[open] idealism sits in prison; any

[Gale]

Gale idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword. innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know She recoils, the salty scent of her tears lingering in the space that he leans into. Lightning bridges the short distance between them, a sizzling static crackle to emphasize the message. He does not want to be bothered. His meaning should be clear enough, and as she lowers her dark head in deference, Gale breathes a soundless sigh of relief. He makes to withdraw into the lightningless night, to fade into the shadows of the trees. This encounter has played out before, with different faces on the strangers, different voices pleading for mercy. This one will not end in blood. Not anymore. Not again. Just before he is shadow, she looks up to meet his gaze. This encounter has not played out before. His head draws back, his body growing heavy with his return to true substance. This is something new after all. Once, he might have consumed her beating heart to learn precisely what made her different, to taste each shining drop of individuality. Now, he tilts his dark head and does not answer her question, the eerily expressionless mask of his face falling away to reveal a too intent stare. The quandary of how to solve the puzzle before him could have been a weeks long contemplation, and indeed he subtly shifts to stand more comfortably. Are you unwell? Is he? “Recovering.” His gaze returns her her eyes, and there is some blue there between the lightning, if only for a moment. As though she'd asked them in reverse order, he answers: “To make you to leave me alone.” @hysperia