He does not come home as often, and she notices.
She notices when he pulls back. When he tries to scramble for control or distance or both, and she finds that she doesn’t like it. It’s a slippery slope and the star thing has found she has a taste for being worshipped. Has a taste for his particular brand of darkness—that needy, controlling way that he touched her. The cruel and devout way his mouth softens for kisses upon her hip and along her jaw.
It soothes some vital piece of her.
Some hungry, aching piece.
And she does not like when there is only cool air where he should be.
So she hunts for him this night. The starlight trails before and after her, opening up the path before her so that she can easily see and be seen. She has no fear for what stalks in the shadows. No fear for what may come upon her, not ever and certainly not on a night like tonight when the sky is clear and the starlights so bountiful. They are beautiful, she knows, but even more beautiful when sharpened to a dagger’s edge.
You can slice a throat open on a night like tonight and it would be poetry.
The thought brings a smile to her lips and she hums in the back of her throat as she continues to move through the common lands, finding her way along the river. It is loud but there are not too many trees to choke out the starlight, and this pleases her. Pleases her as she manipulates the thread of it so that it becomes less of a path and more of a molten silver that pours over her night sky coat.
The light drips off of her like jewels, like ore, and she feels its weight.
Feels it grow heavier when she finally sees him before her and her smile grows both coy and sharp.
“There you are,” her voice cutting through the distance. “Where have you been?”
I said I never knew the moral but I guess that's how the story goes
my lovers never been a mirror in the hour that I needed it most
@Dacian