06-03-2016, 11:05 AM
± when you feel my heat, look into my eyes ±
She flayed him wide with the truth of it. Laid this revelation at his feet like it were a gift but he regarded it as though it was his very death, boxed and wrapped and presented to him with a bow.This then, this woman between them, this herald of the sky and the fire that split across it was his undoing was she? She was the ‘She’ that Spyndle had asked him to keep at bay, She was the unknown danger and with this knowledge his sooty skin crackled. His fire and Hers were different, very different and when he acknowledge the root of Her scent he knew that Hers was more and he was a mere mortal compared to Her plane of existence. Still he broiled for moments as he took it in, this information bestowed upon him heavy as the weight of his proverbial crown.
Again she meets his words (little that they are) with her own and is this what bends him most to her will? Is there power in what she speaks or how she speaks it? Is it nothing but words and the influence she holds merely that of his own making, of his own allowance? I wish I weren’t she says and his eyes fall solemn with her truths as he inhales them as deeply as he does her. For her they dim, darken until they are flat, as if she has snuffed the flame from them as she exhaled breath to make her tangled trap. Once he might have held her close, wrapped himself up with her in his wings of scale armor, once he might have kept the proximity of their bodies so entangled that none would be able to discern two from one. Now he burns because she isn’t finished breaking him, he doesn’t move because the pressure is far too much for retreat and because he rather revel in the misery it causes him- like it did so many days ago. He is still as his insides beg him to burn the She that stands between them, he is still as his mind warns against this, as his nose reveals it knows better and as he is torn in two inside.- on the outside he is motionless to their eyes.
Does he know better? He does.
Still, when she says she would have been his he remembers the promise, the offer to keep her safe. He remembers the way she fell into him, trusted him with his word, he remembers that she ran. She ran, left him alone in a circle of crows, was he still in debt to her then, did he still owe her his word? Killdare looked down, his eyes lost focus on the world around him. “Yes,” he whispered, assuring himself that they still meant something, that he still meant something. He was a King, he was the Chamber. Perhaps he could not offer her the romance that he once intended but he could keep her if she wanted him to. He could try to offer her the safety she sought, even if it was a safety short lived and made by the promises of a fool man. A man, he was nothing more.
“Come then, as you would have then. Come and I will keep you, She will keep you- if that is what you want.” It is not the silvered woman ‘She’ that he refers to now. It is the one and only true mistress that had ever held him, the only She that he felt they could ever hope to hold against him as unfaithful. In his heart he felt he had not spurned Dacia or Malis with the flesh of one another. If he were to be emblazoned with the scarlet letter then it would be because of the Chamber, and not matters of the physical, nor the carnal realm- this he had decided.
Again she meets his words (little that they are) with her own and is this what bends him most to her will? Is there power in what she speaks or how she speaks it? Is it nothing but words and the influence she holds merely that of his own making, of his own allowance? I wish I weren’t she says and his eyes fall solemn with her truths as he inhales them as deeply as he does her. For her they dim, darken until they are flat, as if she has snuffed the flame from them as she exhaled breath to make her tangled trap. Once he might have held her close, wrapped himself up with her in his wings of scale armor, once he might have kept the proximity of their bodies so entangled that none would be able to discern two from one. Now he burns because she isn’t finished breaking him, he doesn’t move because the pressure is far too much for retreat and because he rather revel in the misery it causes him- like it did so many days ago. He is still as his insides beg him to burn the She that stands between them, he is still as his mind warns against this, as his nose reveals it knows better and as he is torn in two inside.- on the outside he is motionless to their eyes.
Does he know better? He does.
Still, when she says she would have been his he remembers the promise, the offer to keep her safe. He remembers the way she fell into him, trusted him with his word, he remembers that she ran. She ran, left him alone in a circle of crows, was he still in debt to her then, did he still owe her his word? Killdare looked down, his eyes lost focus on the world around him. “Yes,” he whispered, assuring himself that they still meant something, that he still meant something. He was a King, he was the Chamber. Perhaps he could not offer her the romance that he once intended but he could keep her if she wanted him to. He could try to offer her the safety she sought, even if it was a safety short lived and made by the promises of a fool man. A man, he was nothing more.
“Come then, as you would have then. Come and I will keep you, She will keep you- if that is what you want.” It is not the silvered woman ‘She’ that he refers to now. It is the one and only true mistress that had ever held him, the only She that he felt they could ever hope to hold against him as unfaithful. In his heart he felt he had not spurned Dacia or Malis with the flesh of one another. If he were to be emblazoned with the scarlet letter then it would be because of the Chamber, and not matters of the physical, nor the carnal realm- this he had decided.
KILLDARE
magma King of the Chamber
