05-13-2017, 08:53 PM
life is like an hourglass; glued to the table
A stray gleam of sunlight touches her cheek, rendering her temporarily blind as its unyielding glare causes her to flinch and turn away – her breath is still coming in short bursts, as her heart races tirelessly to flood her every part and crevice with adrenaline. With a grimace, she is finally able to blink away the bleary shadow from her gaze, and his voice is little more than an echo in her mind. I see you now, and then Scythe, he utters with bittersweet amusement interlaced between each carefully spoken syllable. His laughter envelopes her, caressing the edge of her taut, rigid shoulders with a shiver, and lingering across her dark, russet skin with a gentle reverberation – and yet another gasp is elicited from her when she realizes the proximity in which he stands, his gleaming teeth bared and taking hold of the dry, brittle block of timber that had tangled itself between her winding horns.
Alas, he is wholly unaware of the way her startled heart is pounding recklessly against its bony binding, or the way the once still, frigid morning fog is emerging from her flared nostrils with each rampant breath. He is so near to her that she can feel his warmth exuding from his gilded skin, and she can very nearly taste the sweet earthiness of his breath lingering near her tangled, unkempt tresses, which lay carelessly over her bright eyes. She is grateful to be hidden away, so that he cannot see the way her fluttering gaze is following the edge of his jawline, the hollow of his cheek - the sharpened ridge of his cheekbone, and down to his dark mouth, where yellowed teeth part with each spoken word.
I think you look better without that.
"I thought it sort of added a little something," she breathes, the corner of her dark indigo lips drawing back with a half-hearted smile, though she is certain she will have little reason to smile at all when her heart manages to burst through the sinewy muscle and bone of her chest any moment now. "but I guess I already have enough decoration as it is."
Forever - the word lingers on his tongue for a long moment, and curiously, her prying jade eyes search the dark, seemingly empty glaze that lay across his own gaze. Briefly, her mouth brushes against his cheek, though she flinches upon feeling his skin on her lips (he is not as warm as she had thought he might be; he is icy to the touch - frigid, even).
"You look tired," a pause, a breath. "too tired."
But she is nothing; she is no one - he has no reason to tell her why he is so tired, or why the fatigue has etched its ruthless mark into the weary, wrinkled rim of his eyes - and so she does not ask.
"I don't know - everything and nothing, I suppose," she murmurs, her voice quiet - a hushed whisper in the gentle lull of morning. "I shouldn't be here, but then again, you probably shouldn't either - should you? Or maybe, rather, there is somewhere else you would rather be."
Prevail