she'll tear a hole in you; daemron

[Daemron]

and you’re so mysterious, got that obsession with death got your unkind of ravens and your murder of crows I died. His brow furrows, confusion in his silvery stare. You killed me, and I killed you. An injured whisper – a confession. Then she looks at him, piercing him with those eyes; eyes shimmering with tears that never fall, even as the gruesome story spills from her soft lips. The maned wolf gradually goes to her as she tells it, careful to keep from touching her as she finally settles close, as though sensing the end before it comes. But Daemron remains very still – his face a mask as he listens, the echo of a breeze rustling in his willowed mane as Pyxis’ tale comes to its end. He is quiet, looking at her. Even now, he finds her beautiful – vulnerable. He aches to hold her. Yet somehow he fears that to her, it would only be another attack. He believes her story. After all, a life-altering dream had once befallen Noori, and it had made her Mother Spring. It’s been said before that Daemron is no stranger to magic, and while that is true he is certainly a stranger to this. To the way she is crumbling before him. To the violent anger that rears within him at her pain. To the need and confusion that wars inside his chest, knowing that his memory had played a large role in causing it. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, because he is – he loathes that she had seen him as her killer. Daemron doesn’t know how to reconcile that with the fact that she’d seen him as something else, too. (Something more.) Heat simmers through his muscles as he resists the need to feel her against him. She tells him she wasn’t honest, avoiding his eyes; she says her parents aren’t perfect. She says she isn’t perfect. You are. She falls quiet. To me, you are. “Pyxis,” he starts then, his voice steady. Resolute. “It doesn’t matter. You went through hell, didn’t you? And you survived.” Without quite meaning to do so, he reaches for her. His muzzle brushes hers, softly, just below her chin. Look at me. A fire smoulders in him until his breath feels thick with the smoke of it, the smell of her a match to the flames. “What matters to me is that you’re safe – you’re here.” He can’t help what he asks her next. He needs to know before he burns out of control. “Why are you so afraid that I’ll hurt you?”   daemron cause you’re so dark, oh, but I want you hard