oh, these wings, they flicker and my feathers stir
'til I'm an ancient soul in a cascade world
He notices the sharp inhale, the way she seems to cringe away from him, and there is a part of him that nearly breaks with it. That wants to fold around her. To apologize a million times. To press kisses to all of the delicate curves of her, the places where her glass slopes away, and let her know that he does not mean this. He would whisper all of his dreams to her—would tell her all of the ways she has invaded his nights and all of the thoughts he has had about what he would show her, where he would take her.
But he finds that there is something lodged in his throat.
Something painful that he can barely breathe around.
Something that remains firmly planted.
Taking a shuddering breath, he turns fully to her as Astrum disappears, his breath escaping him in a frustrated exhale. His shoulder jerks a little, his mouth yanking down in the corner, and he wishes once again that he could explain everything to her—but his pain is a visceral thing. His shame too strong.
As she questions him, he stops suddenly, pivoting to her and searching her face. The compulsion in him rises, dark and twisted, taking his pain and morphing it into anger. He finds her gaze and holds it, his purple eyes flinty, his mouth tight. “Stop asking questions,” he commands before following it up with a gentler, “I’m trying to get us out of here.” His glow pulses slowly around them, but even he can tell that it is dying—that the watery light he gives up would be swallowed completely by the world around them.
His throat grows dry at the thought—
dryer at the thought that he may not be enough to protect her—
and so he plunges forward again, knowing that keeping them moving was the only way to keep them safe.
and I'm quick with the bullet when it comes undone
I got a head like a turret with a mouth for a gun
