12-26-2020, 08:19 PM
give my all to watch you fall
“You’re right,” she says, the tail end of the growl a pleasant vibration on her tongue. She hasn’t tried to bend to normalcy until recently, not until after the fire turned her to ashes which then reassembled and reattached her body to her soul. There had been something about dying that had given her the desire to look inside herself for the first time. She had thought death was her punishment for living a selfish, solitary life. She had thought that this second life was a chance for redemption at the expense of her own freedom. But becoming alive again stoked a new fire within her, too. She rebels against her self-made bonds at every turn.
Today is no different.
Back on Ischia, her family waits. That sweet, sweet man that had given her children that she never wanted waits on the island shores to try to appease her and make things simpler. But things with Titanya will never be simple; nothing will ever be straight-forward, as well-intentioned as any might be. She loves them – dangerously so – but she cannot and will not forsake her wildness for the chains they would bind her with. Rapt here is easier. Rapt shivers like the prey he is, and the tigress knows all too well how to handle things that are inherently weaker than she.
“Maybe a ghost, then?” If he wants less tangible, she will oblige him yet again. Her own density decreases all over and she feels lighter, insubstantial, like the air around them. She moves so close to the stallion that she can see the individual lashes curling away from his eyes, can see her own wispy reflection in his gaze. Then she steps forward through him and out the other side. There is no chill, however, when she passes harmlessly through his body. She is no ghost, only a woman that does not know her own limits. A woman that sees the lines she shouldn’t walk across and bounds over them anyway.
Titanya curls back around, comes to full density again, wonders if the champagne-haired man will still be there when she makes the turn.
To her surprise, he is. She wonders what he has seen to be so unmoved by her stunts. She relents, at least long enough to answer him. “Hunting is power and the exchange of it,” she says, as her eyes soften from their predatory glare. “Hunting is being stronger, faster, and smarter than your target.” An elk in the woods, a rabbit in the brush, a stranger in the meadow. “Hunting is a pleasure, but killing is a necessary side-effect.” Some like to draw it out, she wagers. Some revel in the slow anguish of life-force bleeding out instead of ending the suffering. She may be a thing borne for the rough and ragged places of the world, but she follows the rules of the wild. “Don’t worry though, I make it quick.” She smiles again. "When I'm hunting, that is."
Today is no different.
Back on Ischia, her family waits. That sweet, sweet man that had given her children that she never wanted waits on the island shores to try to appease her and make things simpler. But things with Titanya will never be simple; nothing will ever be straight-forward, as well-intentioned as any might be. She loves them – dangerously so – but she cannot and will not forsake her wildness for the chains they would bind her with. Rapt here is easier. Rapt shivers like the prey he is, and the tigress knows all too well how to handle things that are inherently weaker than she.
“Maybe a ghost, then?” If he wants less tangible, she will oblige him yet again. Her own density decreases all over and she feels lighter, insubstantial, like the air around them. She moves so close to the stallion that she can see the individual lashes curling away from his eyes, can see her own wispy reflection in his gaze. Then she steps forward through him and out the other side. There is no chill, however, when she passes harmlessly through his body. She is no ghost, only a woman that does not know her own limits. A woman that sees the lines she shouldn’t walk across and bounds over them anyway.
Titanya curls back around, comes to full density again, wonders if the champagne-haired man will still be there when she makes the turn.
To her surprise, he is. She wonders what he has seen to be so unmoved by her stunts. She relents, at least long enough to answer him. “Hunting is power and the exchange of it,” she says, as her eyes soften from their predatory glare. “Hunting is being stronger, faster, and smarter than your target.” An elk in the woods, a rabbit in the brush, a stranger in the meadow. “Hunting is a pleasure, but killing is a necessary side-effect.” Some like to draw it out, she wagers. Some revel in the slow anguish of life-force bleeding out instead of ending the suffering. She may be a thing borne for the rough and ragged places of the world, but she follows the rules of the wild. “Don’t worry though, I make it quick.” She smiles again. "When I'm hunting, that is."
@[rapt]