it's strange what desire will make foolish people do; isakov

[isakov]

throw me in the water, don’t think about the splash i will create
leave me at the altar, knowing all the things you just escaped

He says, ‘she is yours’ as if the girl belongs to him and not the other way around.
And Isakov so deeply resents the impulse to tell Sleaze that he belongs to them, that the cruel, bastard heart beats for them. 

How he despises love, the star-strewn stallion. How he hates that he does not know peace unless he is curled around the dark purple stallion or the dark gray mare, both of whom bore him perfect daughters. And how could he explain this to either of them? How could he explain that his love for them makes him abhor himself so completely?

But he does not let this darkness spoil the beauty of this moment, when Sleaze touches him and their daughter touches him and he is filled with new electricity. This could be enough to sustain him for the rest of his life, he thinks, this electric current. 

“Of course I did,” he says and hates how soft this perfection has made him. He was not built to be a soft thing, Isakov, but the peace settles around them like this is the only place it belongs. He draws it around them like the most natural thing in the world. An illusion, that’s all it is, that’s all it will ever be. 

“Did you know she was coming?” he asks, studying the child, “you should have told me.”

 

isakov

@[sleaze]