[private] don't close the coffin yet; ryatah

[atrox]

hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

He should feel flushed with victory at the pain in her eyes. That he has managed to slip the knife into her ribs so that she can feel the same agony that he himself feels. But all he feels is compounded pain. He feels his empty chest contract, his stomach twist. He feels his mind begin to race as he realizes that he has set their house ablaze to escape facing his own sins in the mirror. What a fool, what a fool.

But he is too proud to back down now.

Like an animal with its leg caught in the trap, he twists it further, mindless in the way he snarls and snaps his jaws. “I liked her just fine,” he says and is surprised at how quickly the lie comes, how smoothly it rolls off the edge of his tongue. His eyes roam over the swell of her belly and he clucks his tongue at his pointed teeth before he jerks his chin. “I’m sure as much as you enjoyed whoever caused that.”

He meets her gaze, cold and washed clean of emotion despite the fury and hate and self-loathing that rages within him. Atrox rolls his shoulder, apathetic to the last. “We do,” he says, a hint of a smile curling the edge of his lips. “She was more than pleasant. I can see why you like her so much.”

He doesn’t even remember, he thinks. Barely remembers anything but the fight and then the coming to his senses in the aftermath, body bruised and sore. He studies her eyes before he tilts his head slightly to the side. “Don’t worry, Ryatah. I always come back.” He mimics her previous platitude with a cold smile.

“If you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask.”

ATROX | THE PANTHER KING