open hand or closed fist would be fine
--rosemary
the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine
The liquid in Rosemary's stomach churns and curdles, twists her innards into fairy knots. The way her name sounds so dark and lovely on his tongue - the upset stomach is pleasant, almost. An ache Rose welcomes like the embrace of an estranged loved one.
Molech offers what feels like praise and the little shadow is so very keen to purr and curl beneath his affections. Her dark lashes flutter with delight while a pleased, girlish gasp passes from her slightly opened lips. The sneer on his face startles but does not frighten her (in fact, she finds it devilishly handsome, that quick snap). Rose's eyes roil and darken as she studies each twitch of his emotions, eyes glued to the curl of his mouth and flick of his tongue.
Rose doesn't expect Molech to close the last bit of space between them, but she isn't taken aback. Instead, her pulse hammers so loudly in her throat she is she he can hear it. He seems to feed on her desire, however it may manifest, and Rose wants so terribly to be his favorite meal. Her eyes dart everywhere: the plants around them, the swirling darkness, the arch and roll of Molech's neck as his breath traces her jaw. She isn't breathing now, the air in her lungs so still that even slightest unsettling might send it exploding out of her mouth.
"No," she whispers on that explosive breath, stumbling forward to push her nose into the tangles of Molech's mane. Her chest heaves up and down and she hopes he doesn't pull away each time it brushes quiverlingly against his. "Are you going to leave me?" she asks, barely audible. It's a silly question to ask: of course he'll leave her. It's a certain fate for them.
But the thought of that ache, the missing his darkness when he is not around, warms her.
She longs for it.
"I've never met anyone like you."
Molech offers what feels like praise and the little shadow is so very keen to purr and curl beneath his affections. Her dark lashes flutter with delight while a pleased, girlish gasp passes from her slightly opened lips. The sneer on his face startles but does not frighten her (in fact, she finds it devilishly handsome, that quick snap). Rose's eyes roil and darken as she studies each twitch of his emotions, eyes glued to the curl of his mouth and flick of his tongue.
Rose doesn't expect Molech to close the last bit of space between them, but she isn't taken aback. Instead, her pulse hammers so loudly in her throat she is she he can hear it. He seems to feed on her desire, however it may manifest, and Rose wants so terribly to be his favorite meal. Her eyes dart everywhere: the plants around them, the swirling darkness, the arch and roll of Molech's neck as his breath traces her jaw. She isn't breathing now, the air in her lungs so still that even slightest unsettling might send it exploding out of her mouth.
"No," she whispers on that explosive breath, stumbling forward to push her nose into the tangles of Molech's mane. Her chest heaves up and down and she hopes he doesn't pull away each time it brushes quiverlingly against his. "Are you going to leave me?" she asks, barely audible. It's a silly question to ask: of course he'll leave her. It's a certain fate for them.
But the thought of that ache, the missing his darkness when he is not around, warms her.
She longs for it.
"I've never met anyone like you."
@[Molech] she is IN LOVE WITH HIM SORRY