draco
It seems as if Draco cannot decide if the two are divine are hellish. Surely Despoina is of the fires below, with her supernatural wolf’s form, but all the demon-boy can see is the sparkle of the light as it glows on her coat. He smiles a quiet, small way, brilliant eyes drinking in the chance encounter that has blessed him.
“Yes, you do,” he counters, when she admits she has nothing to say. It is impossible that she has nothing to say to him, not when a million ideas are orbiting around just Despoina’s existence. Draco cannot fathom that another may not feel exactly as he does, not when he feels this strongly, not when he feels this possessively. Some small part of him knows he is crossing an unspoken boundary; still, he is too young to know what that boundary is, and he may even grow up to never fully understand the feelings he wants to birth inside of the hellhound girl.
The universe falls into place when she whispers her name. “Despoina,” Draco parrots, eyes glimmering with prophecies and fantasies and everything in between. The line between reality and his endless and mesmerizing thoughts begins to blur. He likes the way her name sounds so different coming out of his mouth, so much more confident and possessive than her.
Like her name is his to give. Like she does not know she belongs without another placing her.
“I know you have plenty to say, Despoina, wolf-girl. I can see it in your mind. Tell me what I can’t see.”
“Yes, you do,” he counters, when she admits she has nothing to say. It is impossible that she has nothing to say to him, not when a million ideas are orbiting around just Despoina’s existence. Draco cannot fathom that another may not feel exactly as he does, not when he feels this strongly, not when he feels this possessively. Some small part of him knows he is crossing an unspoken boundary; still, he is too young to know what that boundary is, and he may even grow up to never fully understand the feelings he wants to birth inside of the hellhound girl.
The universe falls into place when she whispers her name. “Despoina,” Draco parrots, eyes glimmering with prophecies and fantasies and everything in between. The line between reality and his endless and mesmerizing thoughts begins to blur. He likes the way her name sounds so different coming out of his mouth, so much more confident and possessive than her.
Like her name is his to give. Like she does not know she belongs without another placing her.
“I know you have plenty to say, Despoina, wolf-girl. I can see it in your mind. Tell me what I can’t see.”
don't take it to heart
@[despoina]
hitch a ride on my violence