— I'm not here looking for absolution —
He likes the venom of her. How she reeks of death even in life. There is something so beautiful in the poison that drips from her fangs, the way that she could kiss the end into existence—how they could slip into the flesh and bring about oblivion. He likes that she knows it too. That her serpentine eyes are cold with the knowledge of her own toxins, how she would enjoy the death just a little too much.
It’s perhaps the only reason that he stays.
The only reason that he showed up at all.
Still, he can only take quite so much flirtation so there is a sharpness to the curve of his smile when he levels his eyes with her, staring at her without noise for several moments. “You owe me nothing,” he echoes and to the casual listener, it may almost sound like he was agreeing with her—musing the idea.
But she knows him well enough to know that he’s never quite so kind, so agreeable.
He doesn’t feel the need to elaborate further, merely tilting his head ever so slightly.
“I don’t know where you would get that idea,” his voice is cold, empty and flat, but his smile grows wider, creating an odd kind of conflict on his features. “I love hearing all of the mundane details of your life, Gospel.” He looks at her, as if prodding her on. “Please, do tell me all about it.”
There is another brush of fingers against her life force, as if for emphasis.
As if reminding her that despite the words, he is not making a request.
