02-24-2021, 01:33 AM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She doesn’t flinch away from him as he pushes himself closer, but she finds it impossible to meet his gaze. Her eyes are on the ground, and then to the injury she had just healed, and across the familiar gray of his wings with feathers that stir faintly with his movements, but she does not meet his eyes again. There is a tension in her jaw, not out of anger, but because she is afraid if she were to open her mouth all of her emotions will spill out of her tongue, uncontrolled.
“Ashhal,” she finally manages, and she is almost afraid of saying his name, afraid that he thinks she no longer has the right to say it. It doesn’t even taste familiar anymore; it feels strange in her mouth, as if she has not said it a hundred times before. He feels like a stranger, and she wonders what point she would have to rewind to to fix it all. “I promise, I never said that to you. I would never say that to you.”
Her eyes finally flicker to his face at the crude word he chooses, and she can feel the shame that crawls up her neck and to her cheeks. It’s not because he said the word, but more so because she is not sure, exactly, who he is talking about. Her romantic trysts have never been a secret. She has not hidden that part of herself from anyone, she did not pretend to be pure or moral—she was a disaster, usually, and since she could not destroy the hearts of those she loved she always destroyed her own. But it did not make having it flung back at her hurt any less. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” she finally says dimly, her chin drawn toward her chest, and a long forelock shields her eyes until the tears that brimmed the edges like a ring of stars are forced away.
She does not look back at him until he says Carnage’s name, and the sound of it causes her heart to seize inside of her chest. The way her eyes suddenly snap to his face, the confusion but also the curiosity that reads like a map right across her face; she tries to wipe it away, but she cannot hide her suspicion when she asks, “What do you mean he made you think you and I could be happy?” She doesn’t think Ashhal is lying, and there are parts of it that sound like something Carnage would do, but it feels like there are pieces missing.
It didn’t seem likely that Carnage singled Ashhal out just to destroy their relationship, but she had learned a long time ago to not try to predict or rationalize the things that he does.
“I’m sorry,” she says at last, even though she isn’t sure what she is apologizing for. She is sorry he is so angry at her, sorry he is hurt, sorry that he somehow got caught in one of Carnage’s many twisted games. Sorry that she destroyed something without even trying.
There is a long pause, and a moment where she flinches as if she is going to leave it at that and walk away. Her wings cling to her sides, and the glow of her halo throws shadows across her face. But she does not go, because she has never been able to be the first to walk away. Instead she just shakes her head, looks to the ground between them and whispers, “You should know me better. You should know me well enough to know I would never do any of the things you’ve been accusing me of.”
“Ashhal,” she finally manages, and she is almost afraid of saying his name, afraid that he thinks she no longer has the right to say it. It doesn’t even taste familiar anymore; it feels strange in her mouth, as if she has not said it a hundred times before. He feels like a stranger, and she wonders what point she would have to rewind to to fix it all. “I promise, I never said that to you. I would never say that to you.”
Her eyes finally flicker to his face at the crude word he chooses, and she can feel the shame that crawls up her neck and to her cheeks. It’s not because he said the word, but more so because she is not sure, exactly, who he is talking about. Her romantic trysts have never been a secret. She has not hidden that part of herself from anyone, she did not pretend to be pure or moral—she was a disaster, usually, and since she could not destroy the hearts of those she loved she always destroyed her own. But it did not make having it flung back at her hurt any less. “I’m not sure who you’re talking about,” she finally says dimly, her chin drawn toward her chest, and a long forelock shields her eyes until the tears that brimmed the edges like a ring of stars are forced away.
She does not look back at him until he says Carnage’s name, and the sound of it causes her heart to seize inside of her chest. The way her eyes suddenly snap to his face, the confusion but also the curiosity that reads like a map right across her face; she tries to wipe it away, but she cannot hide her suspicion when she asks, “What do you mean he made you think you and I could be happy?” She doesn’t think Ashhal is lying, and there are parts of it that sound like something Carnage would do, but it feels like there are pieces missing.
It didn’t seem likely that Carnage singled Ashhal out just to destroy their relationship, but she had learned a long time ago to not try to predict or rationalize the things that he does.
“I’m sorry,” she says at last, even though she isn’t sure what she is apologizing for. She is sorry he is so angry at her, sorry he is hurt, sorry that he somehow got caught in one of Carnage’s many twisted games. Sorry that she destroyed something without even trying.
There is a long pause, and a moment where she flinches as if she is going to leave it at that and walk away. Her wings cling to her sides, and the glow of her halo throws shadows across her face. But she does not go, because she has never been able to be the first to walk away. Instead she just shakes her head, looks to the ground between them and whispers, “You should know me better. You should know me well enough to know I would never do any of the things you’ve been accusing me of.”
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
@[Ashhal]