The quiet consumes her; eats at her from the inside out as she swallows back a bevy of coughs that threaten to ruin it. She’ll no disturb the quiet like so, though she is every inch a disturbance - a defiance in the face of most things, like nature, but not her blue master and his manipulative touch that she craves with a sick sad hunger. Master though, sits in the back of her mind as she looks at him, teal and starry and too beautiful to behold with her pathetic fevered eyes. But behold him she does, as if he is something unique and he is! She has never seen his like before on this earth, or even in her dreams.
Shroud can feel him look at her, even as her own punch-drunk gaze has never left the impressive sight of him. He talks through a mouth riddled with dust of a nebula and lack of color, and it makes her duck her head shyly in reply. She is not that beautiful - not her, but then, the last time she saw her face in the river, it was strained and sapped by sickness. Shroud had become a gaunt and girlish marvel that she was unaware of. His look now, suggested otherwise.
“That might be the nicest thing anyone has said to me.” she admits; whatever malices and mischiefs in her sated like dogs given bones to crack open for the marrow inside. He continues to stare, taking an emboldened step towards her that she meets with the extension of her nose held out and aloft like an offering. It is uncertain just who is the god, the altar, and the worshipper given the way they look at one another with such keen fervid stares.
“Let go?” for once, the girl is confused and rapidly losing control. She coughs once, delicate and small but it leaves a shiver in her skin in its horrid wake. It’s almost a fine tremor, like a familiar palsy that she’s become friends with. Her eyes beseech him for further explanation - further strange twists of conversation, and more looks like she is more than a marionette dancing to her master’s command. This one, he looks at her like she is something even if she really is nothing more than flesh and bone and plague.
“I don’t understand.” which is another painful admission as she flares her nostrils to better breathe him in. The palsy-tremor of her sabino skin is still there, little ripples that extend out to even her pale birdlike appendages, shaking loose the smallest feathers that fall to the earth just behind her feet.
@[GODBEAR] sorry this is way overdue! ❤️