She should fear. The dark should stir something in her, primordial and ancient as it is. But it is lost in the hollow of her broken soul. She had known true fear once. Felt the shredding bite of evil, it’s foul breath holding her life in an uncaring grip. And she knows this darkness is not that. There is bitterness and anger, but no true evil.
The faded mark on her hip bears eternal witness to her firsthand knowledge.
Her breath shudders from her lungs as he scoffs, breaking the sharp intensity left in the wake of her admission. His gaze falls hard on her, but she cannot seem to meet it. Her chin dips as she curls into herself, uncertainty and an irrepressible longing for connection warring within her. She has lived as a ghost on these shores so long now that, even beneath his accusatory demands, she feels far more alive than she has in eons.
She should agree with him. Should not give him a reason for anger. She knows the dangers housed within the crimson depths of that emotion. But she doesn’t. She finds herself, against all better sense, shaking her head in response to his assertions over the fallacy of love.
Even now, after everything, she still believes. Foolishly, she believes.
“It’s real,” she replies, her voice soft and thready, even in the crushing stillness of the dark. “My heart has the scars to show for it.”
She shivers, still not quite able to lift her gaze to find his. If he had never loved, she’s not certain he would understand. Even less certain he would wish to. But she understands far too well. It echoes inside her even now, undeniable even in the face of his certainty. So loud that she cannot help but add, “The loss is easier.”
Nothingness is so much easier to lift than the weight of her own heart.
Make me a promise that time won't erase us
That we were not lost from the start
Rapture
