07-21-2024, 03:12 PM
Ryatah
WHEN I WAS SHIPWRECKED I THOUGHT OF YOU
IN THE CRACKS OF LIGHT I DREAMED OF YOU
She is accustomed to pain, in both the literal and figurative sense.
She has lost her eyes and her heart, she has been killed and revived, she has felt the keen sting of betrayal and heartbreak, and still nothing could prepare her for what it felt like to have magic ripped from her. It reminded her almost of what it had felt like to be burned by stars, if the stars had been a living thing entwined with her own blood. The pain radiated from a place that she could not name — it was everywhere all at once, relentless and constant, stealing her breath. She wants to beg him to stop; the pleas are there but they turn to ash in her throat, either because she physically cannot speak them, or because she knows it will be over faster if she does not resist.
When he is finished, she feels strangely hollow.
She had not realized how much space magic took up, and is even more surprised by the sorrow that quickly surges forward to fill the emptiness it had left behind. She has never been the kind to long for power; for most of her life she had been unassuming and plain. But she hated this new feeling of weakness, as if all her armor has been stripped from her and she has been left entirely defenseless.
His touch is the only thing that distracts her from these thoughts, like a balm to where the absence of magic still aches, and in the glow of his praise the rest of it disappears. She wants to ask him how she can earn it back, as she has done with the other things he has taken, but something tells her now is not the time. She can be patient — she waits for him for months, sometimes years, and she tells herself that she can wait for this, too. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” she says, sweeping her lips along his neck, and despite the melancholy that sits behind her ribs, she means it. “It wasn’t intentional. I just don’t always know how to find you.”
She has lost her eyes and her heart, she has been killed and revived, she has felt the keen sting of betrayal and heartbreak, and still nothing could prepare her for what it felt like to have magic ripped from her. It reminded her almost of what it had felt like to be burned by stars, if the stars had been a living thing entwined with her own blood. The pain radiated from a place that she could not name — it was everywhere all at once, relentless and constant, stealing her breath. She wants to beg him to stop; the pleas are there but they turn to ash in her throat, either because she physically cannot speak them, or because she knows it will be over faster if she does not resist.
When he is finished, she feels strangely hollow.
She had not realized how much space magic took up, and is even more surprised by the sorrow that quickly surges forward to fill the emptiness it had left behind. She has never been the kind to long for power; for most of her life she had been unassuming and plain. But she hated this new feeling of weakness, as if all her armor has been stripped from her and she has been left entirely defenseless.
His touch is the only thing that distracts her from these thoughts, like a balm to where the absence of magic still aches, and in the glow of his praise the rest of it disappears. She wants to ask him how she can earn it back, as she has done with the other things he has taken, but something tells her now is not the time. She can be patient — she waits for him for months, sometimes years, and she tells herself that she can wait for this, too. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” she says, sweeping her lips along his neck, and despite the melancholy that sits behind her ribs, she means it. “It wasn’t intentional. I just don’t always know how to find you.”
AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH —
BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE
@Carnage