06-08-2021, 03:11 PM
Galadriel always feels as if she, or something, is tearing out of her skin. As if her rage is a child and she might give in and die to some bloody birth. And standing here so furiously before Reave, it's not her anger that is scratching viciously at her skin, no. It's not anger, nor sadness, nor some bratty instinct. And yet it has claws just as razor-sharp, teeth just as big, a mind just as quick. Rel shifts uncomfortably with the force of it, chin tilted up in what she hopes is indignation (but is really some flirtatious lilt, a showing of her neck, a tease of how her jugular pulses quickly with her heartbeat). She doesn't know what it means to want something, not like this, but when the thought of pressing her mouth to Reave's exposed bone arrives with serious intrusiveness, Rel can't be rid of it.
And she lives in denial of how she likes the way it feels: crawling up her throat, bursting in her chest, throbbing in her joints.
It's when Reave touches her that the creature finally breaks through.
The attraction starts softly, like a chick from an egg. First a beak, then a single eye, then a claw through a separate hole. Rel feels the numbing, calming sensation flood every artery, every vein, every capillary. Her muscles loosen, her jaw slacks, her eyelids grow heavy. He knows her so well because of their shared power, their crossed paths; and because Galadriel rarely meets someone that so easily matches her strength.
"Perhaps one day I can turn this rage into true armor," she murmurs, tilting her head up again, blinking once, then twice, and offering the ghost of a smile. She feels her pride creep away and curl up, like a docile, napping kitten. "I am many things, too, though too often I am only rage." Rel pauses, looks away, gulps. She isn't sure if she is ready to admit anything else.
"What else are you?" the question just above a whisper, so very secretive, like Galadriel knows she shouldn't be prying. She reaches out, now, spurred on by the lack of sensation in her skin. Reave's bone is smooth on her lips, cool. Rel doesn't want to pull away.
@[Reave]
And she lives in denial of how she likes the way it feels: crawling up her throat, bursting in her chest, throbbing in her joints.
It's when Reave touches her that the creature finally breaks through.
The attraction starts softly, like a chick from an egg. First a beak, then a single eye, then a claw through a separate hole. Rel feels the numbing, calming sensation flood every artery, every vein, every capillary. Her muscles loosen, her jaw slacks, her eyelids grow heavy. He knows her so well because of their shared power, their crossed paths; and because Galadriel rarely meets someone that so easily matches her strength.
"Perhaps one day I can turn this rage into true armor," she murmurs, tilting her head up again, blinking once, then twice, and offering the ghost of a smile. She feels her pride creep away and curl up, like a docile, napping kitten. "I am many things, too, though too often I am only rage." Rel pauses, looks away, gulps. She isn't sure if she is ready to admit anything else.
"What else are you?" the question just above a whisper, so very secretive, like Galadriel knows she shouldn't be prying. She reaches out, now, spurred on by the lack of sensation in her skin. Reave's bone is smooth on her lips, cool. Rel doesn't want to pull away.
@[Reave]