[mature] blossoming alone over you

[Kensa]

for every tyrant, a tear for the vulnerable
in every lost soul, the bones of a miracle

She is so delicate beside him when she attacks but in her fury she is leviathan. The blows land. Shoulder. Ribs. Her strikes thudding dully against muscle and bone and she doesn’t even notice that he doesn’t fight back. Her blood is loud in her ears as she beats her fists against him, too angry to cry or scream or seek any release beyond this sudden violence. Her right leg long since healed aches nonsensically, the scars feel tight and new.

How sweetly they had always come together, gentle innocents falling in love over brief mountain summers, making love in the embrace of autumn color. Kensa  did her best to return to her life in Hyaline without Litotes but the sweetness had been drawn off and  in its place she found a new beauty in the sharp mountains and fierce alpine landscape. Things were clearer, colder, more real than those apple blossom vignettes of the years before.  

In this knife edge reality kissing him feels as good as breaking him, his lips pliant under her own. She savors the cut of her teeth against his sterling lip, the metallic tang of his blood hits her tongue and turns her stomach but she doesn’t release him until she is ready, until he draws back in and presses his bloodied mouth to her own.

Tell me to fucking leave, Kensa.

“Fuck you.”

Kensa does not draw away, her muzzle pressed alongside his like crossed sabers. She stomps a hind leg and a tear tracks its way over the gold tracery on her outside cheek when her lashes fall over her eyes but she does not shed others. “Fuck you.” She repeats, voice thick. Flicking her chin up Kensa snaps at his jaw and then at the latch of his pale throat. The force behind her teeth not that of love bites she might have placed on his skin in years before. Her lips leave a trace blood behind on creamy fur over the pulse at his throat and  she surges up against him again, her painted chest pressing into the point of his shoulder.

Unable to tell him to leave, impossible for him to stay. There’s nothing else for her to say, no clever dialogue that will heap hot coals upon his head or heal these core deep fractures in their world...But nothing really changes without tectonic shift, mighty mountains to not grow out of small tremors.

The words she breathes against his skin have never sounded as raw or real as they do now. “I love you. Its not the gentle whispers of a heartsick girl but the malediction of a woman scorned.

kensa

for every dreamer, a dream. we're unstoppable with something to believe in.

@[litotes] And then she tears out his jugular with her super sharp horse teeth, and rips his skin off in one tug and wears it forever RIP.