etro --
in the hushing dusk, under a swollen silver moon,
I came walking with the wind to watch the cactus bloom
At first, he had been the only name written in the constellations of her veins. His had been the name that was was carved into her bones and breathed into her lungs and tangled in the curls of her matted mane—and it had been a name that had stood alone. But she had run, would always run, and he had not chased her. They had become ships passing silently in the night and time, as it does, had continued. His name was no longer the only name buried in the sandy shores of her heart; his name was no longer alone.
There was Sleaze now, with his haunted eyes.
There was Sleaze, with the fragility of his demons—so like and unlike the brokenness of Kingslay. He fell into her and she onto him, and while she granted him the tranquility of quiet, Sleaze gave her the gift of distraction. She was drawn to him as she was drawn to all of the monsters and the demons and ghosts of the worlds and, in time, she had accepted him into the constellation of her breast. He became part of her, and she allowed it—the ash of his presence building the columns of her heart.
Kingslay was no longer the only name, was no longer the only star swirling in her veins.
But he was still burned the brightest. He still cut the way none other could.
So she does not fight the pull in her belly when she sees him, does not even deny that she had missed him. She is utterly open before him, pulled apart for him to play over every detail. He was, and would always would be, master of her fate. “Kingslay,” she breathes in her voice of fog and morning light. She comes up to his smoldering side and, without fear, presses her mouth to his neck, feeling the tendrils of heat that remained and aching for them—wishing they would stay for longer. “It has been so long.”
The world has spun and the moon had been reborn time and time again. She has met Sleaze. She has lost her father. She has still not found home. So much has changed and yet so much remains the same. “It feels so obvious to say,” she murmurs, her voice soft, barely audible, “but I have missed you so.” In the way that the flame misses kindling, in the way that flesh misses the bone. She missed him. Of course she did.
-- vanquish and yael's forgotten trait-negating princess --
