we all believe in something that'll rip us into shreds; laura pony

[firion]

that day even the sun was afraid of you and the weight you carried

The wretched thing in him rises in response to the wretched thing in her—reaches for it, perhaps, in the way that magnets always find their home. Something sizzles in the air like a summer storm and his hair stands up on end. It is invigorating in the way that fear can be—in the way of fury and lust and hate. He drinks it deep and lets it fill his belly, gouging himself on the pureness of those white-hot emotions.

When she finally speaks, he laughs—cannot stop the way it escapes him so quickly.

It is deep and rolling and real and he savors that.

“I always look tired,” he admits with a casual shrug, his gravely voice scraping against his tongue. “I spent a lot of years being dead instead of being asleep.” He wonders why he confesses that kind of truth to her when he barely admitted it to himself, but something tells him that she can take it. That perhaps she has stared into the face of death as often as he has. That she has seen the light go out more than once.

Silence stretches between them again, pulled taut by each second that passes.

He stares at her, unabashed and unafraid, studying the sharp angles of her face. The way she seemed to be chiseled out of storm. He feels his shadow companion wind itself around his legs but he doesn’t shrug it off. Instead he lets it slide up his shoulder and come to rest on his back, nearly purring with pleasure.

“You look…” his voice trails off as he tries to find the right word for it.

“Angry.”

He wrinkles his nose.

“No, not that,” he considers it once more before finally saying:

“Fractured.”

so you saluted every ghost you've ever prayed to and then buried it where bones are buried

@[Cordis]