05-03-2021, 03:47 PM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
So many times she had wished that he would let his guard down just a little bit. So many times she had wished that he would show her the barest glimpse into what might lie beneath that indifferent stare and the flippantly spoken words, but when it finally happens—just the smallest hint of the dim light seeping through the cracks of stone—she is afraid it will break her.
He lets slip some of the truth, and his words feel like a spear into her chest, lodged between her ribs and piercing her heart. Guilt rises up like a wave in her veins, rushing through to drown out everything else.
She didn’t want to be the one with the power to break him.
She didn’t want to be the one that constantly let him down the way she did so many others, and yet she had done it without even trying.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, but the sound is choked in her throat as her eyes close and she tilts her face away. She is almost grateful for the way his tone again sounds irritated and angry, because it is easier to withstand than the emptiness she had just seen. She is used to anger—she knows how to bear the brunt of disappointment and irritation, but she has never been familiar with sorrow other than her own. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you. And I know you won’t believe that, because I don’t think anyone would ever believe it if I told them that. Not with the things I’ve done.”
Her wings fidget restlessly at her sides, casting strange shadows with the pale light that still radiates from her, brightening her face but only to spotlight the pain and regret that resides there. “Tell me what to do, Ashhal,” she begs him quietly, her pleading stare locked with his. “Tell me what you want me to do, even if it’s disappear, and I promise I’ll do it.” The light of her aura makes the space between them feel larger than it actually is, and she wants so badly to step close enough to bring him away from the shadows and into her light, but something keeps her rooted where she stands. That uncertainty of not knowing if closeness will only hurt them both, that maybe this distance that is wedged between them is there for a reason. “Tell me how to save the last parts of you.”
He lets slip some of the truth, and his words feel like a spear into her chest, lodged between her ribs and piercing her heart. Guilt rises up like a wave in her veins, rushing through to drown out everything else.
She didn’t want to be the one with the power to break him.
She didn’t want to be the one that constantly let him down the way she did so many others, and yet she had done it without even trying.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, but the sound is choked in her throat as her eyes close and she tilts her face away. She is almost grateful for the way his tone again sounds irritated and angry, because it is easier to withstand than the emptiness she had just seen. She is used to anger—she knows how to bear the brunt of disappointment and irritation, but she has never been familiar with sorrow other than her own. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you. And I know you won’t believe that, because I don’t think anyone would ever believe it if I told them that. Not with the things I’ve done.”
Her wings fidget restlessly at her sides, casting strange shadows with the pale light that still radiates from her, brightening her face but only to spotlight the pain and regret that resides there. “Tell me what to do, Ashhal,” she begs him quietly, her pleading stare locked with his. “Tell me what you want me to do, even if it’s disappear, and I promise I’ll do it.” The light of her aura makes the space between them feel larger than it actually is, and she wants so badly to step close enough to bring him away from the shadows and into her light, but something keeps her rooted where she stands. That uncertainty of not knowing if closeness will only hurt them both, that maybe this distance that is wedged between them is there for a reason. “Tell me how to save the last parts of you.”
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —