09-08-2021, 03:49 PM
selaphiel
Too young to smell of death this way.
(But it is the kind of death he has never smelled before. He does not know what it means for it to creep through his senses this way. He does not know that it means that she can manipulate death, that she has some deeper connection to death.)
She reeks of death, yes, but it is not the same at all.
He blinks those pale blue eyes, stopped short by the pleading in her voice, the stench of death that surrounds her. The strange hound that watches her. His heart beats out something frantic as he searches her face.
Is she dead? He can’t tell, not really. She looks real enough, but would she dissolve if he reached out to touch her?
(Will he ever know anything beyond failure? He cannot give her the answer she wants because he doesn’t know what it is and his heart spasms with the gravity of this. How terribly he wants to soothe whatever is troubling her. He wants to tell her that she is not dead or that she is dead, whatever it is she wants him to tell her. But he doesn’t know which answer is the right one and, frankly, he doesn’t know the true answer to the question.)
He drags in a long, shuddering breath, and the stench of death twists down his throat and curls bitterly in his lungs. He knows it so well now that he hardly notices but this is something else entirely.
He shakes his head, eyes wide, and says, “I don’t know.” And his tone is all full of apology. He extends his nose but stops just short of touching her. Still, there is heat that rolls off her skin. Real enough that he can feel it even without touching. “I don’t think so,” he tells her and hopes this is enough.
I just bite my tongue a bit harder
@Falter