01-26-2020, 03:36 AM
she fell for the idea of him
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
Who taught you, she asks, and it makes her pause. Who had taught her? The king from the jungle had been her first brush with darkness; her first taste of that strange little thrill she got when she was afraid. But when she thinks of everyone that has molded and shaped her into who she was, he is not the first to come to mind. She had been young when he had found her; hardly even an adult. Why is a pretty girl like you alone in the dark? he had asked her, and she hadn’t had an answer. He had been the first to touch her, the first to trace the svelte curves of her body and scrape his teeth across her withers; the first to take a piece of her and make it his.
But that was hardly an ember compared to the wildfires her life consisted of.
It was everyone else that came along in her life – Dhumin, Dog Tag, Trashlip, Eight, and of course, Carnage – that slowly chipped away until she was sculpted into what she had become. They smoothed any edges she might have had, softened her into something pliable; sometimes by breaking, sometimes in much more subtle ways, but they all did it. “Everyone, I guess. It was how I learned to survive, by trying to figure out what they wanted. Or trying to be something they wanted.” There is a short, quiet, laugh though, her gaze sweeping across the afterlife that they stand in when she says, “It doesn’t always work, as you can see.”
There is a shadow of melancholy that crosses her face momentarily at Gail’s last question, and while she isn’t sure which she is referring to – to Dhumin, or the jungle they had come from – it doesn’t matter, because her answer is the same. “No. There’s nothing left for me there.” She’s found new blades to cut herself with, and it had been made incredibly clear to her that some parts of her past wanted to stay there.
For a moment, she falls quiet, but it is evident in the way she watches the black mare that she is thinking; trying to corral her thoughts into something coherent. She speaks, slowly at first, tentative because she is unsure of her boundaries. “I’ve known Carnage a long time, but, you’ve undoubtedly known him longer,” she starts, and there is no ulterior motive to her question other than a vibrant curiosity. “What was he like, when you were younger?”
But that was hardly an ember compared to the wildfires her life consisted of.
It was everyone else that came along in her life – Dhumin, Dog Tag, Trashlip, Eight, and of course, Carnage – that slowly chipped away until she was sculpted into what she had become. They smoothed any edges she might have had, softened her into something pliable; sometimes by breaking, sometimes in much more subtle ways, but they all did it. “Everyone, I guess. It was how I learned to survive, by trying to figure out what they wanted. Or trying to be something they wanted.” There is a short, quiet, laugh though, her gaze sweeping across the afterlife that they stand in when she says, “It doesn’t always work, as you can see.”
There is a shadow of melancholy that crosses her face momentarily at Gail’s last question, and while she isn’t sure which she is referring to – to Dhumin, or the jungle they had come from – it doesn’t matter, because her answer is the same. “No. There’s nothing left for me there.” She’s found new blades to cut herself with, and it had been made incredibly clear to her that some parts of her past wanted to stay there.
For a moment, she falls quiet, but it is evident in the way she watches the black mare that she is thinking; trying to corral her thoughts into something coherent. She speaks, slowly at first, tentative because she is unsure of her boundaries. “I’ve known Carnage a long time, but, you’ve undoubtedly known him longer,” she starts, and there is no ulterior motive to her question other than a vibrant curiosity. “What was he like, when you were younger?”
ryatah