01-26-2020, 03:16 AM
She has neither the want nor the energy to dredge up even an iota of irritation.
The answer is simple. But so too was the question, she thinks.
The magic is his and perhaps, were he not capable of tightening a noose around the delicate windpipe and squeezing hard, she might have rolled her eyes. A cruel thing, she might have scoffed, fashioned up a flippant remark. No shit, she might have said. But, while she had delighted in how near he’d brought her face to face with her mortality, she does not wish to invite it back just yet and she keeps her mouth sewn up tight.
He turns away his gaze and she studies him quite intently. As if she might dissemble him with the sharp edge of her gaze alone. As if she might get to the root of it simply by committing to memory the shapes of the galaxies painted on his skin. And yet.
And yet, he remains a mystery even as he summons the remains of something long dead. They spring from the earth in a way that might have startled her were she not still nursing an exhaustion so deep that it had deadened her capacity for shock. Instead, she merely eyes it, her vicious mouth curling around an impish grin.
What a strange magic, she thinks. She clicks her teeth and tilts her fine head and shifts her focus back to the stranger’s handsome face. Something pools in her throat, something hot and sweet. It is not the blood but something else entirely, something she does not yet have a name for.
“Is that a promise?” she asks without flirtation. She is not a coy thing, Gospel. So, she studies him with a passive expression before she turns her attention back to the dead thing staring back at her, unblinking.
The answer is simple. But so too was the question, she thinks.
The magic is his and perhaps, were he not capable of tightening a noose around the delicate windpipe and squeezing hard, she might have rolled her eyes. A cruel thing, she might have scoffed, fashioned up a flippant remark. No shit, she might have said. But, while she had delighted in how near he’d brought her face to face with her mortality, she does not wish to invite it back just yet and she keeps her mouth sewn up tight.
He turns away his gaze and she studies him quite intently. As if she might dissemble him with the sharp edge of her gaze alone. As if she might get to the root of it simply by committing to memory the shapes of the galaxies painted on his skin. And yet.
And yet, he remains a mystery even as he summons the remains of something long dead. They spring from the earth in a way that might have startled her were she not still nursing an exhaustion so deep that it had deadened her capacity for shock. Instead, she merely eyes it, her vicious mouth curling around an impish grin.
What a strange magic, she thinks. She clicks her teeth and tilts her fine head and shifts her focus back to the stranger’s handsome face. Something pools in her throat, something hot and sweet. It is not the blood but something else entirely, something she does not yet have a name for.
“Is that a promise?” she asks without flirtation. She is not a coy thing, Gospel. So, she studies him with a passive expression before she turns her attention back to the dead thing staring back at her, unblinking.
these violent delights have violent ends
g o s p e l,
