11-15-2016, 02:16 AM
He could feel it on the air; the current of Fear was electric as it singed his skin.
Her eyes were wide and deep enough to lose himself within. He did not shift his gaze, did not move a muscle. There was something eerie about the control he had over his muscles. He could stand for hours and not tire, run for hours and not grow winded. His body, coltish and underdeveloped still, was a blade, a weapon; he was made to chase after those who ran.
He was a predator and he hungered as he looked at her now.
The only motion he made was when she finally spoke aloud, her voice hoarse with the Fear. At that sound, one corner of his lip rose into a smile that shadowed his father’s crocodile-grin. Wide, blank, flat. It was the smile of dream-eaters and things that crawled in the shadows; it was the smile of someone who had seen too much and yet not enough It was the smile he would wear for the rest of his days, and often.
“Hello there,” he finally replied, his voice low, even. He did not like raising his voice; he much preferred to let his companion strain to pick up what he said. After all, what he was saying was important and it was worth their effort. “You look frightened,” he mused quietly, the thin, dark fingers of his mind reaching out to tug along the string of Fear, playing along the edges of it. He could feel it in his throat, a mirror to what she felt in her own, and he thrilled at the rush as it swelled in his veins and expanded in his lungs.
How had he lived all these months without feeling this?
“Come here,” he motioned to his side, tongue clucking against his teeth. “Let me help.”
Bruise
head like a hole; as black as your soul.