08-26-2018, 09:16 PM
our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves
She is nothing light.
Such light had been snuffed out a long time ago.
But, for him, she will be an anchor. She will be a lighthouse. She will drag him back from the pits of hell with nothing but the gritting of teeth and sweat upon her brow. She was once dragged there herself on the haggard edge of a disease that had consumed her out of nowhere, and she had crawled back.
For the Amazons, yes, but also for him.
She would gladly return to that dark place if he needed her to.
Brunhild is glad that he does not require flowery declarations of love because she would not know how to give them to him. She can only give him her presence, her loyalty, the depth of her feeling displayed in the quiet way that her muzzle finds the curve of his jaw. She can only give him the stillness, the vulnerability that she surrenders to when she is pressed against him like this.
He says her name, and she closes her eyes for but a brief moment, relishing in the way it sounds on his tongue—as if it was something sweet instead of dark steel. “I have,” she confesses, but it is not followed by an apology. “I wandered for a long time,” her dark voice fills the space between them, and she looks ahead, studying this foreign land and wondering what had brought him here.
“Next time, I would like for you to be with me.”
It’s the closest she can get to unpacking her heart for him. It’s the closest she can get to laying it bare before him, the simple act of expressing her want, her need, nearly undoing her. She swallows against the resistance in her throat, the need to bottle it up and lock it away, but instead she leans her forehead against him, breathing him deep into her lungs and letting the warmth wash over her. “I missed you,” the words are low, breathed against him so softly that he might have missed them altogether were it not so quiet.