01-25-2020, 06:56 PM
she fell for the idea of him
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
She still doesn’t feel like she has found her place here, and it was an unsettling sensation. Even though all the pieces of her past had a way of finding their way back to her – like she was some kind of magnet for disaster – something didn’t feel like home. Maybe because home, and not just the physical, dirt part of it, didn’t exist for her anymore. And she knows, even if she doesn’t want to admit it, that she could search this whole world twice over and not find anything like home ever again.
“Not anymore,” she responds with a laugh and a shake of her head. “Being a queen...it never really felt right anyway.” Because she hadn’t deserved it. The crown had been bloodstained by the time it reached her, but she had worn it regardless. She should have known that violence had foreshadowed violence; that though she herself was quiet and the kingdom considered neutral it did not mean she would leave there unscathed.
She hadn’t, of course, and she would now forever and always be the queen that had her eyes ripped out by Carnage.
The dark of her eyes find the vibrant yellow of his when he laughs, but her gaze is drawn again to the sharp teeth that glint in the light. She cannot control the way her skin tingles with the memory of what those teeth had felt like when they scraped across it; how warm the rivulets of blood had felt as they trailed down her leg. “That’s what I call it,” the quiet lilt of her voice betrays the want that lingers beneath the words, but she does not cave to it. There is only a half-smile, before a slant of her head diverts her eyes again to the glass-like lake. “Though I suppose meaningful isn’t the right word.”
“Not anymore,” she responds with a laugh and a shake of her head. “Being a queen...it never really felt right anyway.” Because she hadn’t deserved it. The crown had been bloodstained by the time it reached her, but she had worn it regardless. She should have known that violence had foreshadowed violence; that though she herself was quiet and the kingdom considered neutral it did not mean she would leave there unscathed.
She hadn’t, of course, and she would now forever and always be the queen that had her eyes ripped out by Carnage.
The dark of her eyes find the vibrant yellow of his when he laughs, but her gaze is drawn again to the sharp teeth that glint in the light. She cannot control the way her skin tingles with the memory of what those teeth had felt like when they scraped across it; how warm the rivulets of blood had felt as they trailed down her leg. “That’s what I call it,” the quiet lilt of her voice betrays the want that lingers beneath the words, but she does not cave to it. There is only a half-smile, before a slant of her head diverts her eyes again to the glass-like lake. “Though I suppose meaningful isn’t the right word.”
ryatah