02-15-2021, 11:46 PM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
The emptiness in his voice is almost worse than when it is full of anger. It makes her heart sink, especially when accompanied by the way he suddenly goes still, no longer fighting to get away from her. It was what she had asked for, but maybe it is because she knows that were he healthy and whole he would not be standing here; he would have fled as soon as he decided he didn’t wish to speak with her.
He only stays when he has to, when he has no other option.
She doesn’t answer him at first. Closing the space between them she is silent, and she is careful to keep her eyes averted from his face. She cannot remember the last time she was this close to him, or the last time they had even touched. He has been pushing her away for so long it seemed impossible there had ever been a time he was someone she would walk up to and simply touch, and not be afraid of the way he would react.
He has rejected her more than anyone, and in ways that are so thorough that even she, the one with the heart so foolish it tried to love the most unlovable of things, had given up.
Her nose brushes along the familiar arc of his neck, the golden threads of healing gently wrapping their way around him. “Why would I not want to try?” she finally answers, her voice impossibly quiet from where her lips now rest on his shoulder, finishing up with the worst of the wounds. There are claw marks across his skin, but she notices the strangeness of the gaping hole—like something had dug its way out rather than burrowed in. Curiosity burns on her tongue, but his anger has returned, and with the healing complete she finds herself shying backward.
“Sent you here?” she asks, the bruise just as evident in her words as it is in the expression on her face. She can feel age-old frustration and desperation building inside of her; again wondering how one man could possibly be so stubborn and stupid. “I have never done anything to purposely hurt you, Ashhal. I tried to love you and you made it clear you weren’t interested.” She is trembling now, and she is surprised at the tears she has to fight to keep from filling in her eyes, though their presence is clear in the thickness of her throat. She had thought she was beyond this, thought this hurt had healed and been forgotten long ago. “I’m sorry if you thought I would chase you for the rest of my life.”
He only stays when he has to, when he has no other option.
She doesn’t answer him at first. Closing the space between them she is silent, and she is careful to keep her eyes averted from his face. She cannot remember the last time she was this close to him, or the last time they had even touched. He has been pushing her away for so long it seemed impossible there had ever been a time he was someone she would walk up to and simply touch, and not be afraid of the way he would react.
He has rejected her more than anyone, and in ways that are so thorough that even she, the one with the heart so foolish it tried to love the most unlovable of things, had given up.
Her nose brushes along the familiar arc of his neck, the golden threads of healing gently wrapping their way around him. “Why would I not want to try?” she finally answers, her voice impossibly quiet from where her lips now rest on his shoulder, finishing up with the worst of the wounds. There are claw marks across his skin, but she notices the strangeness of the gaping hole—like something had dug its way out rather than burrowed in. Curiosity burns on her tongue, but his anger has returned, and with the healing complete she finds herself shying backward.
“Sent you here?” she asks, the bruise just as evident in her words as it is in the expression on her face. She can feel age-old frustration and desperation building inside of her; again wondering how one man could possibly be so stubborn and stupid. “I have never done anything to purposely hurt you, Ashhal. I tried to love you and you made it clear you weren’t interested.” She is trembling now, and she is surprised at the tears she has to fight to keep from filling in her eyes, though their presence is clear in the thickness of her throat. She had thought she was beyond this, thought this hurt had healed and been forgotten long ago. “I’m sorry if you thought I would chase you for the rest of my life.”
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
@[Ashhal]