i will be brutal
Sometimes he wakes up, in the hours before the sun has even begun to rise over the horizon, and he is quietly relieved that she is still there beside him. Maybe that’s why he always finds her like this. Maybe it’s because she holds no expectations for him even when she knows she could get cut on the bloodthirsty curve of his fangs. In fact, Larva thinks he could go for her throat right now and she’d still let him come crawling back after. It’s enough to make him want to be kind to her, to put her back together when he’s not the one who broke her in the first place.
A smile makes its way across Anonya’s face and he’s surprised at how much he likes that. How long has it been since someone was glad to see him? He lowers his head and thinks of kissing her when his lips brush across the crown of her head. He thinks of it, but it feels too much like a pitiful offering of winter fruit on a marble altar. She’s better off without it marring the pristine perfection of her skin.
The wild sage green of his eyes does not dart from her gaze when she glances up at him. His stare is perverse, but it is framed in adoration also - a quiet worship in the hollows of his mind.
“You can’t bother me. Few things can,” he assures her as he rests his forehead briefly against hers. And it’s true, that there is precious little in this world that troubles him. The majority of these things are his own thoughts, however. Larva has always made it a point to give no one the pleasure of getting under his skin in that way.
“What has you feeling restless?” he asks, his smoldering gaze revealing nothing of his thoughts. His face, cold and carved from stone, neither frowns nor smiles, but he does press his lips to her brow at last.
A smile makes its way across Anonya’s face and he’s surprised at how much he likes that. How long has it been since someone was glad to see him? He lowers his head and thinks of kissing her when his lips brush across the crown of her head. He thinks of it, but it feels too much like a pitiful offering of winter fruit on a marble altar. She’s better off without it marring the pristine perfection of her skin.
The wild sage green of his eyes does not dart from her gaze when she glances up at him. His stare is perverse, but it is framed in adoration also - a quiet worship in the hollows of his mind.
“You can’t bother me. Few things can,” he assures her as he rests his forehead briefly against hers. And it’s true, that there is precious little in this world that troubles him. The majority of these things are his own thoughts, however. Larva has always made it a point to give no one the pleasure of getting under his skin in that way.
“What has you feeling restless?” he asks, his smoldering gaze revealing nothing of his thoughts. His face, cold and carved from stone, neither frowns nor smiles, but he does press his lips to her brow at last.
@[Anonya]