10-14-2021, 03:19 PM
Savior
She does not smile, no matter how fiercely he wishes that she would.
(This is one thing he cannot divine into existence.)
But she is not lost to him. She does not retreat. She has come to him, bearing these burdens, and that means more than he can express. He will help her shoulder them. Or, if he cannot, he will simply give her someplace to set them down awhile.
She touches him in turn, exhales her warm, sweet breath into the plains of his neck and the heat spirals down into the chambers of his heart. Because they have weathered such terrible darkness, both during and after the Eclipse, but this is the one thing that has stayed the same.
His love for her has not wavered even with the space that so often separates them. Her touch still has the same effect on him now that it had the first time she’d reached for him. And he chooses to believe that this will never change.
But her admission pours ice water into the network of his veins, kicks the air out of his chest. As much as he wants to pull her into a deeper embrace, he gently separates himself from her, turning to face her directly. Because it spikes something toxic through him. It is grief, a chasm of mourning, but it is something else, too. Anger unlike anything he has known in such a terribly long time. Anger because someone has taken her mother from her, someone has caused her pain.
(And because he has never met the Archangel, because his loyalty lies with her daughter, his anger flares on Casimira’s behalf.)
“Who?” he asks. Before he is sidetracked by her second confession. There is no question, no hesitation. “Live here with me,” he murmurs, searching her face. “Live here with me and I will do whatever I can to make them pay.”
It is so uncharacteristic of him, this thirst for revenge, but he had always been built to protect.
(This is one thing he cannot divine into existence.)
But she is not lost to him. She does not retreat. She has come to him, bearing these burdens, and that means more than he can express. He will help her shoulder them. Or, if he cannot, he will simply give her someplace to set them down awhile.
She touches him in turn, exhales her warm, sweet breath into the plains of his neck and the heat spirals down into the chambers of his heart. Because they have weathered such terrible darkness, both during and after the Eclipse, but this is the one thing that has stayed the same.
His love for her has not wavered even with the space that so often separates them. Her touch still has the same effect on him now that it had the first time she’d reached for him. And he chooses to believe that this will never change.
But her admission pours ice water into the network of his veins, kicks the air out of his chest. As much as he wants to pull her into a deeper embrace, he gently separates himself from her, turning to face her directly. Because it spikes something toxic through him. It is grief, a chasm of mourning, but it is something else, too. Anger unlike anything he has known in such a terribly long time. Anger because someone has taken her mother from her, someone has caused her pain.
(And because he has never met the Archangel, because his loyalty lies with her daughter, his anger flares on Casimira’s behalf.)
“Who?” he asks. Before he is sidetracked by her second confession. There is no question, no hesitation. “Live here with me,” he murmurs, searching her face. “Live here with me and I will do whatever I can to make them pay.”
It is so uncharacteristic of him, this thirst for revenge, but he had always been built to protect.
YOU REMIND ME WHO I WAS AND WHO I WANT TO BE
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
@Casimira