[private] slipping through the cracks of your cold embrace, Atrox

[atrox]

hangman hooded, softly swinging; don't close the coffin yet, I'm alive

As unsurprised as he is that she had chosen to come to Hyaline after he had told her to, he is equally surprised by the fact that he liked having her here. He was not a man known for such feelings—or, really, known for having any at all—so to think that he enjoyed her company was a somewhat confusing development. She was, after all, quiet and obedient and not at all like the sharp-toothed women that he usually preferred, but he found something fascinating about the contradictions that lived within her.

Something infinitely curious about the way she wore her halo and yet was drawn to the sinners.

It is enough of a fascination that he continues to amuse her with conversation, yawning to make it clear that he was still relatively bored with the entire affair, but not yet dismissing her outright. “Well as long as you like it, princess,” he drawls, amusement flickering in the scarred corner of his mouth as he finally brings his gaze back from the crystalline lake to her face, not moving when she steps in closer to him.

“I think you have tools at your disposal that are far more interesting and effective than fighting,” he wonders if she even knows what a survivor she is—how she has adapted to her surroundings again and again. He himself was more of a brawler, more content to make do with his brawn and steel, but she didn’t need such things to make do in this world. “And I think you listen because you wanted to come.”

He laughs then, something husky and smoky as he shakes the tangled mane from his yellow eyes.

“I am rather handsome and have been known for my exceptional conversational skills.”

A shrug, a lazy smile.

“So I think it’s hard to blame you.”

ATROX | THE PANTHER KING