07-15-2017, 11:24 PM
Ellyse
I know some things that you don't; I've done things that you won't
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
there's nothing like a trail of blood to find your way back home
She can feel him drawing away from her, recoiling from her gentle touch, from her soft caress, and her heart is sinking – so far gone from where it had floated moments ago, feather-light and airy in the hearth of her chest – now settling in the very pit of her roiling, turning stomach. There is a glimmer of hope, of elation that she had not anticipated, and she is caught off-guard – but it is gone as quickly as it had come. He is then clutching onto any trace of stoicism, of indifference that he can, but it is far too late. The anguish has already reached his eye, and the flecks of gilded light – the very rim of his iris has darkened; dim with discontent, with a melancholy despondency that she cannot reach.
She does not dare pull him to her again – he had created the emptiness that now lay between them, and the hollowness of it causes her heart to clench tightly within her chest. Any fleeting sensation she had felt mere minutes prior, nestled tightly against him, with the warmth of his breath across her neck and the gentleness of his kiss, is gone – and she is left with nothing but a memory; she was certain that was all there would be left by the end of it. The guilt she had thought was forgotten was already beginning to surface, prickling at her sensitive nerve-endings, and she cannot do anything but damn the timing, damn the fate that had brought them together, only to tear them apart –
Are you it’s not mine?
”The timing,” she can barely whisper, her own deep hazel gaze averted away, unable to look at him as each heavy emotion slowly sifts into his hardened, masculine features. ”is all wrong – if it were yours, I would not be showing yet.” She, herself, is in turmoil, but she will not shed a tear – grasping onto any remnant of her hardened resolve that she can (but there is a small part of her trembling, aching to disappear, longing to be swallowed up whole by the sea, ashamed and yearning for so much to be different in that moment).
She had shared but one night with him, but it had been so much more – she could still feel the way her skin tingled under his touch; she could still hear the softly whispered sweet nothings (she had never cared for them before; it had always been heat, and urgency, and simply sex – until it wasn’t).
He is still – a statuesque figure, outlined by the fading sun as it slowly dips below the horizon, as dusk reflects a sheen of warm light over the shoreline. She is searching him, then, tracing the hollow of where his eye should be, and where the remaining one stares out into the open, ravenous ocean, with its unruly tide and dull roar. When he finally does speak, it is an inquiry – one that causes her heart to skip a beat, before dully thudding against the confinement of her ribcage.
”His name is Dahmer,” she says quietly, her voice barely a murmur over the distant lull of the rising surge. ”he is an acquaintance – a friend, at best,” she pauses, then, glancing down to the sand, where the salty brine of the seawater has sunk in, darkening it with each oncoming wave. ”his heart pined for another, as did mine. It was nothing more than that.”
And then, finally, his gaze is holding steady with her own, and her heartbeat is quickening, pounding wildly from within, and his question is hefty, thick and rife with emotion.
”No,” she breathes, her brow line rising, as the feathers along the hollowed bones of her wings flinch against the ocean breeze, caressing them both with its gentle gale. ”no. Our union was .. brief, and our consequence by chance. It was sex – only sex.”
And she is quiet again, her heart teetering on the edge – she had spent so much of her life guarded, fiercely protecting it, and to what end? Beneath her roughened exterior, her steadfast might, her powerful prowess, there is so much more, but she kept it all so tightly bound with a lock and key.
There is something about the tension lining his muscled jaw, and the dark shadow of his eye that stirs her to speak, moves her to do something, to say something –
Knowing that if she does not, she might lose him forever.
”It was nothing like what you and I shared, Ledger,” she confesses, moving closer to him but not quite touching him – though she aches to, yearns to, to comfort and console him. She can only resist for so long, pressing her shoulder against his own, touching her forehead to the crook of his neck, feeling his pulse against her – all the while unaware that something ferocious, something dangerous lingered deep inside of him, threatening to break through the surface, desperate to claw its way out. ”what you and I had, I cannot stop thinking about it – about you. And now, here you are,” and her breath catches in her throat. ”and I have made a mess of things.”
She does not dare pull him to her again – he had created the emptiness that now lay between them, and the hollowness of it causes her heart to clench tightly within her chest. Any fleeting sensation she had felt mere minutes prior, nestled tightly against him, with the warmth of his breath across her neck and the gentleness of his kiss, is gone – and she is left with nothing but a memory; she was certain that was all there would be left by the end of it. The guilt she had thought was forgotten was already beginning to surface, prickling at her sensitive nerve-endings, and she cannot do anything but damn the timing, damn the fate that had brought them together, only to tear them apart –
Are you it’s not mine?
”The timing,” she can barely whisper, her own deep hazel gaze averted away, unable to look at him as each heavy emotion slowly sifts into his hardened, masculine features. ”is all wrong – if it were yours, I would not be showing yet.” She, herself, is in turmoil, but she will not shed a tear – grasping onto any remnant of her hardened resolve that she can (but there is a small part of her trembling, aching to disappear, longing to be swallowed up whole by the sea, ashamed and yearning for so much to be different in that moment).
She had shared but one night with him, but it had been so much more – she could still feel the way her skin tingled under his touch; she could still hear the softly whispered sweet nothings (she had never cared for them before; it had always been heat, and urgency, and simply sex – until it wasn’t).
He is still – a statuesque figure, outlined by the fading sun as it slowly dips below the horizon, as dusk reflects a sheen of warm light over the shoreline. She is searching him, then, tracing the hollow of where his eye should be, and where the remaining one stares out into the open, ravenous ocean, with its unruly tide and dull roar. When he finally does speak, it is an inquiry – one that causes her heart to skip a beat, before dully thudding against the confinement of her ribcage.
”His name is Dahmer,” she says quietly, her voice barely a murmur over the distant lull of the rising surge. ”he is an acquaintance – a friend, at best,” she pauses, then, glancing down to the sand, where the salty brine of the seawater has sunk in, darkening it with each oncoming wave. ”his heart pined for another, as did mine. It was nothing more than that.”
And then, finally, his gaze is holding steady with her own, and her heartbeat is quickening, pounding wildly from within, and his question is hefty, thick and rife with emotion.
”No,” she breathes, her brow line rising, as the feathers along the hollowed bones of her wings flinch against the ocean breeze, caressing them both with its gentle gale. ”no. Our union was .. brief, and our consequence by chance. It was sex – only sex.”
And she is quiet again, her heart teetering on the edge – she had spent so much of her life guarded, fiercely protecting it, and to what end? Beneath her roughened exterior, her steadfast might, her powerful prowess, there is so much more, but she kept it all so tightly bound with a lock and key.
There is something about the tension lining his muscled jaw, and the dark shadow of his eye that stirs her to speak, moves her to do something, to say something –
Knowing that if she does not, she might lose him forever.
”It was nothing like what you and I shared, Ledger,” she confesses, moving closer to him but not quite touching him – though she aches to, yearns to, to comfort and console him. She can only resist for so long, pressing her shoulder against his own, touching her forehead to the crook of his neck, feeling his pulse against her – all the while unaware that something ferocious, something dangerous lingered deep inside of him, threatening to break through the surface, desperate to claw its way out. ”what you and I had, I cannot stop thinking about it – about you. And now, here you are,” and her breath catches in her throat. ”and I have made a mess of things.”
head of war of tephra
daughter of elysium & speck
daughter of elysium & speck
@[Ledger]