it's not the waking, it's the rising; jackel

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever Because he is blind, because he is stupid, she is all he could ask for. He has no sense of what churns and roils within her, no sense of the rot behind her sweet smile. He sees only a mare, pretty and blithely innocent. He sees something easy, and he wonders if this is a silver of how Bruise felt, looking upon Rapt and his own quaking knees. He feels disgust, mostly at himself, mixed with a sense of relief – that maybe he can accomplish something. Maybe he can do what’s asked of him. Fulfill his promise. (Satisfy the master. The monster.) “Jackel,” he repeats. The symbolism of the name escapes him. She would as gladly feast on his carcass as she would smile at him, yet he misses this. He misses so much. Stupid boy. “I have a…friend,” he says, “who loves beautiful women.” He forces himself to look at her. The sheen of her coat, a shade of gold different than his own, an echo. He wonders if Bruise would like this more, or less. “You’re stunning,” he says, unable to compliment anything other than her beauty (not that he knows anything else – this is vapid, stupid, and he’s awful at it. He steps closer, as if he is bold. He smiles. He tries to be a thing worth trusting. “My friend would love to meet you,” he says, then, “and he is worthy of you.” rapt caius x else

@[Jackel] no it's great!! lmao poor rapt