She had not known that there was a desire to hurt in her, not at first. She had thought herself entirely the victim – trapped for some nameless period of time in His lair, pursued by hellhounds, ruined by a woman she loved with everything she had (sometimes purposefully, sometimes not so). But there had been mistakes, revealing moments – a boy who had listened when she said come closer and whom she had hurt, had maimed.
A prophetess she’d killed for telling of a future Cordis could not stand to witness.
She certainly looks it, with the wildness of lightning on her body, with her sharp gaze and tight-held breaths. She is a tense thing, on a hair-trigger.
She watches, on this trigger, as the yellow eyes gleam and the teeth glint, as the shadows manifest into a creature, equine but not. It looks dangerous enough, but Cordis knows how light can burn away shadows, so she remains standing, watchful.
“Should I be?” she asks. It’s bold, perhaps could even be viewed as a taunt. She does not mean it in such a way – she doesn’t think so, not consciously, at least – but she is ready.
She doesn’t respond directly to its other comments, turns it around.
“Do you hear many secrets, then? Skulking about in the dark?”
I’ll touch you all and make damn sure
Cordis
that no one touches me