03-18-2020, 03:15 AM
she fell for the idea of him
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
She visibly flinches when he first snaps at her, and she keeps her eyes trained on the lake. She doesn’t want to see the anger that she can hear in his words; doesn’t want to see the way she is sure it flashes in his vibrant yellow eyes. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, her voice impossibly soft, and she can feel herself reverting further back into an older version of herself. Without looking at him it is easy to imagine it’s Dhumin next to her. It’s easy to remember how she had felt every time he had been irritated with her, or every time she had realized she had failed to meet some imaginary expectation he had of her. There is that same sinking feeling in the pit of her chest, and that same desperation to be forgiven – to somehow not be seen as a failure.
She doesn’t beg, because that has never been her way. But in her mind she is frantically searching for the right thing to say, for the right way to act, though recently she seems to be failing at that, too. She had driven Ashhal away, and that had stung. And though she was used to accidentally making lethal missteps with Carnage, her most recent one is what has her standing so precariously close to the ledge that Atrox is just about to push her off. She is afraid, she realizes, of losing him, of losing the closest thing she had to any kind of stability since Skellig had left.
She is used to making mistakes – but not this many in such rapid succession, and for a moment she almost wishes Carnage had just left her dead on the mountain.
“I just...I thought I could get Magnus’ memories of you back,” and it’s only now that her eyes lift uncertainly to his face, and she tries to not wilt beneath the heat of his gaze. “But Carnage stopped me.” She doesn’t divulge any details beyond that, because she is sure it wouldn’t make sense to anyone besides her, and she is even more sure that he doesn’t care.
When he demands that she come closer, she hesitates. Immediately her mind flashes back to Carnage lunging for her throat, and to Atrox scraping his teeth against the porcelain white of her skin, and the two of them meld and twist together to create an all new fear. But she obeys, her dark eyes downcast as she tentatively steps closer, until she can almost feel the tension that hums beneath his skin, until she is close enough to touch him but she doesn’t. Instead she just stands there, taut and nearly trembling, and with that foolish heart of hers beating uncontrollably in her chest.
She doesn’t beg, because that has never been her way. But in her mind she is frantically searching for the right thing to say, for the right way to act, though recently she seems to be failing at that, too. She had driven Ashhal away, and that had stung. And though she was used to accidentally making lethal missteps with Carnage, her most recent one is what has her standing so precariously close to the ledge that Atrox is just about to push her off. She is afraid, she realizes, of losing him, of losing the closest thing she had to any kind of stability since Skellig had left.
She is used to making mistakes – but not this many in such rapid succession, and for a moment she almost wishes Carnage had just left her dead on the mountain.
“I just...I thought I could get Magnus’ memories of you back,” and it’s only now that her eyes lift uncertainly to his face, and she tries to not wilt beneath the heat of his gaze. “But Carnage stopped me.” She doesn’t divulge any details beyond that, because she is sure it wouldn’t make sense to anyone besides her, and she is even more sure that he doesn’t care.
When he demands that she come closer, she hesitates. Immediately her mind flashes back to Carnage lunging for her throat, and to Atrox scraping his teeth against the porcelain white of her skin, and the two of them meld and twist together to create an all new fear. But she obeys, her dark eyes downcast as she tentatively steps closer, until she can almost feel the tension that hums beneath his skin, until she is close enough to touch him but she doesn’t. Instead she just stands there, taut and nearly trembling, and with that foolish heart of hers beating uncontrollably in her chest.
ryatah