but now we're sleeping at the edge, holding something we don't need
all this delusion in our heads is going to bring us to our knees
The longer they talk, the more than she is drawn in by the way that she cannot read him. The way that she cannot peel back the layers of his stone exterior is a challenge that is too delicious to resist and everything within her inherited from her parents—her tenacity, her stubbornness, her arrogance—rises to the bait. None of that shows on her face though. Instead she remains passive, studious, coy, her eyes angling upward and latching onto his own gaze before tracing the hard angles of his face, his jaw.
“They don’t have to be miserable,” she says with a simper, more innocent than anything as the night sky lightened tip of her tail flicks at her bright legs. “My father says that death isn’t so bad either, although it gets easier each time.” She considers that for a second, lips pressing together, her delicate face pensive as she wonders at how many times Atrox must have died. “Have you tried it more than once?”
Perhaps that was the problem, she considers.
Maybe he just needed to give it another try.
Still curious but willing to move to the next subject, she rolls a shoulder and takes another step forward, as though testing his boundaries—wondering at what point the wall would become impenetrable. Would he lash out? Back away? Remain still and let the starlight of her wash over him like a stone?
“They can be our secrets though,” she breathes quietly, her voice dropping now that they are closer. “I find that the only thing better is a secret is one that you share with one other soul.”
