Stand face to face with your god
She sees him before he sees her.
The reptilian eyes flashing something vibrant as she studies him through the darkness, this thing slouching through the underbrush. The moon arcs overhead but its light pales in comparison to the glow of her nebulous wings, the twinkle of the stars tangled in her hair.
She trusts that these are the things that draw the thing to her. And she does not recoil, even when the reptilian eyes skirt along the shape of his bloodstained mouth. She does not know the meaning of fear, Altar. She does not know the specific taste of it. The pulse picks up in the cavern of her chest, the heart thumping greedy against its ribbed cage, but it has nothing at all to do with fear. How specific this particular brand of excitement.
An angel. “Yes,” she whispers, so sweet. Takes a small step closer to him, casting his peculiar face in that cosmic glow. She tilts her fine head and studies him. How terribly strange and wonderful he is.
“What are you?” she echoes, so gently that she barely asks it at all. All an act, of course, for she is every bit the hunter he is. But there is no need for him to know that. No, let him go on thinking she is an angel.
@[fierte]