show them the joy and the pain and the ending
She should lash out. Should drive him away just as she had so many others before him.. She should do those things and so many others. But she does not.
Instead she sees nothing but the darkness of her closed eyes, allowing herself to feel those gentle touches. She doesn't open her eyes when he withdraws (he could not see the way they have changed then, could not see the softness or heat that have invaded), though her body almost quivers at the loss, in anticipation.
She is not quite certain why he persists. Surely she is not the most alluring, and certainly not the most accommodating, woman he could be with now. Given her character, he cannot even be certain how she might react. She does not even know how she might react, given the foreign and singular nature of this moment. Still, he does not disappoint, pressing against her once more, nibbling tenderly at her arched crest as his words echo in the air around them.
No, his words do not surprise her. They are of a similar mind, the two of them. Neither fearing danger in the ways they perhaps should. She is not entirely sure why, but the admission causes the stiffness she had been holding in her frame to melt away.
She becomes suddenly much more pliant, softer in the way that women should be. She finally opens her eyes, her dark, velvety muzzle drifting to his shoulder as she does so. She traces the ridge of bone there, a tenderness in her touch that had not existed previously.
”No,” she whispers softly, breath feathering against his skin. ”But given the circumstances, it is only fair you be warned.”
heartfire
i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts