He is possessive and dismissive in the same breath, and she finds it fascinating. Finds it fascinating how he so quickly devolves into violence, shrugging off her name in the same way that he studies her so ravenously. It’s a different and yet utterly familiar, and she makes no move to show that she finds it unsavory in the slightest. Instead, her lips spread into that ethereal smile, as though he was showing her the heavens instead of pressing into her, teeth against her neck like a threat and a promise at once.
“I rarely need to be asked,” she says with a delicate roll of her shoulder, not moving away as he moves even closer. “I’m from here, I suppose,” she says, not quite understanding the question. She was from the night sky more than anything else. Born in Pangea, raised in the common lands, and now resting her head in the Cove more than anywhere else. But there was no such thing as a home—not for someone like her.
She smiles again at the idea of grave roses, mulling over the idea, feeling herself thrill at the teeth against her flesh. He was like her Dacian, she thinks, and finds that she warms to the cold cruelty of him even more for the comparison. “I rather like graves,” she counters, the words jarring for the delicate way that she says them, the way that her pretty face tilts upward to consider him, studying his handsome face.
There is a flash of white against her black mouth, her teal eyes brightening.
“Do you?” A pause, a silver bell laugh. “Like graves, that is.”
I said I never knew the moral but I guess that's how the story goes
my lovers never been a mirror in the hour that I needed it most