that moon has a name in the fires of a silver corpse
and only I seem afraid of a drop through a dark
She feeds him humanity, perhaps, but it will never be enough to keep the beast of him at bay.
She knows that. She’s always known it.
Perhaps she loves him for it.
Once, she might convinced herself that she was as innocent as he was cruel, but she knows that she has long since moved past those boundaries, far transcended the black and white understanding that drives most of the world. Otherwise, how could she love a monster who always reeks of blood? How could she look past the pile of bones at his feet and be enamored by the harsh angles of his face instead? How could she step over the ashes of the innocent to curl by his side, accepting of the edge of his blade?
She said she would sacrifice everything for him and perhaps she has.
She has sacrificed her morals, her willpower, her resolve.
She has sacrificed the anchor grounding her.
He is the anchor now, she thinks.
Her gift smothers them both but she breathes in the space of it freely, intoxicated momentarily by what she is able to accomplish, by how she can bring his gift to heel. She almost relinquishes it now, giving him the freedom to burn her alive, but she doesn’t draw it into her chest yet. Her gift doesn’t require her to call on it, it is instead a part of her—its power a weight she carries with her. It requires more of her to silence then it does to wield it and she doesn’t bother to drop the own sword from her hand just yet.
“I know,” is all she says, because she didn’t need him to say it to feel it in her bones.
Of course he loves her. He has always loved her.
Like she has always loved him.
“You will kill me one day,” she says simply, but there is no fear in her eyes as she finally reaches over to run muddy lips over his jaw, tasting redemption and condemnation there on his flesh.
“But not today.”
E T R O || how deep does the water go?
ahahahaha. i responded so quickly. take that, nev.
