02-05-2019, 03:10 AM
ryatah
hell is empty and all the devils are here
For several years, she had been quiet. Her blood was still here, in the veins of those she didn’t know, attached to names she has never heard and stemming from even more names that were still strangers. But she wasn’t one of them; she didn’t belong anymore, if she ever had. No one ever paid much attention to the ghostly waif that drifted on the fringes, and she rarely – never – made an effort to amend that. She had accepted that her time had come and gone, and although the reasons that death would not take her (and keep her) still remained unknown, she didn’t contest it. She let the monotony settle into her soul like lead, she let herself drown in her own apathy, and maybe that is why every time there is even a miniscule chance to feel something – anguish, agony, fear – she takes it, greedy and selfish and unconcerned of the consequences.
There are only a few that can even begin to stoke the embers that she kept dormant, and he was — sometimes — one of them. For now, though, she is still placid, and if there is something brewing beneath her skin and in the network of her veins when she looks at his dark face, she keeps it at bay. There were some that she would immediately plunge into the familiar game of cat-and-mouse, but he had always been one that she couldn’t quite figure out. He didn’t arouse the same fear that others did, even though he should — she supposed she just hasn’t been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of that side of him, yet.
”How lucky for the rest of us, then, that the world is so boring that you come back here,” spoken with another whisper of a laugh, and she meets his gaze with a curious tilt of her head in response to his last statement. ”It’s the eyes. They’re relatively new.” It has been so long that she isn’t even sure who knew her from before — a hundred or so years ago, when she wasn’t just simply the girl that Carnage blinded, when she was less than nothing but somehow still more herself than she ever would be again. She hardly even remembers that girl anymore, and it doesn’t surprise her when no one else does either.
There are only a few that can even begin to stoke the embers that she kept dormant, and he was — sometimes — one of them. For now, though, she is still placid, and if there is something brewing beneath her skin and in the network of her veins when she looks at his dark face, she keeps it at bay. There were some that she would immediately plunge into the familiar game of cat-and-mouse, but he had always been one that she couldn’t quite figure out. He didn’t arouse the same fear that others did, even though he should — she supposed she just hasn’t been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of that side of him, yet.
”How lucky for the rest of us, then, that the world is so boring that you come back here,” spoken with another whisper of a laugh, and she meets his gaze with a curious tilt of her head in response to his last statement. ”It’s the eyes. They’re relatively new.” It has been so long that she isn’t even sure who knew her from before — a hundred or so years ago, when she wasn’t just simply the girl that Carnage blinded, when she was less than nothing but somehow still more herself than she ever would be again. She hardly even remembers that girl anymore, and it doesn’t surprise her when no one else does either.