lord, I fashion dank gods too;
“Look,” he says, “I can only dream up so many risqué scenarios.”
Sometimes you just gotta go with what you know, and, well, he knows this. Knows them, and her eyes separating from flesh. But there’s a twist of the unknown besides, for he is less willing to part with his own precious flesh, so really, this is incredibly romantic.
He considers ripping them out with his teeth again, but remembers that he wants these eyes as intact as possible, so he goes with magic, instead.
He removes them gently, or as gently as you can remove an eyeball, and then lets them float to the side, Ryatah’s shopworn eyes observing this diverged timeline, this meeting, this repetition, this repetition, this repetition.
He hesitates for only a moment before removing his own. The world goes dark around him before his triple infrared vision kicks on and she is visible in a wild array of heat and color. An interesting view.
He takes her eyes, stiches them into his own sockets. He blinks once, twice, lets them settle, lets the infrared vision fade away. She materializes again, his eyeless angel, and he smiles.
“Go ahead,” he says, “try them on.”
He will do it for her, if she resists, but she is practically bursting with her own magic, and he wants to see it in action.
c a r n a g e
@[Ryatah]