love is a temporary madness... {sleaze + anyone who wants to join in}

[sleaze]

I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife He wants her joy (which is now wavering, dissipating), but not her memories. The things that surface – being trapped, being struck, a child laid out prostate and lifeless – he does not want this knowledge, but it creeps across his mind. He feels the ache, the sting of the hooves, the grief at the lost son. (You love children so much, he realizes, in something like awe.) These memories and others, dark ones, spill out like infection from a wound and he realizes with horror that he is the instrument, he is the key turned in the lock that released these memories. He tries to leave her mind, leave the wreckage lest he wreck it still more. But he cannot. They are both trapped, but he is the one with the body. Another step. Another step and he thinks of flying. He liked the sensation, in the birds. He wonders if it’s the same, to fly as a horse. The body has no wings but he senses it knows how to fly and he wonders at the magic of it. Why, comes the voice, an echo – it is Elysteria, it is him, it is not him. There was a girl, he thinks, absurdly, but this is an entirely different girl. “I don’t know,” the bay mare says, aloud. He is surprised at the richness in the voice. Another step. He is almost drunk on it. He knows he should stop. But he can’t stop thinking about the birds. One more step, he thinks, then, just one more. One more turns into a dozen more until he is moving quickly, almost running. Fly, he thinks, and the body takes flight, graceful in ways he never was and never will be, and he moves up as if to touch the sun. Up, up, up and he watches Beqanna recede beneath him and wishes he could stay here. He hears her – hears Elysteria – hears himself – and they are shouting, but he flies above it, drunk on the sights below and the sensation of joy. But then his control slips, the strange bond loosened, and the body is no more entirely his. It’s not hers, either, and in the struggle the flying bay slips, spirals, begins to plummet to the earth. He scrabbles within her mind but can no longer recall how he made it fly as the air rushes past, too fast, and he thinks I’m dying. We’re dying. (He wonders what happens, if he dies in here, with her, her executioner.) But then his mind recalls something else, the beams of light like a sunburst, and as earth rushes towards them he sends one out, thinking wildly, desperately, that somehow the light will slow their descent. sleaze cancer x garbage

(sooo she can come back in control and hit the ground as hard as you want and be burned by he rown light if you want -- tried to leave it open )