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shaking like a leaf on any god-given night; any - Cordis - 09-11-2020 RE: shaking like a leaf on any god-given night; any - Beelzebub - 09-11-2020 you are sacred because i have made you sacred. B e e l z e b u b Kindness has never found a place to call home within his heart. There is nothing to sustain love or warmth here. This is why it strikes him as odd when he feels compelled to approach her. It doesn’t feel pleasant the way he imagines those emotions should, but rather like obligation. Something buried in his blood reaches for her and he simply humors it. It hums comfortably when he draws near but he does not smile or seem equally glad to be standing here before her. Instead, he tilts his head as he examines her, his expression empty and sterile like a dormant hospital bed. “Have we met?” he finally asks, his eyes narrowed while he picks apart his memories. Of course, there is nothing there when he reaches for it. He normally preys on weaker things and something about her unnerves him enough that he would keep his distance on any other given day. Yet, her face feels like something out of a fever dream he might’ve had several years ago. “I don’t think so. I am Beelzebub.” But he takes a step back. Something feels wrong about being here, staring into her face, and he would like to return to the depths of the forest. there is no burning that i did not create.
@[Cordis]
RE: shaking like a leaf on any god-given night; any - Cordis - 09-14-2020 @[Beelzebub] RE: shaking like a leaf on any god-given night; any - Beelzebub - 10-05-2020 you are sacred because i have made you sacred. B e e l z e b u b His golden eyes watch her as though any minute she might lunge for him. He watches the way her lips twitch into something equally uneasy. The urge to leave this place angers him and he defies it by remaining firmly in place. Beelzebub has never known fear and he does not permit the feeling to fester in his chest today. Instead, he sinks his teeth into the way his hairs stand on end near her, anchors himself to it. “Cordis,” he parrots, and her name is static across his tongue. The only name his mother ever taught him was his father’s, and he cared little for even that lesson. He begins to circle her as he plunges headfirst into his discomfort. Either he will acclimate to this dreadful sensation or she will put an end to it, he decides. “I don’t know anyone like you,” he thinks aloud, neither hostile or inviting. “Maybe you knew Ophanim or Glassheart.” He shrugs, watches her face for some telltale shift. Beelzebub cannot recognize the exquisite ache of a broken heart and so her expression only further confounds him. He has only ever known obsession and greed, cruelties he can afford to withstand. To be loved seems too heavy a cross for him to bear, he thinks. He comes to a stop beside her now. Slowly, at the rate caves birth their stalactites, he leans his shoulder to hers. there is no burning that i did not create.
@[Cordis]
RE: shaking like a leaf on any god-given night; any - Cordis - 10-13-2020 @[Beelzebub] RE: shaking like a leaf on any god-given night; any - Beelzebub - 10-26-2020 you are sacred because i have made you sacred. B e e l z e b u b How awful, to see her love, her Venus only when she sees him in her peripheral. But when their eyes meet, there is only Beelzebub standing there. He is a monument to decaying prayers and discarded dreams. Nothing more could be expected of him, really. He was born of loneliness and little else. Two warm bodies that met in the chill of an autumn night. Glassheart had loved her awful son, despite who he was or who he would later become. But, she left. And sometimes he wonders if she’ll ever come back for him. He shows no sign of the thoughts swirling and brewing in his mind when she answers. His smile remains flatlined. His eyes study her a while longer when she repeats the name back to him. Then she offers up a question of her own and his expression is bruised for a fleeting second. His mother, his only friend. The only thing in the world he didn’t want to break in two. “She is. I haven’t seen her in a long time,” he confesses without letting the hurt bleed into his voice. Beelzebub wonders if he tore Cordis apart, would his mother’s broken heart bring her circling back? Would it echo across time and space until someone answered back? Doubtful. Then he would be more alone than before, so he rids himself of the thought. “Did Glassheart call you beautiful too?” Each time he inhales, his ribs press just a little closer to hers. Breath by breath, he finds himself dreading being here a little less. It isn’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, but it isn’t standing alone with his thoughts either. there is no burning that i did not create.
@[Cordis]
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