jamie
from the destruction, out of the flame
He smiles.
And he means it, but there is nothing kind there. Not with the way the teeth are so sharp and the mouth is so deeply black. Not with the way the expression on his featureless does not change.
He smiles, but it looks more like pain. And perhaps it is, because he has had two constant companions from the moment he was born: the fog and the pain. Everything he feels is filtered through the ache, comes out sideways, hard to translate.
“I could not have asked you to do that,” he wheezes. And thinks that, had he thought about it, he could have used his fog to obscure her just as easily as she could have obscured herself. How it would have pained him to have her think him rude, though. Ruder than she already thought him anyway. Rude for the way that he had been unable to meet her eye. Rude for the way he had been unable, almost, to even lift his gaze from the ground.
He watches her turn her gaze skyward, as if to shackle her focus directly to the sun herself. It turns his stomach, tightens up his windpipe, makes his breath rattle. And he wants to reach out and touch her, draw her focus back to him. But to touch her would surely accomplish nothing, because he is nothing but vapor. He has learned that, though he had thought he was once, he is not real like they are real.
“That must be it,” he agrees, breathless. Shifts his weight to ease the aching in his knees.
She looks at him again and he feels, quite curiously, like she is the center of the universe. Yes, she is the sun. And he some hapless planet caught in her gravity.
“Yes,” he rasps, “though I think it is about as fond of me as I am of it.” There another specter-grin, head tilted all peculiar. “It does not love me the same way it loves you.”
you need a villain, give me a name
@[Beyza]