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Quoted By: >>6037378
Previous Threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=The%202nd%20Primarch%20Quest
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Still dressed in her wedding gown, as you and her lay on the dewy grass, you meet your bride's gaze gently and look into the emerald sea of her eyes, seeing the somber golden glow of your own eyes catching the light of the setting sun reflected into them, golden fire and Emerald water mingled together like when the sun descends the horizon at the sea. The warmth of her touch radiates out and reaches deep into your chest as she lays practically on top of you, arms wrapped tightly around your midsection and her own body pressed against your own. The wind lifts the loosened flaps of your robe and plays through her hair as her request, her proposition settles into your mind and stirs a desire almost alien to your senses, an uncomfortable heat welling up from within your heart, fanned by emotion rather than instinct that were excised from you and your brothers at your creation. The whirlwind of passion, sweeping up the sparks of chaste love and stoking it to become a different beast entirely, altering its form and sensation but not its source.
And as the chilly touch of her fingers sends involuntary shivers down your sun warmed skin, your mind drifts, hazy already with the spirit known as love true and strong and further fogged by the peerless beauty and the tempting offer she has made, the coy smirk on her lips, the almost challenging look in her eyes. But it does not drift where the thoughts of other mens would be pulled and lured if they were in the same situation, rather, you day dream not of anything indecent or lewd, but rather towards a future that probably will never come to pass. Of a pack of merry minded children, with eyes of entwined emerald, gold and silver, taller than most, fast growing as you were, but unburdened by the grand responsibility and towering expectation of both of their parents. The man engineered to be a warlord, who'd prefer to spend his days wandering the fog dampened forests or tending flooded paddies of rice rather than shedding blood and committing war on a galactic scale, and the soul of a colony ship who had survived not only her passengers and crew but all of her civilization save a few of her family, but both who carried out their duties without complaint out of a shared love for humanity. A love rivaled only by the one they share, the love from which these imaginary children sprouted.
Oh how vividly you can see them, racing through the mists and clambering up the hills of the valleys and rocks that dot them, swimming through the stream, laughing as they play with grown tiger kin who have escaped the monstrosity and crimes of their own parents and Space Marines taken from the battlefield and allowed to pursue arts besides those of the martial and killing variety.
A perfect world. That can only be an illusion. For perfection cannot exist.
Cont
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Still dressed in her wedding gown, as you and her lay on the dewy grass, you meet your bride's gaze gently and look into the emerald sea of her eyes, seeing the somber golden glow of your own eyes catching the light of the setting sun reflected into them, golden fire and Emerald water mingled together like when the sun descends the horizon at the sea. The warmth of her touch radiates out and reaches deep into your chest as she lays practically on top of you, arms wrapped tightly around your midsection and her own body pressed against your own. The wind lifts the loosened flaps of your robe and plays through her hair as her request, her proposition settles into your mind and stirs a desire almost alien to your senses, an uncomfortable heat welling up from within your heart, fanned by emotion rather than instinct that were excised from you and your brothers at your creation. The whirlwind of passion, sweeping up the sparks of chaste love and stoking it to become a different beast entirely, altering its form and sensation but not its source.
And as the chilly touch of her fingers sends involuntary shivers down your sun warmed skin, your mind drifts, hazy already with the spirit known as love true and strong and further fogged by the peerless beauty and the tempting offer she has made, the coy smirk on her lips, the almost challenging look in her eyes. But it does not drift where the thoughts of other mens would be pulled and lured if they were in the same situation, rather, you day dream not of anything indecent or lewd, but rather towards a future that probably will never come to pass. Of a pack of merry minded children, with eyes of entwined emerald, gold and silver, taller than most, fast growing as you were, but unburdened by the grand responsibility and towering expectation of both of their parents. The man engineered to be a warlord, who'd prefer to spend his days wandering the fog dampened forests or tending flooded paddies of rice rather than shedding blood and committing war on a galactic scale, and the soul of a colony ship who had survived not only her passengers and crew but all of her civilization save a few of her family, but both who carried out their duties without complaint out of a shared love for humanity. A love rivaled only by the one they share, the love from which these imaginary children sprouted.
Oh how vividly you can see them, racing through the mists and clambering up the hills of the valleys and rocks that dot them, swimming through the stream, laughing as they play with grown tiger kin who have escaped the monstrosity and crimes of their own parents and Space Marines taken from the battlefield and allowed to pursue arts besides those of the martial and killing variety.
A perfect world. That can only be an illusion. For perfection cannot exist.
Cont
