04-26-2020, 04:26 PM
she fell for the idea of him
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
For once, her impetuous nature is shadowed by an unfamiliar apprehension. She has always been more prone to flirting with danger than shying from it, and yet there is something about him that makes her cautious. The way that he looks at her – and she is trying not to stare for too long at those sage green eyes, trying to not get cut on the sharpness of them – makes her skin prick. She is afraid of him, and it is different from the way that she is afraid of Carnage. There is an unexplainable kind of trust that has been built between her and the dark god, something that she isn’t sure could ever be articulated into words.
There is no such thing between her and this beautiful stranger, though.
He comes closer, and the amber glow of her halo softens the darkness of her watchful stare, tracing his every move. This man, with the scales that nearly glitter in the dappled light, and the serpent-like way that he moves, she does not know his intentions nearly as well as she might be able to guess at Carnage, or Atrox. How fast could she heal her own slit throat, she wonders?
Likely not fast enough.
There is a fear that chases the surge of adrenaline when his teeth touch her back, and trail up her neck. There is a sense of danger, a warning sign, and she tosses it aside, but maybe not so carelessly as she usually does. Hunt you down, is what he says, and though her breath hitches in her throat at the words and the way they feel murmured so intimately against her jaw, she leans into him. “You’ll find that I’m boring prey,” she breathes as she turns her head, her lily-white lips skimming across his skin. “I don’t typically run.” She was the lamb that walked willingly into the lion’s den, just to see what it might do; as if it could ever be a mystery.
Her heartbeat quickens, and her blood springs willingly to the surface at the beckoning of his teeth, bleeding bright and crimson down the pristine white of her. She does not heal the marks, not yet, and instinctively she presses closer to him. “I don’t have any suitors,” and spoken so sweetly from her tongue, it isn’t a lie. She doesn’t see herself as someone that anyone actually wants – not to keep, at least. Even if she smells like Atrox and Hyaline, even if there are scents of other men that might cling to her skin, she could never be so bold as to assume that she meant anything to any of them in the long run.
“So I guess it’s just you.”
There is no such thing between her and this beautiful stranger, though.
He comes closer, and the amber glow of her halo softens the darkness of her watchful stare, tracing his every move. This man, with the scales that nearly glitter in the dappled light, and the serpent-like way that he moves, she does not know his intentions nearly as well as she might be able to guess at Carnage, or Atrox. How fast could she heal her own slit throat, she wonders?
Likely not fast enough.
There is a fear that chases the surge of adrenaline when his teeth touch her back, and trail up her neck. There is a sense of danger, a warning sign, and she tosses it aside, but maybe not so carelessly as she usually does. Hunt you down, is what he says, and though her breath hitches in her throat at the words and the way they feel murmured so intimately against her jaw, she leans into him. “You’ll find that I’m boring prey,” she breathes as she turns her head, her lily-white lips skimming across his skin. “I don’t typically run.” She was the lamb that walked willingly into the lion’s den, just to see what it might do; as if it could ever be a mystery.
Her heartbeat quickens, and her blood springs willingly to the surface at the beckoning of his teeth, bleeding bright and crimson down the pristine white of her. She does not heal the marks, not yet, and instinctively she presses closer to him. “I don’t have any suitors,” and spoken so sweetly from her tongue, it isn’t a lie. She doesn’t see herself as someone that anyone actually wants – not to keep, at least. Even if she smells like Atrox and Hyaline, even if there are scents of other men that might cling to her skin, she could never be so bold as to assume that she meant anything to any of them in the long run.
“So I guess it’s just you.”
ryatah
@[Larva]