05-10-2020, 07:31 PM
all i want is to flip a switch
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
She lives among the constellations of his memories, a star in a sea of speckled light - though perhaps hers is brighter than some. Their meeting had been such a strange one, and maybe that alone is enough to make her remarkable, to hold her aloft in his strange galaxies. But he never expected to see her again, certainly never expected her voice to find him in his shadows with words the shape of, I was looking for you.
His jaw tightens, every inch of his body tenses, and his dark eyes snap to hers. And at once, he is greeted by a strange kind of impasse where part of him thinks he should pretend not to recognize her, and the other part of him whispers a quiet kind of delight.
It leaves him with a strange kind of grimace while his eyes unfocus so subtly and his mind recalls their previous encounter.
He had gone into Tephra to answer the cry of war - and not because he was valiant, or for some inner moral compass, but because there is such dark in war and such dark in him. He will never not crave chaos. So he had gone for a sense of self fulfillment, to please the roil in his belly and the shadows that live wild beneath his skin.
But instead he had found her. And yes, for a moment he had wanted to kill her, had gone as far as to unleash the darkness in his heart and allow the shadows to wrap around the curve of such a delicate throat. But there had been a still-damp babe, and, though he specifically tried not to notice, something painfully gentle in the way her unseeing eyes had searched for him through the eternal dark. It is still strange to him that he had chosen them over the burn of wild war, chosen to bring them through the haze of fire and living vicious dark and into his own home.
He blinks, and a scowl warps the shape of his brow, though it is mostly hidden beneath the dark of a heavy forelock. But there’s an almost gentle curiosity in the backs of those dark eyes as he takes her in. The voice is still the same, ethereally gentle, ethereally curious, and she is still the color of sun-bleached bone with eyes as dark as night. But she has wings now, white and shining gold, and his own delight in this, lifting in that arrogant way of wings to be noticed by hers.
“Oh really?” He asks, shrugging and stepping close enough to notice that beautiful glow and the halo ringing her delicate ears in golden light. “Tell me, what use does an angel have for a demon like me.” His eyes wander quietly to the shadows wrapped gently around her throat again.
His jaw tightens, every inch of his body tenses, and his dark eyes snap to hers. And at once, he is greeted by a strange kind of impasse where part of him thinks he should pretend not to recognize her, and the other part of him whispers a quiet kind of delight.
It leaves him with a strange kind of grimace while his eyes unfocus so subtly and his mind recalls their previous encounter.
He had gone into Tephra to answer the cry of war - and not because he was valiant, or for some inner moral compass, but because there is such dark in war and such dark in him. He will never not crave chaos. So he had gone for a sense of self fulfillment, to please the roil in his belly and the shadows that live wild beneath his skin.
But instead he had found her. And yes, for a moment he had wanted to kill her, had gone as far as to unleash the darkness in his heart and allow the shadows to wrap around the curve of such a delicate throat. But there had been a still-damp babe, and, though he specifically tried not to notice, something painfully gentle in the way her unseeing eyes had searched for him through the eternal dark. It is still strange to him that he had chosen them over the burn of wild war, chosen to bring them through the haze of fire and living vicious dark and into his own home.
He blinks, and a scowl warps the shape of his brow, though it is mostly hidden beneath the dark of a heavy forelock. But there’s an almost gentle curiosity in the backs of those dark eyes as he takes her in. The voice is still the same, ethereally gentle, ethereally curious, and she is still the color of sun-bleached bone with eyes as dark as night. But she has wings now, white and shining gold, and his own delight in this, lifting in that arrogant way of wings to be noticed by hers.
“Oh really?” He asks, shrugging and stepping close enough to notice that beautiful glow and the halo ringing her delicate ears in golden light. “Tell me, what use does an angel have for a demon like me.” His eyes wander quietly to the shadows wrapped gently around her throat again.
Illum