She is too soft, he thinks. He could eat her alive—burn the softness from her—but there’s something about the contrast between her and him that’s interesting enough for him to stop. Instead he just watches her with his stern, pupil-less eyes, the red of them smoldering. He laughs when she speaks, the sound harsh on his tongue and he does nothing to make it less. It’s not quite a mocking noise, but its not a soft one either, and he tilts his massive head in her direction, his expression unreadable.
“I am not lonely,” he asserts, and he isn’t even sure if it’s a lie because he has no idea what lonely really means. All he has ever known is being alone. Even when he is with his “family,” he is alone. They are not like him. They do not understand him—they do not share the same hunger, the same desires.
He has never known anything else.
Perhaps lonely is just his default state.
Still, she pursuits, refuses to be cowed by his stern nature and he can respect that—can respect the way that she pushes forward despite everything that would tell her to stop. “You have no idea whether or not I would hurt you,” he growls, eyes sharp. “Maybe I would burn you alive and laugh while I do it.” The flames on his skin flare outward more, reaching for her in their own way, and he takes a step, his lips peeling back from his teeth. “I don’t want friends. You’re not listening to me.”
Another step as he continues to study her, continues to watch her.
“You should leave.”
Because who knows what will happen if she stays.
Who knows if he will let her leave.
@[Astarielle]