10-31-2018, 01:25 PM
The silence around her breaks suddenly, causing her to turn her attention towards the approaching familiar silver buckskin. She immediately puts on a soft smile, knowing he has become a welcoming sight. Despite the circumstances, searching for and destroying Pollock, she feels safe every time she sees him.
Bruise was her strength—their strength in undoing the monster.
Lucrezia knows the turmoil it has been on him. The way Bruise does not hide his feelings of what they are doing makes her even more comfortable. Exhaustion touches the sharpest corners of his features, filled with concern. But he never forgets to show her his affection, a love she knows is truer than true.
More lies built upon lies.
It is never ending.
These lies.
She falls into him as he touches her, kissing her along her should and up to her neck. His touch is more than she can handle, more than she has ever wanted before. Each of his kisses she shivers at, not with fright but with delight. She is uncontrollable around him. Everything he ever asks of her she does without question, without reason to consider what it ever is that he asks of her.
“Bruise,” she says softly back, her voice shaking as he continues touch her. Every letter of his name is formed with meaning, a need. Without him there is no life, there is nothing. She would not be alive if it were not for him. Her death would have already happened by the hands of the goat monster, Pollock, if he had not been protecting her.
Lucrezia can feel the fear creeping in as she, unknowingly, is fed the poison with his words and touch. Her lips quiver at the news of what Bruise says. The bitterness of it hits her as well.
They have found nothing. No trace of the god-forsaken monster. It terrifies her even more knowing they have not found anything just yet. How could that be? she wonders for a split-second, but her thought leaves her quickly, as Bruise speaks again.
“I have not either,” she says with defeat.
There at a loss here. Where will they look now? Where will they find Pollock? Was it even possible to destroy him?
She pulls her head away from him for a moment, ashamed. Shame is all she feels right now. How could she even be helpful in finding Pollock? All she ever has been is useless. Her nutmeg eyes fall to the floor, staring at the stallion’s cloven hooves.
“I am sorry,” she whispers, “I have failed us.”
Her silence prolongs for a moment longer.
“I have failed us.”
Would she always be so hopeless?
Bruise was her strength—their strength in undoing the monster.
Lucrezia knows the turmoil it has been on him. The way Bruise does not hide his feelings of what they are doing makes her even more comfortable. Exhaustion touches the sharpest corners of his features, filled with concern. But he never forgets to show her his affection, a love she knows is truer than true.
More lies built upon lies.
It is never ending.
These lies.
She falls into him as he touches her, kissing her along her should and up to her neck. His touch is more than she can handle, more than she has ever wanted before. Each of his kisses she shivers at, not with fright but with delight. She is uncontrollable around him. Everything he ever asks of her she does without question, without reason to consider what it ever is that he asks of her.
“Bruise,” she says softly back, her voice shaking as he continues touch her. Every letter of his name is formed with meaning, a need. Without him there is no life, there is nothing. She would not be alive if it were not for him. Her death would have already happened by the hands of the goat monster, Pollock, if he had not been protecting her.
Lucrezia can feel the fear creeping in as she, unknowingly, is fed the poison with his words and touch. Her lips quiver at the news of what Bruise says. The bitterness of it hits her as well.
They have found nothing. No trace of the god-forsaken monster. It terrifies her even more knowing they have not found anything just yet. How could that be? she wonders for a split-second, but her thought leaves her quickly, as Bruise speaks again.
“I have not either,” she says with defeat.
There at a loss here. Where will they look now? Where will they find Pollock? Was it even possible to destroy him?
She pulls her head away from him for a moment, ashamed. Shame is all she feels right now. How could she even be helpful in finding Pollock? All she ever has been is useless. Her nutmeg eyes fall to the floor, staring at the stallion’s cloven hooves.
“I am sorry,” she whispers, “I have failed us.”
Her silence prolongs for a moment longer.
“I have failed us.”
Would she always be so hopeless?
@[bruise]
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