that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried
He smiles when she shifts this time—his golden gaze unreadable as he takes in the eagle she becomes. The fact that she is provoked into such action is a win, he knows, and he tucks that small victory away as he continues to watch her, his unscarred lips curling into a small smile. When she flies behind him, he does not need to be tricked into turning to keep his attention on her. She was the star of the show, after all.
Firion gladly curls around so that he can better see her, watching as she shifts and holds onto her wings.
Tilting his head, his eyes only widen just a little when she is the one to take the step toward him. When she pushes back, but even this feels like a victory and he is not keen on giving up control so easily. So he doesn’t yield. Instead he takes a step toward her, closing the distance even further, noting that her eyes blaze and then cool, turning into something cold and polished. He prefers the heat.
If her words sting, if the truth of them bites, he gives no clue. He just continues to smile, his golden eyes still tracing her face, feeling that strange flare in his belly. “Maybe,” he concedes, although the way that he says it does not indicate much shame with the label. Finally, he reaches forward and presses his golden lips to her pale cheek. “But I don’t think I’m in control at all, Mazikeen,” he whispers her name, elongating it in his mouth so that it becomes softened, cherished. “I rather like being out of control.”
An absolute lie wedged into the truth, but who is he to argue the details?
“At least with you.”
A pause, his mouth still hovering over her cheek.
“And part of you must like it too. You’re still here after all.”
so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried
