I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
The worry that she might chase him away, might send him packing (which he rightly deserves for what he’s done), fades with her soft "Always.” There is also a strange relief that Obsidio is not with her, the boy who he already owes a massive debt. For a moment he fears that perhaps the colt had been lost too but his scent is strongly mingled with hers and he bites back his alarm, knowing she would have found him if things had gotten worse. As he comes closer, she reaches for him and he does not pull away from the soft touch that lingers against his neck. He tries to find comfort in it but all he feels is the same self-loathing that’s been following him everywhere he goes. When she speaks again, he is still beside her, but inside he winces at his stupid question. Of course she wasn’t ok. How could she be?
She moves closer and his eyes close as she rests her cheek against him, settling beneath the crook of his neck. He drapes his head over hers, trying to find some relief from the heavy weight of guilt that he carries, but it continues to evade him. Obsidio is with her family (where are these relatives, why has he never asked her?) she says quietly, easing away the lingering worry that something had happened. He simply moves his head a little, a nod, above her. Not needing to see the grief on her face to know what she means.
There had been no time to collect his thoughts, no time to mourn his grief. There had been nothing but anger and unrelenting hunger, the continious tasks awaiting for him from the growing territory, the pressure that was mounting regarding the decisions he had made (for better or worse) in the political game he had inserted himself in. But as she speaks, he can feel his muscles flexing and tightening against her. Bracing himself for what was to come. Revna.
Obscene has never cried. Not once. Not even as a child when his parents had disappeared, not when he had been teased and harassed, not even out of happiness. Not once. He had learned very quickly to not appear weaker than he already had been (mortal, trait-less) and so he had learned to seal his emotions somewhere they wouldn’t disturb him. A place deep inside of himself where they were trapped and dormant. He had thought having a heart of stone would serve him better in life for what could feelings do but bounce off a boulder? Then Cheri had taught him what it had felt like to hate and the flames of his hatred had felt better than the coldness of stone around his withered neglected heart. So he allowed anger to seep in, enjoyed the warmth of it, and thought it was all he would ever need.
He hadn’t realized that by letting in one, the rest of them would follow. Slowly, oozing out of that dark pit he had made for himself. She tells him of the grave she had managed to construct for their daughter and he can feel that sharp shredding at his chest as he grits his teeth, a muscle jumping in his dark jaw. And when she asks him how he is, what comes out isn’t something he planned on saying at all. “I’m sorry.” Two strangled whispered words with no wriggle room in their truth. He’s never meant anything more. He is sorry that she had buried her alone, that she had been left to clean up his mess, that he hadn’t been able to save their child, that he had lost control. He was sorry for failing them both. He was sorry for the monster he had become. His face remains dry when he pulls back to look at her but the pain and regret is there, shimmering in those dark conflicted eyes despite the hard expression on his face. There are some things that even he can’t hide from ghosts and she is one of them.
He looks at her and realizes that he has never truly been vicious with her, had never really had a desire to cut her down, and all he can wonder is why. The same with Aela, now that he reflects on it. Why was that? When had he started feeling so much? When did he start to care who he hurt or not?
She moves closer and his eyes close as she rests her cheek against him, settling beneath the crook of his neck. He drapes his head over hers, trying to find some relief from the heavy weight of guilt that he carries, but it continues to evade him. Obsidio is with her family (where are these relatives, why has he never asked her?) she says quietly, easing away the lingering worry that something had happened. He simply moves his head a little, a nod, above her. Not needing to see the grief on her face to know what she means.
There had been no time to collect his thoughts, no time to mourn his grief. There had been nothing but anger and unrelenting hunger, the continious tasks awaiting for him from the growing territory, the pressure that was mounting regarding the decisions he had made (for better or worse) in the political game he had inserted himself in. But as she speaks, he can feel his muscles flexing and tightening against her. Bracing himself for what was to come. Revna.
Obscene has never cried. Not once. Not even as a child when his parents had disappeared, not when he had been teased and harassed, not even out of happiness. Not once. He had learned very quickly to not appear weaker than he already had been (mortal, trait-less) and so he had learned to seal his emotions somewhere they wouldn’t disturb him. A place deep inside of himself where they were trapped and dormant. He had thought having a heart of stone would serve him better in life for what could feelings do but bounce off a boulder? Then Cheri had taught him what it had felt like to hate and the flames of his hatred had felt better than the coldness of stone around his withered neglected heart. So he allowed anger to seep in, enjoyed the warmth of it, and thought it was all he would ever need.
He hadn’t realized that by letting in one, the rest of them would follow. Slowly, oozing out of that dark pit he had made for himself. She tells him of the grave she had managed to construct for their daughter and he can feel that sharp shredding at his chest as he grits his teeth, a muscle jumping in his dark jaw. And when she asks him how he is, what comes out isn’t something he planned on saying at all. “I’m sorry.” Two strangled whispered words with no wriggle room in their truth. He’s never meant anything more. He is sorry that she had buried her alone, that she had been left to clean up his mess, that he hadn’t been able to save their child, that he had lost control. He was sorry for failing them both. He was sorry for the monster he had become. His face remains dry when he pulls back to look at her but the pain and regret is there, shimmering in those dark conflicted eyes despite the hard expression on his face. There are some things that even he can’t hide from ghosts and she is one of them.
He looks at her and realizes that he has never truly been vicious with her, had never really had a desire to cut her down, and all he can wonder is why. The same with Aela, now that he reflects on it. Why was that? When had he started feeling so much? When did he start to care who he hurt or not?
obscene
@revelrie
![[Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTkjKh9Q/Obscene-Pixel.png){kind=tracking}