"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
Here it comes with no warning; capsize, i'm first in the water
She has forsaken everything she has known.
Her home with in the volcanic land is no longer her home. The morals and values she has once set to living her life by are tossed aside. Memories she had previously held dearly onto are forgotten. Those she had once claim to love and care for are overlooked now.
It had all been for him.
Bruise.
He had become her very focal point. Every waking moment and opportunity she could get was spent with him. Blinded is what some would call her now if they could see her, but she would have called it love.
Love for something that had never been there. He, the monster she fell for, masked the falsehood of love that he proclaimed for her. His protection was all she had needed—he promised her. He promised her everything that a love would have to offer.
And she, blindly and stupidly, fell into the trance.
There was no ending to the game he played. Bruise continued to win Lucrezia over every time. She had become captivated by who and what he was—lies upon lies she continued to believe.
But these were not lies to her.
This was love. True love. Everything she had dreamed of.
He was hers, and she was his.
Lucrezia is here though, like any other days that have passed since she has met her love (the monster she would have undone if she had not been so weak), waiting for where he asks her to be. She does not ask where he goes, only knowing he was there to protect her, to put an end to Pollock for once and for all.
It was all she could do for what he was doing for her—for them.
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin (and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
She is his masterpiece, and he loves her for it—just not in the way she thinks.
She had been so unmoving when he had first met her, but eventually (oh, eventually) she melted under his deft hands. With enough pressure, enough cunning, she eventually began to bend and what a thrill it had been to feel that give, the way the material shifted ever so slightly. Now, now she is malleable and it is a beautiful thing to experience. He thrills with it, carving her day by day, taking his time with her.
He has begun to drop some of his facade under the pretense that being with her strengthens him.
He no longer stammers. He no longer shivers with fear.
He is strong because he has to be for them—or so she thinks.
He finds her here, and he grins with how predictable she has grown, the way it takes only a suggestion, a veiled order, for her to submit. As he approaches, he rearranges his face into something different entirely, something exhausted and concerned and enamored. He doesn’t hesitate to make his way up the side of her, lips roving over the curves of her, claiming the pieces of her flesh laid open before him.
“Lucrezia,” he says her name like a hymn, the richness of it melting on his tongue. He presses kisses into her skin from her barrel to her shoulder and up her neck, lingering on the curve of her jaw. She doesn’t know that he is dreaming of the way she will look come undone, how the look of betrayal will be pure bliss. She doesn’t know that he is already dreaming of what it will be like to sleep with the thick curl of her own coppery blood staining the inside of his nose, painting him new in it.
He feeds her small bits of the Fear, poisoning her with it constantly.
“I didn’t find him today,” he says, faux bitterness creeping into his voice.
He presses his forehead into her side, letting the edge of the blade begin to knick her throat.
“Have you been able to find any information of his whereabouts yet?”
Here it comes with no warning; capsize, i'm first in the water
The silence around her breaks suddenly, causing her to turn her attention towards the approaching familiar silver buckskin. She immediately puts on a soft smile, knowing he has become a welcoming sight. Despite the circumstances, searching for and destroying Pollock, she feels safe every time she sees him.
Bruise was her strength—their strength in undoing the monster.
Lucrezia knows the turmoil it has been on him. The way Bruise does not hide his feelings of what they are doing makes her even more comfortable. Exhaustion touches the sharpest corners of his features, filled with concern. But he never forgets to show her his affection, a love she knows is truer than true.
More lies built upon lies.
It is never ending.
These lies.
She falls into him as he touches her, kissing her along her should and up to her neck. His touch is more than she can handle, more than she has ever wanted before. Each of his kisses she shivers at, not with fright but with delight. She is uncontrollable around him. Everything he ever asks of her she does without question, without reason to consider what it ever is that he asks of her.
“Bruise,” she says softly back, her voice shaking as he continues touch her. Every letter of his name is formed with meaning, a need. Without him there is no life, there is nothing. She would not be alive if it were not for him. Her death would have already happened by the hands of the goat monster, Pollock, if he had not been protecting her.
Lucrezia can feel the fear creeping in as she, unknowingly, is fed the poison with his words and touch. Her lips quiver at the news of what Bruise says. The bitterness of it hits her as well.
They have found nothing. No trace of the god-forsaken monster. It terrifies her even more knowing they have not found anything just yet. How could that be? she wonders for a split-second, but her thought leaves her quickly, as Bruise speaks again.
“I have not either,” she says with defeat.
There at a loss here. Where will they look now? Where will they find Pollock? Was it even possible to destroy him?
She pulls her head away from him for a moment, ashamed. Shame is all she feels right now. How could she even be helpful in finding Pollock? All she ever has been is useless. Her nutmeg eyes fall to the floor, staring at the stallion’s cloven hooves.
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
The world around them goes dangerous, grow chaotic, and although he hungers for it, he is not ready to peel from her just yet. He is not ready to abandon her to the wolves. He is not ready to take the final step and bathe in her blood. So he puts a muzzle on the gnashing of his teeth, he keeps a tight grip on his own leash. Instead he redirects and funnels his energy into these final times with her. He can feel it now, the way the clock’s ticking grows more and more insistent, reminding him that he must work quickly.
The material would set soon.
He only had so much time.
He couldn’t let his father down now.
She falls away in shame and he doesn’t try to comfort her as he has these past months. He doesn’t soften as he has done so many times. Instead his eyes grow dark with rage and he begins to pull on the threads of the Fear. “I thought I could count on you,” he spits out, suddenly vicious with contempt. “I thought you were going to pull your weight. You told me so many times that you would help me put an end to him.”
He turns his head away from her, his talented fingers never stopping their constant song with the Fear, never relenting as he builds the melody, as the music of it swells within him.
“And you’ve done nothing, Lucrezia. Nothing.”
His gaze is white hot when he turns back to her, handsome face cold, disappointment clear in the angles of his features. “I don’t know why I even bother anymore when I’m doing all of this on my own.”
For a second, he lets the Fear rest, lets it idle as he takes a deep, steadying breath.
His features soften if even a little.
“Why do I keep you around?” he muses. “Why do I continue to forgive your constant failures?”
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
11-05-2018, 03:14 PM (This post was last modified: 11-05-2018, 03:16 PM by Lucrezia.)
Here it comes with no warning; capsize, i'm first in the water
The world has changed drastically since she has met the silver buckskin. A plague had come into Beqanna, swearing to tear them all a part of it could. Everyone had scattered at the news of the disease spreading. Lives would be taken, but some would live.
But she, she may live also. She is now obviously swelled with a child within her belly. There is a part of her that she sometimes finds strength in this, only perhaps since she carries a child—a mere piece of hope in her world of darkness lately. A child of the monster that controls her. Was it even her choice in the beginning to share a moment of lust with the monster?
She has forgotten herself, lost in the song of fear that he constantly plays. No longer can she remember who she is, or what she has become. Her reflection is something she probably would not recognize if only she could look at herself properly for once again.
But she cannot—it is too late now.
She can feel his dark eyes on her. The rage that fills his eyes grow heavy on her. Their weight is not overlooked, but felt deeply with every passing second. Her shame grows profounder. The fear within her intensifies as he pulls the string of the instrument of fear, the song growing loud and clear within her.
“I have been nothing but a pain for you,” she softly says back to him. Hopeless—it weighs heavily down on her now. Her eyes fill with shame, but the fear of his song begins to take ahold of her now. “I am only a burden to you,” she speaks again, her voice shaking this time.
Lucrezia turns her nutmeg gaze to him. Hoping to see there is something within his eyes that will indicate there is hope for her, hope for them. But he turns away from her. Her hope for a silver lining fades away quickly. The fear slowly closes in around her, capturing every fiber of her being.
She shakes at his words. “You are nothing.” Is all she can hear from him. “I am nothing,” she agrees with every part of her to his words. She can feel herself drowning in the words he speaks. The falsehood of these words ring only truth within them. How can she not believe him? How could she have fallen so far away? She has let down him.
When he turns back to look at her, she looks down again. She fears for the look upon his face. The disappointment is obvious within his words and tone, but she could not bear enough to see it on his handsome face.
Lucrezia is silent again when he finally stops speaking.
“I am not worthy of you,” she says finally after a long moment of silence.
Even though the fear falls away slowly, she still fills it within her, drowning her. “I am only dragging you down, bringing you to a hopeless ending of trying to destroy him.”
She is nothing but a heavy burden to carry. Even to the ones she loves she has brought them down. Even the lands she has come to call home, she has let them down and brought them only failure.
I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
He hadn’t expected the time to come soon.
She had been so strong when they had first met, so unyielding beneath his masterful touch. He had thrilled at the challenge of her, loving the effort it took to bend her, to mold her, to shape her. He had loved her for that challenge, for the way she nearly bit back, actively fighting against the pressure of him.
But she does not fight now.
Now he applies an almost careless pressure and she nearly buckles. He is quiet as she spirals into her own spiral of shame, not goading her on but also not soothing her fears as they flare up like separate wildfires in the corners of her. He merely makes affirming noises in his throat, nodding his head thoughtfully.
She is a burden.
She is a disappointment.
She is nothing.
His shark eyes are bright when they turn to her again, and his crocodile smile spreads unkindly across his handsome face. “You are not worthy,” he spits, solidifying her own opinion of herself. “You have never been worthy of my love.” But she would be worthy of her death and he grows eager to taste it now.
It was time, he thinks. It was time to make his father proud.
“My father would have liked to watch this happen,” he muses, shrugging off the months and months of lies he has built up around her. “He always wanted me to take this final step.” He closes the distance between them, mouth lingering on the thin skin by her ear. “He would be so proud to know that you will be my first.” His lips curve upward, almost into a caricature of that lover’s smile he has faked for her for so long. Idly, he reaches over, smoothing her mane, running the knots out with his teeth.
Casually, he picks up the Fear again.
Casually, he begins to play, plucking the strings, increasing the tempo.
“I would tell you to run,” he whispers gently, “but it’s too late.”
And without waiting, he steps back from her, evaluating her with an appraising eye before he lunges. He lowers his heavy-horned head to bash into her side, his teeth snap, his ragged hooves seek to find purchase in her side. And he begins to laugh, the sound of his own enjoyment rising up in his throat the same way that he hopes the Fear will soon rise up in her own.
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
