I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
He is savage gold and sharp edges, serpentine smiles and jagged uncut rubies.
She had cut herself against him just as surely as he had pricked his finger when he had ran it carelessly across her broken exterior. ”Did you like it?” She asks, and he is silent. A hint of darkness that follows the storm of thoughtfulness that crosses across a tide of red. Had he? There had been a moment in the falling, a wild unleashing of freedom in the release of knowing that he was no longer in control of anything at all. That nothing in that moment had ever mattered. Perhaps that’s what some might call the “thrill” of it all. “I don’t know.” He answers honestly enough, his tone low and brooding.
He thinks he had tried to reach for her once. He’s not sure why, if it was because he wanted to drag her down with him or try to break her fall. He might have remembered if it hadn't been for that endless hunger which consumed him from the inside out as he became something other then himself. If she had seen the serpent she seems strangely unfazed and he wonders if perhaps she hadn’t caught his fall from grace. Had somehow missed how he was casted from Eden and plunged below, how the ocean waves parted to swallow the snake back into the pits of hell where it belonged. He is lost in this remembrance, something shadowy flickering behind the endless sea of red.
Her voice breaks through the smoky fog, calling him back beside her as he is drawn to the uncertainty written across her pretty face. She was a storm, wasn’t she? Not like the ones he associates with Cheri… Revelrie is a different type of tempest. One he can never, would never, be able to fully understand. He is quiet in the wake of her musings, allowing them the space that they needed. Still she orbits around him, a star refusing to streak across the sky. Fools. Yes, they were both fools. Both who had carelessly plunged into a storm.. for what. To seek…what exactly? Behind the streaked sky and pelting rain, what exactly did they hope to find?
There is something in her gaze that reminds him of the way moonlight casts shadows on a summer starlit night. Of the first petals in the greeting of Spring. Something delicate, something fragile. She could be so easy to break but he finds he doesn’t want to. He wants to keep her pieced together, keep her from flipping herself off a cliff just in case her parachute failed to open. She is taunting him again and his predatory grin resurfaces as the Dark Fae becomes distracted by her humor. A wickedness in the curve of her mouth that he quickly matches with his own. “Who indeed?” He murmurs huskily, a flare of desire suddenly coursing through his veins. A want, a need, to be closer to her. A memory of Aela comes to him then (as well as the familiar ache that he’s come to accept with her absence) as the ghost of her kisses whisper along his skin. His crimson gaze lingers along the constellations blazed along her skull and wonders if she tastes of otherworldly delights too. Something delicate, something he has never tasted before.
Something shifts in the air, something changes in her demeanor and he watches her carefully, sensing something important was coming. He doesn’t answer her right away, studies the delicate intricacies of the patterns that make her everything she is, follows the gentle curves of her jaw that leads to that soft tempting smile. His gaze is not on her when he finally answers with raw and rare honesty. “I didn’t want you to die alone.” He had not doubted that he might live through the encounter. The ghostly remains of his mortality lingered just enough to give a jolt of fright when he had hurtled over the edge but there is a fearlessness that comes with immortality and he had never truly feared for his life. Not really.
He had cared though about her. Had cared if she had gone to meet her maker afraid and alone. It had mattered to him quite a lot. He didn’t know why. It just did. There is a sudden flash of uncertainty in his usual callous gaze, a young immortal out of his depth. He doesn’t like not feeling in control now that he was back on land with his hooves firmly planted to the ground. He needs to fix it, needs to center himself and he does so by suddenly closing the distance between them. His lips hover at the crook of her neck, as if inspecting her for wounds, but the truth is that he wants to know what it might feel like to make one so fearless as she tremble against him. “You play some dangerous games, Ghost.” He whispers in a smoky voice as his lips just barely graze the tip of her ear. He wants to do more, wants to see if she will taste of the salt of the sea (he highly suspects she will) but simply watches her carefully for the signs of her acceptance. That she wants this, that she would willingly jump into another storm, one that they had created together.
She had cut herself against him just as surely as he had pricked his finger when he had ran it carelessly across her broken exterior. ”Did you like it?” She asks, and he is silent. A hint of darkness that follows the storm of thoughtfulness that crosses across a tide of red. Had he? There had been a moment in the falling, a wild unleashing of freedom in the release of knowing that he was no longer in control of anything at all. That nothing in that moment had ever mattered. Perhaps that’s what some might call the “thrill” of it all. “I don’t know.” He answers honestly enough, his tone low and brooding.
He thinks he had tried to reach for her once. He’s not sure why, if it was because he wanted to drag her down with him or try to break her fall. He might have remembered if it hadn't been for that endless hunger which consumed him from the inside out as he became something other then himself. If she had seen the serpent she seems strangely unfazed and he wonders if perhaps she hadn’t caught his fall from grace. Had somehow missed how he was casted from Eden and plunged below, how the ocean waves parted to swallow the snake back into the pits of hell where it belonged. He is lost in this remembrance, something shadowy flickering behind the endless sea of red.
Her voice breaks through the smoky fog, calling him back beside her as he is drawn to the uncertainty written across her pretty face. She was a storm, wasn’t she? Not like the ones he associates with Cheri… Revelrie is a different type of tempest. One he can never, would never, be able to fully understand. He is quiet in the wake of her musings, allowing them the space that they needed. Still she orbits around him, a star refusing to streak across the sky. Fools. Yes, they were both fools. Both who had carelessly plunged into a storm.. for what. To seek…what exactly? Behind the streaked sky and pelting rain, what exactly did they hope to find?
There is something in her gaze that reminds him of the way moonlight casts shadows on a summer starlit night. Of the first petals in the greeting of Spring. Something delicate, something fragile. She could be so easy to break but he finds he doesn’t want to. He wants to keep her pieced together, keep her from flipping herself off a cliff just in case her parachute failed to open. She is taunting him again and his predatory grin resurfaces as the Dark Fae becomes distracted by her humor. A wickedness in the curve of her mouth that he quickly matches with his own. “Who indeed?” He murmurs huskily, a flare of desire suddenly coursing through his veins. A want, a need, to be closer to her. A memory of Aela comes to him then (as well as the familiar ache that he’s come to accept with her absence) as the ghost of her kisses whisper along his skin. His crimson gaze lingers along the constellations blazed along her skull and wonders if she tastes of otherworldly delights too. Something delicate, something he has never tasted before.
Something shifts in the air, something changes in her demeanor and he watches her carefully, sensing something important was coming. He doesn’t answer her right away, studies the delicate intricacies of the patterns that make her everything she is, follows the gentle curves of her jaw that leads to that soft tempting smile. His gaze is not on her when he finally answers with raw and rare honesty. “I didn’t want you to die alone.” He had not doubted that he might live through the encounter. The ghostly remains of his mortality lingered just enough to give a jolt of fright when he had hurtled over the edge but there is a fearlessness that comes with immortality and he had never truly feared for his life. Not really.
He had cared though about her. Had cared if she had gone to meet her maker afraid and alone. It had mattered to him quite a lot. He didn’t know why. It just did. There is a sudden flash of uncertainty in his usual callous gaze, a young immortal out of his depth. He doesn’t like not feeling in control now that he was back on land with his hooves firmly planted to the ground. He needs to fix it, needs to center himself and he does so by suddenly closing the distance between them. His lips hover at the crook of her neck, as if inspecting her for wounds, but the truth is that he wants to know what it might feel like to make one so fearless as she tremble against him. “You play some dangerous games, Ghost.” He whispers in a smoky voice as his lips just barely graze the tip of her ear. He wants to do more, wants to see if she will taste of the salt of the sea (he highly suspects she will) but simply watches her carefully for the signs of her acceptance. That she wants this, that she would willingly jump into another storm, one that they had created together.
obscene
@revelrie
![[Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTkjKh9Q/Obscene-Pixel.png){kind=tracking}