01-01-2021, 02:29 PM
Dark
He follows her movements like a mirror, a drowned reflection that makes the hairs stand along her spine. She tilts her head and so does he, and the eeriness of it forces a stillness into her veins like thick ice. Still, the ice feels better than the fear that grips her belly and makes her wonder if she made a mistake in coming here, a mistake in staying. He feels like an omen, and she wonders what kind of a future he foretells.
But then he is solid, and it happens so fast that she feels dizzy, wonders if maybe she had imagined the water in the first place. The drowned ghost of him suddenly alive and well and sounding less like his lungs are full of dark water. She frowns though, and her delicate blue face is a painting of bewilderment and offense as she tries to decide if this man is mocking her. She tries to look away, but the growl draws her in again, his sharp eyes shackling her. “I do.” She says, and there is a frown on those impossible lips, a furrow in her brow that lends her a look of stubbornness as she stares back at him. “Should I have fawned instead?”
He is oddly beautiful though, and the patches of dark evergreen draped like forests over his back seem even richer a color in contrast to the shining opalescence of the paler places. She thinks if she were to dive into the lake behind him and find a shell at its darkest depths, that it would look very much like the man standing before her. “Are you a ghost?” She asks suddenly, taking a step back because that feeling of unease has returned again and she can feel fingers of ice creeping up along her spine. Her pulse quickens, her eyes darting past them to see if anyone else is nearby, but it’s just them.
He must have noticed, must not have liked her attention elsewhere because suddenly the water rises around them like a glittering tomb. She refocuses on him, and the light dancing across her skin intensifies, flickering like white flame instead of lazy lightning bugs. “Maybe.” She repeats, and her dark eyes narrow suspiciously, refusing to be anywhere but his predator face - not that there is anything else to see anymore. The curtain of water hides everything. “I think that question seems better suited to you, Maybe Stillwater.” There is dissonance in her tone though, half fear and half challenge, more stubborn than the delicate features of her blue marbled face give her credit for. “Though, to be entirely fair,” and she wonders if there is even the sliver of a chance that she sounds as bold as she is trying to imply, “I wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if you were him.”
But then he is solid, and it happens so fast that she feels dizzy, wonders if maybe she had imagined the water in the first place. The drowned ghost of him suddenly alive and well and sounding less like his lungs are full of dark water. She frowns though, and her delicate blue face is a painting of bewilderment and offense as she tries to decide if this man is mocking her. She tries to look away, but the growl draws her in again, his sharp eyes shackling her. “I do.” She says, and there is a frown on those impossible lips, a furrow in her brow that lends her a look of stubbornness as she stares back at him. “Should I have fawned instead?”
He is oddly beautiful though, and the patches of dark evergreen draped like forests over his back seem even richer a color in contrast to the shining opalescence of the paler places. She thinks if she were to dive into the lake behind him and find a shell at its darkest depths, that it would look very much like the man standing before her. “Are you a ghost?” She asks suddenly, taking a step back because that feeling of unease has returned again and she can feel fingers of ice creeping up along her spine. Her pulse quickens, her eyes darting past them to see if anyone else is nearby, but it’s just them.
He must have noticed, must not have liked her attention elsewhere because suddenly the water rises around them like a glittering tomb. She refocuses on him, and the light dancing across her skin intensifies, flickering like white flame instead of lazy lightning bugs. “Maybe.” She repeats, and her dark eyes narrow suspiciously, refusing to be anywhere but his predator face - not that there is anything else to see anymore. The curtain of water hides everything. “I think that question seems better suited to you, Maybe Stillwater.” There is dissonance in her tone though, half fear and half challenge, more stubborn than the delicate features of her blue marbled face give her credit for. “Though, to be entirely fair,” and she wonders if there is even the sliver of a chance that she sounds as bold as she is trying to imply, “I wasn’t entirely sure what would happen if you were him.”
The heaviness that I hold in my heart belongs to gravity.
Dovev x Luster