04-19-2021, 04:26 PM
The light that meets the dark
Winds, she was a fool to think that anything could’ve swayed him. To think that standing up to him would break his confidence, that the soft steadiness of her tone would humble a creature beyond the ability to be humbled. Who the blazes did she take herself for? A threat? How could she ever be a threat to someone like him? And it’s so obvious to her; he’s perfectly composed and she’d been falling apart, tearing at the seams from a little goading. He had her right where he wanted her, and she was the prey caught in the grasp of his taunting. It truly, honestly made her want to scream and Cheri hadn’t felt like screaming since she’d fallen through that portal on the mountain and plummeted through the gullet of a shadow monster to an early death. She hadn’t felt like screaming when Memorie had told her Lilliana had died, hadn’t cried over the thought of her mother never returning home again.
But he makes her feel so much. It’s unbearable.
Half of her wants to pop the indignation off his smug face with a well-aimed kick. The other half wants him to — “No, not that.” She stopped herself from thinking it, breathing heavily through the rain until her gasps came out as curling wisps of foggy smoke. They stand opposite one another and Cheri wants to invade his space the same way he seems to have invaded her thoughts, and for a second she wants him to overpower her because at least that would be better than empty threats. She actually thinks he might, and her whole body is tensed to the possibility of that happening when he moves toward her. “I should be afraid...” She realizes somewhere in the back of her mind, but her eyes are focused on the oily sheen of his water-slicked coat and how it betrays his larger bulk and strength.
If he were to take her right now, there’s very little Cheri could do to stop him.
So she slings a threat of her own, and it shatters the moment apart.
His disappointment in herself is a mirror of her own self-loathing, though Cheri would rather die a second death than admit it aloud. It’s too late to retract the statement anyways; time always marches on, regardless. “I’m no judge of character, sir.” She spat back on the level, finding her rhythm again by reminding herself of her worth. He is a strange flame, a dangerous sort of animal for her to continue playing with, but she’s equally as hopeful that the moment from before might return. It twists her gut in strange ways, so that she considers him not as a thing but as a possibility instead. “He should be so lucky to touch you.” She tries (and fails) to convince herself. “It would entirely depend on your actions, and my response to them.” She swallowed some of her pithy, and the reaction was that her body softened and her ears lifted, slowly.
Cheri found it impossible to look away from the rim of crimson light that gave expression to his face. Those eyes… She felt their heat and relied on them rather than the sneer she could just barely make out through the rain. She wondered if her own were just as telling, and then blinked at the thought, embarrassed.
“You either are, or you aren’t.” Her chin rose. “So show me. I’m ready whenever you are, devil.”
But he makes her feel so much. It’s unbearable.
Half of her wants to pop the indignation off his smug face with a well-aimed kick. The other half wants him to — “No, not that.” She stopped herself from thinking it, breathing heavily through the rain until her gasps came out as curling wisps of foggy smoke. They stand opposite one another and Cheri wants to invade his space the same way he seems to have invaded her thoughts, and for a second she wants him to overpower her because at least that would be better than empty threats. She actually thinks he might, and her whole body is tensed to the possibility of that happening when he moves toward her. “I should be afraid...” She realizes somewhere in the back of her mind, but her eyes are focused on the oily sheen of his water-slicked coat and how it betrays his larger bulk and strength.
If he were to take her right now, there’s very little Cheri could do to stop him.
So she slings a threat of her own, and it shatters the moment apart.
His disappointment in herself is a mirror of her own self-loathing, though Cheri would rather die a second death than admit it aloud. It’s too late to retract the statement anyways; time always marches on, regardless. “I’m no judge of character, sir.” She spat back on the level, finding her rhythm again by reminding herself of her worth. He is a strange flame, a dangerous sort of animal for her to continue playing with, but she’s equally as hopeful that the moment from before might return. It twists her gut in strange ways, so that she considers him not as a thing but as a possibility instead. “He should be so lucky to touch you.” She tries (and fails) to convince herself. “It would entirely depend on your actions, and my response to them.” She swallowed some of her pithy, and the reaction was that her body softened and her ears lifted, slowly.
Cheri found it impossible to look away from the rim of crimson light that gave expression to his face. Those eyes… She felt their heat and relied on them rather than the sneer she could just barely make out through the rain. She wondered if her own were just as telling, and then blinked at the thought, embarrassed.
“You either are, or you aren’t.” Her chin rose. “So show me. I’m ready whenever you are, devil.”
@[Obscene]