a killer come to call, beyza

[Beyza]

Her eyes do not move from him and there is an almost violent sense of pleasure that floods through her during that brief moment when he accepts her help, accepts her magic. It responds to her desire to help, to do what she thinks is right, and she hungrily watches him breathe easily knowing that she caused that ease, that relief. And then he moves. Hurt flashes across her expression when he steps away from her and out of the healing fog. Those silver mists retreat back into her, recoiling from what she very easily interprets as rejection. He thanks her, though, with a smile, which only confuses Beyza. She attempts to sweep away her hurt and offers a small smile of her own in response. “Anytime.” The word is spoken hesitantly but it is still filled with a large promise - to offer a reprieve whenever he wished it. She tries to tell herself that this is different than before. That his rejection of her this time is not the same as his inability to even look at her, as though she was something horrid. If light and shadow cannot coexist, does that mean the pair of them cannot touch? Is this as close as she will ever be able to be to him? Does he perhaps recognize that, either consciously or not, and maintain the space out of instinct? There are too many thoughts creating a tempest inside of her mind and in the midst of it, Beyza takes a step forward again, reclaiming the original space between them. Watching, testing, to see if he will retreat again. Why wonder something, when she can simply act and find out herself. “Why did you step away from the fog?” The quiet question surprises her - she had not actually meant to put it into words but it is as though it slips from her mouth of its free will. beyza

artwork by kharthian