08-30-2021, 02:30 PM
with rushing thread of brazen spindles.
She can feel the heart begin to wilt in her chest.
(She is a thing that thrives on love, you see, and hatred works only to weaken her. Soon, she will be left a gasping thing, desperate for the glow of love. But for now she does not have the sense to remove herself from the situation, because she believes so fiercely in love that it has blinded her to the reality of hatred.)
She looks at him a long time, the white eyes unmoving as she considers him.
He had not asked her to leave in the beginning but this must be an invitation to get lost.
And yet, she stays.
Even as the heart begins to wilt in her chest in the face of his unrelenting hate, his anger, his darkness.
She draws in a long breath but this does absolutely nothing to revive the heart. Even the wolf in the shadows is not on her side. She is alone here by the river but, for the moment, she just goes on looking at him.
“There’s a difference,” she says and she says it slowly, experimentally, as if prepared for him to sink his teeth into her throat. She does not turn to face him, though. No, she is still angled toward the water, even with her head turned to look at him.
“There’s a difference between deserving peace and not knowing it,” she points out and then rolls her slender, pearlescent shoulders. And then something else occurs to her and she glances between the wolf lurking in the shadows and this stranger’s face before she settles on the stranger’s face and stays there.
“Why are you so angry with me?” she asks, head tilted, “you don’t even know me.” Still, she does not turn to face him fully.
“ could have told me to leave, but you didn’t… but it seems you’re angry at me like it’s my fault for not leaving.”
(She is a thing that thrives on love, you see, and hatred works only to weaken her. Soon, she will be left a gasping thing, desperate for the glow of love. But for now she does not have the sense to remove herself from the situation, because she believes so fiercely in love that it has blinded her to the reality of hatred.)
She looks at him a long time, the white eyes unmoving as she considers him.
He had not asked her to leave in the beginning but this must be an invitation to get lost.
And yet, she stays.
Even as the heart begins to wilt in her chest in the face of his unrelenting hate, his anger, his darkness.
She draws in a long breath but this does absolutely nothing to revive the heart. Even the wolf in the shadows is not on her side. She is alone here by the river but, for the moment, she just goes on looking at him.
“There’s a difference,” she says and she says it slowly, experimentally, as if prepared for him to sink his teeth into her throat. She does not turn to face him, though. No, she is still angled toward the water, even with her head turned to look at him.
“There’s a difference between deserving peace and not knowing it,” she points out and then rolls her slender, pearlescent shoulders. And then something else occurs to her and she glances between the wolf lurking in the shadows and this stranger’s face before she settles on the stranger’s face and stays there.
“Why are you so angry with me?” she asks, head tilted, “you don’t even know me.” Still, she does not turn to face him fully.
“ could have told me to leave, but you didn’t… but it seems you’re angry at me like it’s my fault for not leaving.”
@Ashhal