07-04-2020, 03:44 AM
“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.”
She has only openly defied him once — only one time where she knows she was consciously telling him no, refusing to do something he had asked. That was a different time, in what felt like an entirely different world, but she had bore the scarred sockets of her punishment across several lifetimes.
And she knows, with every fiber of her being, with every rapid beat of her heart and every rush of blood in her veins, that she is treading back into those same dangerous waters.
It is worse to defy him now, she thinks. It is worse to take all their intricate history and more or less decide that it is nothing, to tell him the valley and the stars and all the things in between weren’t enough to earn her loyalty in its entirety. That with all of that he still cannot ask her to do something and have her obey without question.
She is not defiant by nature.
It is not like her to so adamantly refuse to do something he, of everyone, is asking, demanding. She is a fool, but she is a fool that knows him well enough to know she is not leaving here alive, or at least not unscathed.
But this one last piece of morality — this piece that won’t kill, that would never intentionally cause harm — is all she has left.
She flinches inwardly when he sends it to the ground, and though she wants to look away, she affords him that much, in that she doesn’t. Her eyes remain on the silent, still creature, and only lift from it when she answers him, “Dying myself is different than taking life from someone else.” Her jaw tightens, wishing she could learn when it was better to not say anything.
She has no choice when he forces her forward, when he forces her leg to lift. She can feel when he releases her, and there is a moment — a half of a heartbeat, a single inhale of breath — where her resolve wavers. She could do it; she could do it, and maybe it would make him happy, maybe it would be some imaginary test that she has passed. But then her hoof finds the ground again, and she shakes her head. “No,” the word is not strong, it leaves her tongue on a whisper, a meek kind of defeat as she steps backwards again. “I would do almost anything for you, Carnage, but not this.” She looks back at him, and though her regret reflects back in her eyes, she knows he will not care. She does not beg for the mercy she knows she will not receive.
“I would rather you punish me than make me do this,” and her skin flushes hot in anticipation, in fear, knowing that their strange undercurrent of twisted romance didn’t exist right now. He has killed her for lesser things, and she does not see herself getting out of this one.
And she knows, with every fiber of her being, with every rapid beat of her heart and every rush of blood in her veins, that she is treading back into those same dangerous waters.
It is worse to defy him now, she thinks. It is worse to take all their intricate history and more or less decide that it is nothing, to tell him the valley and the stars and all the things in between weren’t enough to earn her loyalty in its entirety. That with all of that he still cannot ask her to do something and have her obey without question.
She is not defiant by nature.
It is not like her to so adamantly refuse to do something he, of everyone, is asking, demanding. She is a fool, but she is a fool that knows him well enough to know she is not leaving here alive, or at least not unscathed.
But this one last piece of morality — this piece that won’t kill, that would never intentionally cause harm — is all she has left.
She flinches inwardly when he sends it to the ground, and though she wants to look away, she affords him that much, in that she doesn’t. Her eyes remain on the silent, still creature, and only lift from it when she answers him, “Dying myself is different than taking life from someone else.” Her jaw tightens, wishing she could learn when it was better to not say anything.
She has no choice when he forces her forward, when he forces her leg to lift. She can feel when he releases her, and there is a moment — a half of a heartbeat, a single inhale of breath — where her resolve wavers. She could do it; she could do it, and maybe it would make him happy, maybe it would be some imaginary test that she has passed. But then her hoof finds the ground again, and she shakes her head. “No,” the word is not strong, it leaves her tongue on a whisper, a meek kind of defeat as she steps backwards again. “I would do almost anything for you, Carnage, but not this.” She looks back at him, and though her regret reflects back in her eyes, she knows he will not care. She does not beg for the mercy she knows she will not receive.
“I would rather you punish me than make me do this,” and her skin flushes hot in anticipation, in fear, knowing that their strange undercurrent of twisted romance didn’t exist right now. He has killed her for lesser things, and she does not see herself getting out of this one.
ryatah
@[Carnage]
Alexa, play "I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)"