she'll lie and steal and cheat and beg you from her knees
make you thinks she means it this time
So much time has passed and yet—and yet it feels like none has passed at all.
She stands upon the precipice of a land she has never traveled before, that is not haunted by the sight of his glowing eyes, and she breathes in deep, the winter air chilling the edges of her lungs. The years have not been hard on her. At least not in all of the immediate ways that show. She is still youthful, still beautiful, still cold. There is a new strength to her body though—a new ranginess in the muscles that is the result of traveling long and hard with the red wolf by her side. She is tougher now, hardier, but beneath the new muscle and sinew is still the same girl, the scared girl, the one she hides away.
The one who run. Who always ran.
But not now, at least not yet.
Now she stood along the river, listening to the crash of the water as it hit rock and bramble. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the familiar sight of the wolf—never far behind. She exhales, clearly annoyed, but doesn’t bother to turn toward her. Instead, she just huffs again and rolls her eyes. “Seriously?” She had tried, at least for the last few weeks, to shake the wolf—to lose her. She woke early in the morning and snuck away from whatever clearing they had rested in the night before. She had increased her pace. She had doubled back and cross across streams to lose her scent. It didn’t matter.
No matter what she did, sooner or later, there’d be Red.
Quiet, watching, steady.
Even after years of the strained companionship (Pyxis could not bear to admit the depth of her love for the shaggy wolf, despite the nightmares she stirred), the spotted mare still could not communicate with her the same way that Daemron could. She could only do her best to interpret the wolf’s long silences and at times animated expression. Not now though. Now, Red’s face was inquisitive, quiet, her eyes sliding away for long periods of time and hunting for the exact thing that Pyxis could not bear to look for.
“He’s not here,” she finally spits out, the words harsher than she intended.
Of course he wasn’t here.
Why would he be?
It had been years since she had fled from him. Years since she had told him her story with bullets, accusing him and falling in love with him, telling him about how in the reality that was not reality he had tore out her throat, how they had embraced in a way both alien and completely natural. It had been years since she had drowned in him, tasting him like it was her first and last drink of water.
It had been years since she had turned on her heel and told him to stop looking for her.
And, seemingly, he had.
Of course he had.
The memories, the reminder, cause Pyxis to grow bitter—to grow angry. It serves as a reminder of everything she has ever thought to be true about love. Everything her father and mother ever showed her. It always ends in flames. It always ends in a knife to the throat and a wildfire that leaves nothing behind.
It wouldn’t have been different with them—not if she had stayed.
So of course she ran.
Of course he didn’t look for her.
Still, there is a churning in her gut, and her eyes linger on the shadows for too long, searching the depths of them for that which she hoped to never see again—that which she ached for.
she'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair
but I still love her, I don't really care
