. she feels the hairs on her back begin to stand, prompting a slight furrow along her brow, and for a moment she nearly pulls her hand away — the last mana she'd felt had given her the feeling of a meadow too, but it had been daylight then, wide and open and the winds were at her back, ruffling her hair, making her light. here, there is only the light of a distant moon, and the chill that clings to the air, knowing something is coming but not knowing where to turn or look, whether it would be wiser to stay or remain.
then like a ray of light through the cracks of heavy curtains on a quiet morning, she feels it — her own mana, pouring through as if to claim its home. and for those few moments, she suddenly feels home, there in the quiet stream behind her takamagahara complex, hidden from eyes that cannot help but ask too much of her, though she knows it is only her duty to provide.
with a breath, she allows herself to fully process the sensation. like stepping into a gentle stream in spring, the water cool at first, but quick to grow warm as one settles. here, in this quiet space, she is both bare but hidden, vulnerable but safe. ]