Stand face to face with your god
It is only when they are alone that she allows the edges to soften.
Only when it is just the two of them that she sheds the cold, unaffected skin she wears in mixed company.
And she does not know anymore which version of her is the more authentic one. If she is inherently cruel, calculated or if this is who she is at heart.
She has to believe that she is not this soft naturally.
This skin does not fit her as well as the other, which is perhaps why he cannot help but anticipate the moment when it will slip and she will return to her sharp, impatient tongue. She will cast him aside with all of her cold indifference.
No, softness is weakness and she is not weak.
None of them are weak. They were built to destroy, to ravage. They are machines of destruction.
She draws in a long breath and tries in vain to ignore the way her heart shifts when he speaks. Under any other circumstances, her mouth would have surely curled around a cold, satisfied smile. There have been and will be moments where she sees him as a pawn, something she can manipulate to suit her, but this is not one of them.
He says he belongs here with her and she lets herself, for this singular moment in time, soften to it. She allows herself to sink her weight against him, shoulder to shoulder, to lay her head against his neck.
His is the only company in which she will allow herself any level of vulnerability.
“I will take you home someday,” she murmurs, “you and Sepulcher both.”
@[obelisk]