jamie
02-08-2021, 12:19 PM
Jamie
He wonders what he could learn about her now.
He is something altogether different than the thing he had been the last time he’d seen her. He had been restored then, but he had still been weak. Feeble.
He had not been worthy of her company then.
And now?
Now he wears a confidence that might border on arrogance.
And yet.
And yet he is still moved by her, this creature that had emerged from the water and forced him to avert his gaze because it had pained him to look at her. He had been so wholly unused to beauty then. Perhaps he still is, but he is without weakness now.
He touches her and she touches him back and he is reminded of the frustration that had bunched up in his throat the last time he’d tried to touch her, to be touched by her. It fills him with heat, a quiet thrill that spirals through the network of his veins (and he is certain they are real now, certain that he is truly made of flesh and bone and blood).
His own freakish eyes fall closed as she presses her mouth sweetly against the hard edge of his jaw. Is it reverence? Does he want it to be? There is no conscience to warn him against the wanting of worship.
A new thrill courses through him to hear her say these things, to be the object of this affection. He smiles that same ink-black shark-tooth smile and draws his mouth away, refraining.
“So much has changed, Evia,” he murmurs in that same rasping tone, “I don’t think you made me up inside your head.” He exhales a wheezing breath, wonders if this is something he can now heal. “I think I am real.”
He is something altogether different than the thing he had been the last time he’d seen her. He had been restored then, but he had still been weak. Feeble.
He had not been worthy of her company then.
And now?
Now he wears a confidence that might border on arrogance.
And yet.
And yet he is still moved by her, this creature that had emerged from the water and forced him to avert his gaze because it had pained him to look at her. He had been so wholly unused to beauty then. Perhaps he still is, but he is without weakness now.
He touches her and she touches him back and he is reminded of the frustration that had bunched up in his throat the last time he’d tried to touch her, to be touched by her. It fills him with heat, a quiet thrill that spirals through the network of his veins (and he is certain they are real now, certain that he is truly made of flesh and bone and blood).
His own freakish eyes fall closed as she presses her mouth sweetly against the hard edge of his jaw. Is it reverence? Does he want it to be? There is no conscience to warn him against the wanting of worship.
A new thrill courses through him to hear her say these things, to be the object of this affection. He smiles that same ink-black shark-tooth smile and draws his mouth away, refraining.
“So much has changed, Evia,” he murmurs in that same rasping tone, “I don’t think you made me up inside your head.” He exhales a wheezing breath, wonders if this is something he can now heal. “I think I am real.”
( FROM THE DESTRUCTION, OUT OF THE FLAME
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
@[evia]