If she is to be crushed by the display of power, it is only for a moment.
She is a bud that he presses between his thumbs until the petals bruise and come apart, but the fragrance that blossoms in its death is sweet. Her heart thumps in her slender chest as she feels the weight of his power overwhelm her own, as he snaps her spine beneath his gift—as he shoves her forward.
Rosebay takes that step, nearly stumbling, feeling her veins expand and the blood rush through her.
When she glances up, she sees the eyes and the teeth and the things that she cannot even name. She feels the enormity of it all press into her, surround her, invade her very being. She sucks in an air between her teeth and tastes her own poisonous mistake—coming to terms with the inadequacy of her powers.
The scream builds, as is only natural, but even that is muffled.
The terror whips through her and she grows dizzy with the fear and appreciation—the awe.
She feels her flesh rip apart, the teeth sinking into her until her blood spills and spills and spills. She does not try to deny or ignore the horror of it; does not close her eyes to the pounding of her heart and the way her mind screams at her to leave this place. But neither does she ignore the way she comes alive in it.
So this—this is what it means to push someone to the edge.
When he finally rips the veil apart, pulling her back into the light, she trembles from the experience, her thin legs straining to hold her up, her lips parted as she gasps for air that finally fills her lungs.
She takes several moments to right herself, to center herself, to remind herself that she is whole.
And although there is a cocktail of emotion within her—fury, terror, exhilaration—she holds it close and instead forces her young lips into the barest hint of a smile, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
“Next time, I hope that he will.”
but in all chaos, there is calculation
@[crowns]