darling, you're wild-eyed, empty, and tongue-tied
maybe you need me or maybe you don't
Sochi isn’t even sure where her boundaries lie.
So much of her remains unexplored territory; so much of her has never been discovered. She had spent the majority of her life contained to such a small corner of herself that the rest of her feels wild and untamed and unknown. She doesn’t know what will serve as triggers for her—what will spur her into action, what will set off her temper, what will make her want to wash her hands clean of something.
All of which to say that she would be as interested as him to see how far he can push her.
What would it take for her to snap?
But he stops pushing, instead choosing to respect the distance between them, and her lips settle once more, her handsome face falling into neutral, calm lines. She wonders how much he can see without eyes, how much he can sense when he is nothing but bone and air, but she is not the type to ask overbearing questions—not the type to press someone for answers she isn’t even sure she wants to know.
When he comments on the annoying questions of others, it surprises a laugh out of her. She turns her gaze to the shadows, the laughter fading into a frown and then a scowl. “I don’t blame you for wanting solitude.” So many of them have no respect, have no understanding of the natural rules of the wild. They choose instead to cling to these nonsensical ideas of a society—choosing diplomacy and words over the purity of violence and natural order. It makes no sense to her. On most days, it infuriates her.
No, she couldn’t blame him for wanting distance from that.
“Sochi,” she answers when he asks. She has nothing to hide from him. Not now, at least.
“What are you?” she counters, because she decides she doesn’t care much about the ‘who.’
playing the slow rooms, howling at half moons
if you are a Queen then, honey, I am a wolf