all things are poisons
for there is nothing without poisonous qualities.
She does not miss his grin, and if she’s not mistaken, it seems like he might be enjoying the poison. She might be mistaken though, might just be foolishly hopeful that someone else can enjoy something so sickly beautiful as poison and death. While Iris certainly does not think she’s the only one to enjoy such things, she nonetheless feels alone in her preferences. Even those who walk in shadows and darkness rarely dabble in the world Iris lives in, surrounded by the dead and capable of causing death with little effort.
She lets the poison seep into her mind a bit more, offering a taste that is tantalizing and just a bit more than teasing, though still probably not enough. A taste never is enough though, but leaves a ragged, bleeding hole in the place that desire and hope filled for a brief, flickering moment. It’s easier not to feel those things at all than to feel them only for a moment.
His presence disappears from her mind, and she calls the poison back into her blood and her bones, the place where it lives. That is what Iris is - a poison, a waiting cancer. That is exactly how her mother would have wanted it.
He offers a name, and then more, and her lips curve into something of a smile at the words. She chuckles slightly, amused and remembering. ”They weren’t fond of me at first either. Some of them still aren’t. But we found a mutual friendship in revenge. Revenge for them, target practice for me.” The grass around her begins to wither slowly, poison leaching from Iris into the ground, a slight demonstration. Her relationship with the ghosts of Beqanna is why she is so at ease with her own powers, having spent days and weeks and months and even years chasing down those the ghosts wished to punish. She’d sometimes been the bearer of kinder messages as well, though she found that the ghosts who were still around were usually those with an agenda. And Iris wasn’t meant for the kinder messages anyway.
She lets the poison seep into her mind a bit more, offering a taste that is tantalizing and just a bit more than teasing, though still probably not enough. A taste never is enough though, but leaves a ragged, bleeding hole in the place that desire and hope filled for a brief, flickering moment. It’s easier not to feel those things at all than to feel them only for a moment.
His presence disappears from her mind, and she calls the poison back into her blood and her bones, the place where it lives. That is what Iris is - a poison, a waiting cancer. That is exactly how her mother would have wanted it.
He offers a name, and then more, and her lips curve into something of a smile at the words. She chuckles slightly, amused and remembering. ”They weren’t fond of me at first either. Some of them still aren’t. But we found a mutual friendship in revenge. Revenge for them, target practice for me.” The grass around her begins to wither slowly, poison leaching from Iris into the ground, a slight demonstration. Her relationship with the ghosts of Beqanna is why she is so at ease with her own powers, having spent days and weeks and months and even years chasing down those the ghosts wished to punish. She’d sometimes been the bearer of kinder messages as well, though she found that the ghosts who were still around were usually those with an agenda. And Iris wasn’t meant for the kinder messages anyway.
it is only the dose that matters
iris
@
jamie