jamie
01-31-2021, 02:57 PM
Jamie
The darkness belongs to him. It has always belonged to him.
But he belongs to things that stir in the shadows, the creatures that watch them, those terrible souls that had sunk their teeth into the meat of his spine and pulled him apart in Death.
He belongs to Death.
And Death belongs to him.
But he does not tell her this. He makes no effort to differentiate between Death and this all-encompassing darkness. To him, they are one and the same. They are for him and he is for them, just as she belongs to the water and the water belongs to her. How difficult she finds it to exist too far removed from its depths, so too does he struggle to exist outside of the realm of this darkness.
The darkness should remind her of him.
He is the victor, he is changed on a visceral level, but he does not gloat. He is not pompous or arrogant. It still makes his heart spasm to think that he should be so deeply connected to the darkness in her mind. To think that she has thought of him at all, that she has not needed prompting.
How cruel he had been when he’d snarled at her at the edge of the river, warned her away. How weak. But he tilts his peculiar head at her now and thinks that perhaps neither of them are the same now as they had been then.
“You have thought about me,” he says, though there is something contemplative in the ghostly rasp of his voice. He edges closer and reaches for her then, making himself solid so that he can finally feel her. Smooth and warm. “What have you thought?” he asks and then brings that strange head to rest against the smooth plain of her shoulder with a rattling sigh.
But he belongs to things that stir in the shadows, the creatures that watch them, those terrible souls that had sunk their teeth into the meat of his spine and pulled him apart in Death.
He belongs to Death.
And Death belongs to him.
But he does not tell her this. He makes no effort to differentiate between Death and this all-encompassing darkness. To him, they are one and the same. They are for him and he is for them, just as she belongs to the water and the water belongs to her. How difficult she finds it to exist too far removed from its depths, so too does he struggle to exist outside of the realm of this darkness.
The darkness should remind her of him.
He is the victor, he is changed on a visceral level, but he does not gloat. He is not pompous or arrogant. It still makes his heart spasm to think that he should be so deeply connected to the darkness in her mind. To think that she has thought of him at all, that she has not needed prompting.
How cruel he had been when he’d snarled at her at the edge of the river, warned her away. How weak. But he tilts his peculiar head at her now and thinks that perhaps neither of them are the same now as they had been then.
“You have thought about me,” he says, though there is something contemplative in the ghostly rasp of his voice. He edges closer and reaches for her then, making himself solid so that he can finally feel her. Smooth and warm. “What have you thought?” he asks and then brings that strange head to rest against the smooth plain of her shoulder with a rattling sigh.
( FROM THE DESTRUCTION, OUT OF THE FLAME
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
YOU NEED A VILLAIN, GIVE ME A NAME )
@[evia]