jamie
03-20-2023, 10:16 PM
jamie
I CAN’T EXACTLY DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
BUT IT’S NOT QUITE RIGHT
He turns at the sound of her voice.
She, too, is a dark thing. (And his assessment has nothing to do with her appearance, though she comes swimming through the shadows as if she is part of them.
Perhaps there is some small moment where he wonders if he has somehow conjured her, too.)
He turns his sharp gaze from her then, casting it beyond the edges of the shadows to the ruins beyond.
Before, she says.
As if she has made her home here.
As if it had been her home before it had been brought to ruin.
“No,” he muses and allows himself to dissolve then into the shadows.
(He had been born a shadow thing and it is in this form that he feels most comfortable, most himself.)
He grins and the razor-edged teeth glint in the dark, the stark yellow eyes flitting back to her as he considers this.
He draws in a breath that clatters in the cage of his ribs, casting a question out to the ghosts that surround them. He reaches then into her head, for he has never had any qualms about taking things that do not belong to her, finds the memory where she is given a name. “No, Iris, I suppose you wouldn’t have.”
But he offers no explanation, only stares at her through the clamoring dark, grinning.
“Yet you’ve found me here all the same, how peculiar.”
She, too, is a dark thing. (And his assessment has nothing to do with her appearance, though she comes swimming through the shadows as if she is part of them.
Perhaps there is some small moment where he wonders if he has somehow conjured her, too.)
He turns his sharp gaze from her then, casting it beyond the edges of the shadows to the ruins beyond.
Before, she says.
As if she has made her home here.
As if it had been her home before it had been brought to ruin.
“No,” he muses and allows himself to dissolve then into the shadows.
(He had been born a shadow thing and it is in this form that he feels most comfortable, most himself.)
He grins and the razor-edged teeth glint in the dark, the stark yellow eyes flitting back to her as he considers this.
He draws in a breath that clatters in the cage of his ribs, casting a question out to the ghosts that surround them. He reaches then into her head, for he has never had any qualms about taking things that do not belong to her, finds the memory where she is given a name. “No, Iris, I suppose you wouldn’t have.”
But he offers no explanation, only stares at her through the clamoring dark, grinning.
“Yet you’ve found me here all the same, how peculiar.”
AND IT LEAVES ME COLD