She begins to wear him down, like water against rock until his tolerance becomes grim acceptance. This is a shadow that he cannot shake; cannot begin to admit to himself that he does not want to shake her off because she clings, insistent, to the crags of his hard flesh with her own tantalizing softness and naked vulnerability. Some dim monstrous part of him begs to eat her up in whatever way is possible for him to destroy all that soft sad innocence but another part of him holds him back, keeps the monster at a distance and it looks out of his dark eyes, sometimes, angry and hungry.
He thinks she stares too much, like she can divine in his face all the pitfalls and troubles that led to the here and the now, and the hush of her beside him. Mandan still thinks he ought to bite and kick, act out in all manner of brash hate but he can’t - it just isn’t in him. She is too much like his daughters - all of them, like his lovers, and there comes a tumbling of memories in his mind that is painful to bear and he turns his shadowed face away from her because she is too sweet to behold the abject sorrow that fills his face. He thinks that she should never know a heart as broken as his, but the world will break her heart in two because that is the way of it, like it broke his and nothing, not even a kick or a bite can spare her from it.
Then he thinks, why should he care?
Why should he want to protect her from all the world’s sorrows that it will throw at her?
And he snorts, because she has weakened his resolve by her simple beautiful stubborn persistence. It confounds him, that she remains in his terrible sad presence and dares to look upon his old rough face. He swings his face around to her, his surprise blatant and black like the blaze of anger in his eyes. Mandan cannot think of a single thing to say to her except that she is crazy to think she caught a glimpse of him - he’d been long dead and there was nothing left but the bits of heart that crumbled to dust, and he felt so barren beneath her unwavering (maybe all-seeing) gaze.
“You think you saw something that no longer exists,” he says gruffly, at last.
The tiny whispering spark of wistfulness in her voice is like a punch to his gut and he takes in a sharp breath, the air sucking past his teeth in a slight whistle as she speaks of magma and stars. It sounds too good to be true, too beautiful to behold and if he was a sucker for anything, it was a land as wild and rugged as his face. She almost had him, almost suckered him in with her vision of some place that most likely is the same as any other - something they call home, something that he sees and leaves in the space of a few breaths, never still and never staying, even if he thinks some things were once worth staying for. Except, nothing ever made him stay - not her face, not this face, but the things that come out of his mouth are not designed to drive her away; they are adamant, as hard as he is, but somehow different - she has worn him down, grim acceptance that clouds his face, makes it hazy but less dark somehow. “Show me,” he barks, intrigued but not - it seems like a lie, even to himself, and not - something, her maybe, draws the slimmest glimmer of his old self out, adventurous and brash and charming, but he none of those things now and maybe never was, just delusional and vacant.
He feels empty, exhausted even in the brightness of her bright copper self.
(Like a star that he cannot touch.)
He thinks she stares too much, like she can divine in his face all the pitfalls and troubles that led to the here and the now, and the hush of her beside him. Mandan still thinks he ought to bite and kick, act out in all manner of brash hate but he can’t - it just isn’t in him. She is too much like his daughters - all of them, like his lovers, and there comes a tumbling of memories in his mind that is painful to bear and he turns his shadowed face away from her because she is too sweet to behold the abject sorrow that fills his face. He thinks that she should never know a heart as broken as his, but the world will break her heart in two because that is the way of it, like it broke his and nothing, not even a kick or a bite can spare her from it.
Then he thinks, why should he care?
Why should he want to protect her from all the world’s sorrows that it will throw at her?
And he snorts, because she has weakened his resolve by her simple beautiful stubborn persistence. It confounds him, that she remains in his terrible sad presence and dares to look upon his old rough face. He swings his face around to her, his surprise blatant and black like the blaze of anger in his eyes. Mandan cannot think of a single thing to say to her except that she is crazy to think she caught a glimpse of him - he’d been long dead and there was nothing left but the bits of heart that crumbled to dust, and he felt so barren beneath her unwavering (maybe all-seeing) gaze.
“You think you saw something that no longer exists,” he says gruffly, at last.
The tiny whispering spark of wistfulness in her voice is like a punch to his gut and he takes in a sharp breath, the air sucking past his teeth in a slight whistle as she speaks of magma and stars. It sounds too good to be true, too beautiful to behold and if he was a sucker for anything, it was a land as wild and rugged as his face. She almost had him, almost suckered him in with her vision of some place that most likely is the same as any other - something they call home, something that he sees and leaves in the space of a few breaths, never still and never staying, even if he thinks some things were once worth staying for. Except, nothing ever made him stay - not her face, not this face, but the things that come out of his mouth are not designed to drive her away; they are adamant, as hard as he is, but somehow different - she has worn him down, grim acceptance that clouds his face, makes it hazy but less dark somehow. “Show me,” he barks, intrigued but not - it seems like a lie, even to himself, and not - something, her maybe, draws the slimmest glimmer of his old self out, adventurous and brash and charming, but he none of those things now and maybe never was, just delusional and vacant.
He feels empty, exhausted even in the brightness of her bright copper self.
(Like a star that he cannot touch.)