04-11-2015, 09:31 PM
She never feels so vulnerable as when she stands before him, never so fragile as when she is falling into the endlessness of his aching eyes. Even when the magician had gutted her, torn out her bones to build a graveyard, filling her instead with dark magic. Even when her veins had split open wide like gaping mouths, emptying themselves into the cold dirt at her feet. She was sure Caius could hurt her more, worse- and she was equally certain that he wouldn’t, and terrified that he might.
It was in moments like these, fast and fleeting, cold as a falling star, that Else ached for the emptiness of before.
“I’m here.” She whispers back, twisted words from twisted lips. When he shifts, arches his neck imperceptibly against her touch, she is prisoner to the reflexive cringe that slithers the length of her spine. Suddenly it isn’t Caius any more, her stoic friend with the sad eyes, but a splintered memory with sneering yellow teeth and hungry, yawning eyes. His name slips over her tongue like a mouthful of slugs and she chokes on it.
For a heartbeat she balks, staring back at him with horror etched like shadow across the valleys of her pale, distorted face. Hysteria calls to her and it feels like sweet, agonizing bliss – but she knows better. Her lungs rattle and hiss as draws a long breath, her eye sinking to trace the whorls made by the wind against the sand. There is blood in her mouth, warm and bitter – familiar – from where her teeth had clenched so tightly against her tongue.
“Will you tell me about him?” She whispers at last, pulling her gaze from her feet and back to his face, that safe familiar place that unbinds her so. “Tell me about your father.”
It was in moments like these, fast and fleeting, cold as a falling star, that Else ached for the emptiness of before.
“I’m here.” She whispers back, twisted words from twisted lips. When he shifts, arches his neck imperceptibly against her touch, she is prisoner to the reflexive cringe that slithers the length of her spine. Suddenly it isn’t Caius any more, her stoic friend with the sad eyes, but a splintered memory with sneering yellow teeth and hungry, yawning eyes. His name slips over her tongue like a mouthful of slugs and she chokes on it.
For a heartbeat she balks, staring back at him with horror etched like shadow across the valleys of her pale, distorted face. Hysteria calls to her and it feels like sweet, agonizing bliss – but she knows better. Her lungs rattle and hiss as draws a long breath, her eye sinking to trace the whorls made by the wind against the sand. There is blood in her mouth, warm and bitter – familiar – from where her teeth had clenched so tightly against her tongue.
“Will you tell me about him?” She whispers at last, pulling her gaze from her feet and back to his face, that safe familiar place that unbinds her so. “Tell me about your father.”