I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
There should be satisfaction in the way she flinches beneath his harsh accusation, in the way she retreats from his aggressive approach. There should be, but it feels hollow instead. Hollow like the inside of his chest. There is no victory in forcing such a gentle, innocent thing to cower before his anger.
Perhaps he’d imagined the satisfaction all those times before. Or perhaps it has simply ceased to be enough to fill the cavernous pit he calls a soul. She had stood unflinching before, daring even in her purity. It had made him so furious. Now she deflates before him, and he feels nothing but disgust.
The worst part is, it is not her he is disgusted with. It’s himself. When had he become such a shadow of himself that only violence could soothe the ache he feels?
Just that quickly, his rage flees, leaving him feeling gutted and empty. Leaving behind only the vague, incessant pain that seems to pinch somewhere inside him when he doesn’t have anger to disguise it. He pulls back, thinking to leave her then. There is nothing here for him if there isn’t a fight.
But her words stir confusion instead.
He frowns, the lines carving familiar paths into his face, when she declares him the winner. This is not the sort of fight he has ever cared about winning. No blood had been drawn, no bruises mark flesh. It’s a hollow victory, if it’s even a victory at all.
The frown pulls into a scowl when she insists he call off his magic. His ears disappear into the tangle of his mane, uncertainty fueling irritation. What the hell kind of game is she playing? Whatever it is, he knows he wants no part of it.
“I’m not using any fucking magic,” he snaps, eyeing her warily. Wondering if this is some new type of trickery. Give him an honest fight any day, but underhanded bullshit? No way in hell. “If this is some stupid game of yours, you can piss off. I’m not interested.”
@neuna