jamie
03-06-2021, 08:39 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
His had been a simple question.
Hers is simple, too.
He considers it a long moment, studying that fine, dished face. (It is still such a thrill to be able to so plainly look at her! How it had pained him to look at her the first time he had seen her! Such a lowly fool he had been then, so weak. A pitiful excuse of a thing!)
Finally, he smiles that same ink-black, shark-tooth smile and he shakes that peculiar, featureless head. (And he could have any head he wanted, couldn’t he? He could be scaled, like her. He could be the finest thing she ever saw. He could be swathed in gold if he wanted. But he loves these shadows, perhaps the only thing he ever loved aside from the fog and the Death that follows him, the Death that he follows.)
“No,” he rasps.
No. Here, he will be the thing she dreamed up. The plain gray thing that she keeps locked away in the cavern of her chest. The thing that exists in the darkest places beneath the surface of the water. He will not be the greedy thing. He will be something else altogether.
His edges soften when he touches her again so that he passes through her. The same as it ever was. But frustration does not pulse within him now because he knows what it means to touch her. He knows that feel of her skin beneath the plain velvet of his mouth. These things belong to him. He draws away.
“No,” he says again, “here I will be whoever you want me to be.”
He is no romantic, Jamie. He may never know what love is. But, for this moment, he can be a dream thing.
Hers is simple, too.
He considers it a long moment, studying that fine, dished face. (It is still such a thrill to be able to so plainly look at her! How it had pained him to look at her the first time he had seen her! Such a lowly fool he had been then, so weak. A pitiful excuse of a thing!)
Finally, he smiles that same ink-black, shark-tooth smile and he shakes that peculiar, featureless head. (And he could have any head he wanted, couldn’t he? He could be scaled, like her. He could be the finest thing she ever saw. He could be swathed in gold if he wanted. But he loves these shadows, perhaps the only thing he ever loved aside from the fog and the Death that follows him, the Death that he follows.)
“No,” he rasps.
No. Here, he will be the thing she dreamed up. The plain gray thing that she keeps locked away in the cavern of her chest. The thing that exists in the darkest places beneath the surface of the water. He will not be the greedy thing. He will be something else altogether.
His edges soften when he touches her again so that he passes through her. The same as it ever was. But frustration does not pulse within him now because he knows what it means to touch her. He knows that feel of her skin beneath the plain velvet of his mouth. These things belong to him. He draws away.
“No,” he says again, “here I will be whoever you want me to be.”
He is no romantic, Jamie. He may never know what love is. But, for this moment, he can be a dream thing.
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD
@[evia]