all i want is to flip a switch
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
Oh, she says, as though she’d just realized something important, and he frowns even more deeply than before because he does not understand whatever it is she has. It makes him uncomfortable, this not knowing, and it takes every bit of self awareness not to let his dark body move away from hers. She is not allowed to realize things about him, no one is.
But the longer she watches him, the longer he watches her back, until that dark and marble face is so frozen in the frown he wears like a mask - a mask that he’s forgotten is anything but real now, anything but him. He’s like a furious quartz statue, severe and beautiful in a way that is not entirely attractive, in the way a wolf is before it downs it’s prey. But he is not violent now, he is merely uncomfortable with her quiet and her presence and the way she watches him with such sad eyes like she knows.
His wings fluff larger, the piebald feathers spreading wider to look more full at his sides, more imposing, more intimidating. He thinks he is trying to convince her to leave, but his eyes have started to say something else. She is like watching a sunset, a hundred subtle changes over such a stretch of time, a hundred shades of sad and broken hearted. He doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t surprise him. There is much to be broken hearted over in this place.
But then she speaks, and their twilight silence is shattered like a dropped piece of glass, leaving shards of uncertainty and wariness and regret buried recklessly in the dark of both their bodies. Is he real? Of course he’s real, and the scowl on his brow says so loud enough that he doesn’t need words to repeat it. His ears pin, disappearing into the roil of his dark mane as he moves past her to stand at the edge of the water - and it’s almost as though he’s dismissed her until the rest of the world goes dark around them, walls he builds to keep her close.
He isn’t sure why he does it.
But the dark funnels her back in beside him where he can feel the heat of her eggshell blue skin, touch wandering lips to the sad curve of a far too delicate neck and breathe out into the tangles of a cornsilk mane. She is beautiful, as all fragile things are, and the dark in him is not blind to it. It hungers. “Tell me what it was that broke you.” He says it with a strange kind of patience, with his attention not on her but off towards the ocean where his shadows have left the view untouched. There is no real note of kindness in his voice, no hidden compassion, just a curiosity to know her truths. The truths that mirror the ones in his own heart, the ones he’ll bring quietly to his grave.
But the longer she watches him, the longer he watches her back, until that dark and marble face is so frozen in the frown he wears like a mask - a mask that he’s forgotten is anything but real now, anything but him. He’s like a furious quartz statue, severe and beautiful in a way that is not entirely attractive, in the way a wolf is before it downs it’s prey. But he is not violent now, he is merely uncomfortable with her quiet and her presence and the way she watches him with such sad eyes like she knows.
His wings fluff larger, the piebald feathers spreading wider to look more full at his sides, more imposing, more intimidating. He thinks he is trying to convince her to leave, but his eyes have started to say something else. She is like watching a sunset, a hundred subtle changes over such a stretch of time, a hundred shades of sad and broken hearted. He doesn’t like it, but it doesn’t surprise him. There is much to be broken hearted over in this place.
But then she speaks, and their twilight silence is shattered like a dropped piece of glass, leaving shards of uncertainty and wariness and regret buried recklessly in the dark of both their bodies. Is he real? Of course he’s real, and the scowl on his brow says so loud enough that he doesn’t need words to repeat it. His ears pin, disappearing into the roil of his dark mane as he moves past her to stand at the edge of the water - and it’s almost as though he’s dismissed her until the rest of the world goes dark around them, walls he builds to keep her close.
He isn’t sure why he does it.
But the dark funnels her back in beside him where he can feel the heat of her eggshell blue skin, touch wandering lips to the sad curve of a far too delicate neck and breathe out into the tangles of a cornsilk mane. She is beautiful, as all fragile things are, and the dark in him is not blind to it. It hungers. “Tell me what it was that broke you.” He says it with a strange kind of patience, with his attention not on her but off towards the ocean where his shadows have left the view untouched. There is no real note of kindness in his voice, no hidden compassion, just a curiosity to know her truths. The truths that mirror the ones in his own heart, the ones he’ll bring quietly to his grave.
Illum
@[Rapture]