11-03-2015, 12:17 AM
She was not magic; she was the anti-thesis of it. She was the quiet void that sucked the magic from the world and spat it out as plain as she looked: a black pit of nothing. The truth of it stings, and she does not even comprehend the fullness of it. Etro knows that there is something about her—something that erases, something that smothers—but she doesn’t know what, and she doesn’t know how. She only barely believes that her ability (her curse) is tied to the illness that had driven her out of the Deserts the first time.
Tears spring to her eyes at his confession, and she aches to throw herself against him, for her knees to give out, but she manages to stand tall. “No,” her voice breaks on the word, and she shakes her blocky head violently. “I remove the magic from the world,” and it is the saddest confession she has ever given, her voice so small that she wonders if he will be able to hear it at all. Then, she wonders if perhaps she had not wanted him to. Perhaps he could just go on believing that she was indeed magic.
Sighing, exhausted, she pressed her head against his neck, breathing in the musk and scent of him, finding it warm her belly like a quiet pull of liquor. “But I am glad it quiets you, Sleaze.” She says his name as she always does: like a prayer. She says his name, and the silence between them stretches on for another moment, Etro finding solace in it until the moment she breaks it. “What now?” She wasn’t sure.
Tears spring to her eyes at his confession, and she aches to throw herself against him, for her knees to give out, but she manages to stand tall. “No,” her voice breaks on the word, and she shakes her blocky head violently. “I remove the magic from the world,” and it is the saddest confession she has ever given, her voice so small that she wonders if he will be able to hear it at all. Then, she wonders if perhaps she had not wanted him to. Perhaps he could just go on believing that she was indeed magic.
Sighing, exhausted, she pressed her head against his neck, breathing in the musk and scent of him, finding it warm her belly like a quiet pull of liquor. “But I am glad it quiets you, Sleaze.” She says his name as she always does: like a prayer. She says his name, and the silence between them stretches on for another moment, Etro finding solace in it until the moment she breaks it. “What now?” She wasn’t sure.