06-11-2020, 08:16 PM
“I know when you go
down all your darkest roads
I would have followed all the way
to the graveyard.”
down all your darkest roads
I would have followed all the way
to the graveyard.”
There is, maybe, a faint fluttering of delight at his admission, even if she knows coming from him it deviates from the conventional meaning. Missing her could mean anything; missing the way she looked dripping in sea water or set alight with stars, missing how bright blood looks against her porcelain skin. How fitting, though, since they were anything but conventional. She doesn’t think she could put what they are into words, and maybe that is why being with him does something to settle her – because she knows she doesn’t have to try. A dark god and a twisted angel, with their own peculiar idea of romance that only they seem to be able to follow.
Something beneath her skin trembles at his praise, appeasing that toxic part of her that craves – needs – approval. But there is a disquiet, too, because she has not, recently to her knowledge, done anything worthy of it. She remains quiet when he withdraws, dark eyes watching his, uselessly trying to decipher where she thinks this is going (something she should have given up on long ago, trying to figure out the way his mind works).
He asks her what she would do for him, and the answer that wants to jump reflexively to her tongue is anything. She knows him well enough to never say that, though, knows that offering him anything meant exactly that. If she offered him anything, he would take everything.
Instead her words are carefully weighed, but truthful. “Almost anything,” she begins, trying to think of a situation when she might be asked to do anything for him. She knows there are few things that she wouldn’t do; she already knows her morals grow clouded and complex when it comes to him, even more so than they already are. She is almost afraid, actually, at knowing how quickly he could sway her, if needed. But she knows she has limits, she just isn’t sure what they might be. “I suppose it would depend on what, and why, I was being asked to do it.”
Something beneath her skin trembles at his praise, appeasing that toxic part of her that craves – needs – approval. But there is a disquiet, too, because she has not, recently to her knowledge, done anything worthy of it. She remains quiet when he withdraws, dark eyes watching his, uselessly trying to decipher where she thinks this is going (something she should have given up on long ago, trying to figure out the way his mind works).
He asks her what she would do for him, and the answer that wants to jump reflexively to her tongue is anything. She knows him well enough to never say that, though, knows that offering him anything meant exactly that. If she offered him anything, he would take everything.
Instead her words are carefully weighed, but truthful. “Almost anything,” she begins, trying to think of a situation when she might be asked to do anything for him. She knows there are few things that she wouldn’t do; she already knows her morals grow clouded and complex when it comes to him, even more so than they already are. She is almost afraid, actually, at knowing how quickly he could sway her, if needed. But she knows she has limits, she just isn’t sure what they might be. “I suppose it would depend on what, and why, I was being asked to do it.”
ryatah
@[Carnage]