give my all just to watch you fall; any

[rapt]

rapt

rapt.

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail
the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream

He is easy takings for a predator. After all, did he not fall to his knees before one, bear an impossible child to him? Rapt is so quick to love monsters, so quick to cast aside whatever notions of self-preservation may linger.
So he watches, enthralled, as her body ripples and hints at the predator inside – whispers of orange and black, of claws and sharp teeth. A shiver runs over his body at the sight of it, and perhaps it is a horse’s instinct to run, or perhaps it is whatever horrid dark thing lurks inside him, the thing that wants.
He listens to her, the explanation of not scaring the locals. He nods, as if this is something he can relate to, although Rapt has never struck fear into anyone’s heart.

“You shouldn’t,” he breathes, observing her, this part-feline thing. He is reminded, terribly, of Bruise – the cloven hooves and curling horns, the monstrous and beautiful beast he had been so quick to worship.
She steps closer, tail twitching, and he does not move. He looks at her fur, takes in the strange scent of her, and yes, his heart has sped up, but he doesn’t move.
“No,” he says, “the things that frighten me are far less tangible than predators.”
A cryptic response, but fair – Rapt’s fears are elusive things, the fear of being left, the fear of not being enough.
“What’s it like?” he asks, “to hunt?”
What’s it like, he wonders to himself, to be hunted?

but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever

@[Titanya]