the face inside is right beneath my skin
Creamy mounds of mane fall in rivulets over my green eyes, over the scars that litter and frame my features. Born by Crow's disdain, Crow's anger and compassion. I say compassion, as the demon inside, he is compassionate enough to allow me to live. With bones jutting out in places, war-torn and ragged skin, alive with scars for memories. It was never what I wanted, all the times I had bent and bowed against his will, I wanted to die, wanted to crawl into the pit of never-ending blackness and stay resident. And yet, there he was. the dark eyes holding me captive, the fingers forcing themselves into my heart, my soul, hooking me into this life as though I was some mere pawn in a game he was playing with no one. Such games, games of trivialities and life and death.
I don't like this.
The way his voice shudders, it makes a smile form upon my cracked, dry lips. It feels foreign to smile, to feel a sliver of contentment. the red eyed ghoul, he had promised me much, much that I took with me to sleep at night. It was that promise that made me rise every from the pits of my dark despair in the world's dark blanket, made me live through the day only to find the night wrought with nightmare and terrors. Oh, but to have rid of this voice, this being, it would be almost magical. I snort at him, as he moves, shifting with monstrous strides inside. He makes me quiver, and just as I'm about to whip around, Feeling his stare upon my hind, does Straia mention the birds, the Raven in particular. I meet his eyes, beady and black, dark and ominous. He reminds me of Crow, and yet, yet Crow is unsettled, disturbed. And I like it.
'Loyal. Loyal.' my voice falls, like shattering glass from my weakened lips. I feel the green of my eyes, the emerald glaze that had lightened somewhat, now darken, cloud over with the despair that has claimed me for years, many years. 'I need him gone. Before he takes me, takes over. I want him gone..' poor choice of words, but the desperation that clings to me, is like a second skin. Cold, harsh against the world outside.
Little broken girls do not get what they want. You should know that.
'Please. I.. I can be loyal, loyal as the sun in summer, as the snow in winter. Loyal. Aoki can be loyal. What... what is it I must do?'
Until the breath leave your lungs and your skin rots on your bones. My Dear, dear Aoki. You will never rid of me.
A O K I
schizophrenic captive of gryffen