there's a song in your lung
and a dream in your eye
She had not been chosen. She had presented herself like a lamb to sacrifice. In her youthful arrogance and childish belief that bad things simply did not happen to girls like her, she had presented herself eagerly for her torment. He had taken full advantage, without a single qualm. In reflection, she is not at all surprised. In wisdom granted only by age, by pain, by experience, she knows that the decision had been hers and hers alone. That He had taken advantage of her foolishness was only to be expected.
Perse listens quietly to her stuttered story, making no comment on her actions. Her eyes never once leave that shimmering mare’s. A stare that would unnerve many, but Perse never flinches. She does not doubt that this woman has experienced much worse. She had been the recipient of His less than tender touches, likely known agonies far worse than Joscelin’s own. Except that she seemed to live for them, yearned for them like a lover’s caress. It is unfathomable. She would never understand her desire to be ripped apart at the seams on a daily basis. And this draws her as nothing else ever could.
At the end of her story, Perse mutters only a simple ‘Oh.’ She seems entirely unsurprised, unfazed by the life-altering events that had befallen her. This is a first, utterly unique to the broken girl. Most only had to look at her shattered body to know that the story behind it must be tragic. But to the mare before her, tragedy must be terribly commonplace.
She continues then, surprising her. It seems she is to be kept constantly on her toes, eternally unprepared for what might slip next from her silver lips.
Yes, I survived.
Oh yes, she had survived. Survived to wallow in misery for months. Survived, and recovered, only to meet her, bringing it all back as though it had happened only yesterday. She comes closer then, muzzle only a breath from her broken flesh. She can feel her even breaths against her skin, causing a faint shiver to ripple across her frame. She is torn. A part of her wishes to jerk away, pushing Perse back, away from her damaged body. Another, a stronger, part wishes for her velvety muzzle to meet torn, flickering flesh. No one had touched her since, not even her mother. She suddenly realizes how much she had missed being touched. She wavers only momentarily before she stills, steadfast in her resolve.
joscelin