jamie
03-23-2023, 06:45 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
How it delights him to feel that flicker of poison.
The grin deepens around something sinister as he searches her face for a thing that might give her away. Some set of her jaw that might show determination, flared nostrils that might indicate insubordination. But there is none, her expression remains smooth, her gaze steady.
He wants to draw it out of her, make himself sick with it. It reminds him that he had been a child once, that he had been weak. Perhaps he could lie down at her feet and let her push it through his veins.
He sinks back into his own head (what a miserable place).
“Jamie,” he tells her, because there is nothing he feels the need to hide either, certainly not this.
He had believed once that he had been the bringer of the darkness, that Beyza’s sacrifice had plunged the world into that terrible black as soon as he’d been crowned the Alliance’s winner. He knows now that there had been greater forces at play, just as there are now, but that does not change the fact that he’d been born a monster and a monster he’d remained.
“I kept ghosts as companions once, too,” he says. He sees them still, turning those strange, yellow eyes on the apparitions crowding in around them. “Though I can’t say that they were quite as fond of me as they seem to be of you.”
Because he knows that to be excited about something does not necessarily mean that you like it. He knows that his use to them comes almost exclusively in the form of necromancy, the idea that he might resurrect them. And he might have if he’d been something kinder.
The grin deepens around something sinister as he searches her face for a thing that might give her away. Some set of her jaw that might show determination, flared nostrils that might indicate insubordination. But there is none, her expression remains smooth, her gaze steady.
He wants to draw it out of her, make himself sick with it. It reminds him that he had been a child once, that he had been weak. Perhaps he could lie down at her feet and let her push it through his veins.
He sinks back into his own head (what a miserable place).
“Jamie,” he tells her, because there is nothing he feels the need to hide either, certainly not this.
He had believed once that he had been the bringer of the darkness, that Beyza’s sacrifice had plunged the world into that terrible black as soon as he’d been crowned the Alliance’s winner. He knows now that there had been greater forces at play, just as there are now, but that does not change the fact that he’d been born a monster and a monster he’d remained.
“I kept ghosts as companions once, too,” he says. He sees them still, turning those strange, yellow eyes on the apparitions crowding in around them. “Though I can’t say that they were quite as fond of me as they seem to be of you.”
Because he knows that to be excited about something does not necessarily mean that you like it. He knows that his use to them comes almost exclusively in the form of necromancy, the idea that he might resurrect them. And he might have if he’d been something kinder.
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD