no matter what they say, I am still the king
Innocence is endearing, a gently rocking undertone of not-quite-knowing. Innocent – or unknowing? Oh you, little galaxy girl, are certainly none too innocent. He can taste it in the air that drifts off your body, He can feel it in the crackling of your mind (an electric and evasive thing) – no, you are not innocent, you are simply hungry to learn.
You are tact in your words, a coy snake wrapping around them (teasing? Testing?). You have played this game before (although perhaps not with someone of quite this caliber). You are no stranger to the deft maneuver of words – though it may come far easier when you can slip in the back door to pluck thoughts as you please. You move through the chambers of the mind (and voice) with ease; but what happens when you do not have the key? When your secret security is locked tight – when you cannot traverse the mind and know exactly what they think (or what to say)?
He considers for a moment relinquishing the lock, cracking the door so that your crystalline eyes can peer in (that oh so familiar feeling for you). But we all must work for something – nothing comes so easily, and so you will have to put yourself to use, you will have to seethe away until your ferocious gaze singes the hinges. The ever-shifting game of warden and captive, a curiosity that piques to destruction. Would you even want to see what growls in the depths of His mind? What little remains of that innocence would soon be cinders and ash. “A potentially dangerous pastime, my galaxy.” How dangerous it could be, perhaps you do not know yet. (But oh, you would).
You are generous with your responses – and why shouldn’t you be, He would find them anyway – they are forged in confidence and interest, an ease of consciousness that you know exactly what you are doing. “A side project, hm?” Your breathy rush of a response, flicking over it as if it’s a careless last resort (there are better things to play with now, it seems).
Closer and closer you come, a white-bright star pulled ever closer to a black hole; the thrum of impending destruction and danger an unheeded warning in your eyes. “ I suppose it is a pastime of my own.” His eyes meet yours, a slight tilt of His head, a proverbially raised brow. “I can just as easily let you back in.” (Again, that idea, that taste just out of reach of your lips – reach for it, little galaxy girl, and see how far you can come.)
(now, the storm is coming in)
@[StArShIN]
@[Starsin]