02-16-2021, 01:39 AM
choke them on the ashes of the dreams they burned
There is a moment where he thinks he is going to fight her.
He imagines them clashing, hellhound and hell-shadow, and he wonders if he could actually bring himself to do it. He has attacked others before, but never anyone once he has learned their name. But to attack her, that would be something else entirely. She is not a stranger, and not a passerby that he has used for idle conversation as he stirs and toys with their emotions until he is full.
She is the girl that haunts his days and his nights, the one that makes him wish he could just for once not be the monster he has become.
He would never forgive himself for lashing at her. He doesn’t see how he could. He has hurt her before, on accident; he knows he has left a mark on her heart that never should have existed, and he knows he should have tried harder to heal it. Instead he had run, he had let himself think that by leaving her, he was doing her a favor.
With their nearly matching red eyes locked on each other, both their hackles raised and teeth eager to sink into something, he realizes the full weight of what he has done.
Seamlessly, he shifts back.
The shadows roll and twist, his strange skeleton clicking into place until he is equine again, or as equine as he will ever be. “You’re right,” he tells her, his voice quiet, almost defeated. Holding her in his gaze he does something that he rarely does; something that he might regret, but he is so desperate to tame that anger in her eyes, even just a little. Very carefully and subtly he begins to drain the anger from her—nothing too drastic, just enough to hopefully persuade her from still wanting to attack. He doesn't consume any of it, either. He lets it all spill into the air and the ground, lets it dissolve and fade away.
He does not take the hurt or the sorrow; he leaves it because he knows he has no right to use his power to take them from her. He had caused it, and he would not allow himself the easy way out.
“I’m sorry, Despoina. And I would do anything to get you to forgive me.” Involuntarily he steps forward, but he stops himself, afraid of angering her again, afraid of making her leave. “Tell me. Tell me what it would take, and I'll do it.”
He imagines them clashing, hellhound and hell-shadow, and he wonders if he could actually bring himself to do it. He has attacked others before, but never anyone once he has learned their name. But to attack her, that would be something else entirely. She is not a stranger, and not a passerby that he has used for idle conversation as he stirs and toys with their emotions until he is full.
She is the girl that haunts his days and his nights, the one that makes him wish he could just for once not be the monster he has become.
He would never forgive himself for lashing at her. He doesn’t see how he could. He has hurt her before, on accident; he knows he has left a mark on her heart that never should have existed, and he knows he should have tried harder to heal it. Instead he had run, he had let himself think that by leaving her, he was doing her a favor.
With their nearly matching red eyes locked on each other, both their hackles raised and teeth eager to sink into something, he realizes the full weight of what he has done.
Seamlessly, he shifts back.
The shadows roll and twist, his strange skeleton clicking into place until he is equine again, or as equine as he will ever be. “You’re right,” he tells her, his voice quiet, almost defeated. Holding her in his gaze he does something that he rarely does; something that he might regret, but he is so desperate to tame that anger in her eyes, even just a little. Very carefully and subtly he begins to drain the anger from her—nothing too drastic, just enough to hopefully persuade her from still wanting to attack. He doesn't consume any of it, either. He lets it all spill into the air and the ground, lets it dissolve and fade away.
He does not take the hurt or the sorrow; he leaves it because he knows he has no right to use his power to take them from her. He had caused it, and he would not allow himself the easy way out.
“I’m sorry, Despoina. And I would do anything to get you to forgive me.” Involuntarily he steps forward, but he stops himself, afraid of angering her again, afraid of making her leave. “Tell me. Tell me what it would take, and I'll do it.”
torryn
