else
even angels have their wicked schemes
“I think,” the stillness of her words disappear for a moment as she casts that single eye someplace along the horizon, someplace safe, “I think it’s easy to love you.” An accusation, perhaps, from anyone but Else, an accusation softened by the tremble of her lip, the weightlessness of her stammering voice.
But what did Else know of love. Else, who couldn’t remember her own family- not a mother, not a father, not even a sibling. Else, who had no memories at all of a childhood, of friends. Just Stokely, the leering creature with hungry eyes and yellow teeth. Just the magician and that crocodile grin each time he carved out her bones to make her dance like a doll on a string.
Yet-
She wondered. Was love what kept her tethered so closely to Caius, was it love that shushed the fear clawing in her belly like a trapped animal. Was it love that begged her to stay in the Desert, suffer the sand and the smiles just a bit longer. Or was it need. Necessity. Something darker, something selfish.
“Of course he loved you.” She says, breathes, more to herself than him as that gaze drifted dangerously close to the fathomless depths of his eyes. And then- “I’ve never seen you fly.” Her eye drifts to those joints, seeping and weeping and swollen, and regret blooms instantly in the pit of her stomach. She knew, of course, she can remember the way she had first balked at the stink of gore on his skin. For a heartbeat, just one single splinter in time, she wants to ask him why. Why they seem so broken. But doubt turns her tongue to lead, to stone, and the question dies before it reaches her lips.
“You fought for me.” She tells him softly, suddenly, stretching her lips to brush the soft of the side of his dark mouth. “You took me from the magician.” And she can feel the hope like an ache in her chest that he won’t ask her to explain. “He never thought I’d get away.” Even now she can feel those mazes he built to keep her trapped inside her memories, docile in her defeat. “You did that.”
Unbidden, something he had said earlier resurfaced in her subconscious, waiting there like a burr, sharp and uncomfortable. “Why did he do it?” She whispers, agonizes quietly, wondering without meaning to if Caius would ever feel the need to do the same to Else, brimming as she was with demons and ghosts. “Why did he make her leave?”
But what did Else know of love. Else, who couldn’t remember her own family- not a mother, not a father, not even a sibling. Else, who had no memories at all of a childhood, of friends. Just Stokely, the leering creature with hungry eyes and yellow teeth. Just the magician and that crocodile grin each time he carved out her bones to make her dance like a doll on a string.
Yet-
She wondered. Was love what kept her tethered so closely to Caius, was it love that shushed the fear clawing in her belly like a trapped animal. Was it love that begged her to stay in the Desert, suffer the sand and the smiles just a bit longer. Or was it need. Necessity. Something darker, something selfish.
“Of course he loved you.” She says, breathes, more to herself than him as that gaze drifted dangerously close to the fathomless depths of his eyes. And then- “I’ve never seen you fly.” Her eye drifts to those joints, seeping and weeping and swollen, and regret blooms instantly in the pit of her stomach. She knew, of course, she can remember the way she had first balked at the stink of gore on his skin. For a heartbeat, just one single splinter in time, she wants to ask him why. Why they seem so broken. But doubt turns her tongue to lead, to stone, and the question dies before it reaches her lips.
“You fought for me.” She tells him softly, suddenly, stretching her lips to brush the soft of the side of his dark mouth. “You took me from the magician.” And she can feel the hope like an ache in her chest that he won’t ask her to explain. “He never thought I’d get away.” Even now she can feel those mazes he built to keep her trapped inside her memories, docile in her defeat. “You did that.”
Unbidden, something he had said earlier resurfaced in her subconscious, waiting there like a burr, sharp and uncomfortable. “Why did he do it?” She whispers, agonizes quietly, wondering without meaning to if Caius would ever feel the need to do the same to Else, brimming as she was with demons and ghosts. “Why did he make her leave?”
and you take that to new extremes