you have forsaken all the love you've taken
sleeping on a razor there's nowhere left to fall
He is familiar with the type of girl he is certain she fancies herself to be. The kind attracted to the darkness; the opposite of a moth to a flame, pulling away from the light and drawn instead to all things cold and empty.
She was the kind of girl he would have liked to break, once, but the game had lost its appeal in this new lifetime. Aurorae was not a plaything; not the way others have been. She was too equally matched, too cunning to fall for anything he might try to use against her. It could be said that perhaps she sated his desire for anyone else, and maybe that is why he can look at this golden girl with flowers woven in her hair and not be tempted to make her unravel.
“Bardot,” he repeats her name, acknowledging that he heard, though his tone is disinterested and his gaze still elsewhere. He has never been good at conversation or small talk, and he can feel his skin starting to crawl beneath his armor, his muscles twitching. Unbidden, his mind travels back to how he used to be, to the unleashed beast that he was before he had died. He was not the cruelest that Beqanna had ever seen, not by a longshot. Yet, though earth did not shudder at the sight of him, he had made sure that a select few learned what it meant to tremble beneath him. He is far from being free of sin; he knew the taste of it, knew what it meant steal innocence, or to watch the blood drain from a cracked skull.
He wondered, as his irritation tried to find the oxygen needed to ignite, when he had become so content to smolder rather than actually burn.
Finally, he turns his shadowed eyes back to hers, a sharp smile cutting his mouth as he says simply, “The answer is still no.” He turns to face her now, fully, before taking a handful of purposeful strides towards her. The impossible dark brown of his eyes, further deepened by the black-stone armor settled across his face, make no effort to hide the way he scans her face, as though looking for something—perhaps appreciating the simple beauty of a woman standing before him, or perhaps searching for a crack to slip through. “You’re alone,” he observes, and says nothing else.
Dacian
your body's aching, every bone is breaking
nothing seems to shake it, it just keeps holding on
@Bardot