02-16-2021, 01:28 AM
choke them on the ashes of the dreams they burned
He had wondered if she would be afraid of the seemingly disjointed voice coming from the shadows, but he did not expect the spark to flicker in his gut when she was not. It was a strange thing, to want them to be afraid — to want to feast on their fears and their sorrow. But there is a part of him, that piece of soul that the darkness has swallowed, that still clings to what he used to be. The man that would have preferred to ease their fears rather than agitate them; the man that would have fought the monster, rather than become it.
He could make her afraid, and he hovers just above that trigger but decides not to pull it.
Her eyes find his own, the only things that seem to reassure any of them that he is real and that he is one of them. Sometimes he curses that; wishes that his eyes had been shadow like the rest of him so that he might be entirely invisible. But he liked it too much when her eyes locked with his like she was able to really see him, and for now, he is grateful for the glinting ruby-red of them. “My name is Torryn,” he offers her. Her name was vaguely familiar, but he cannot place why, but for some reason thinks he can remember it being spoken from his mother’s tongue.
“The shadows are not always friendly,” he tells her, and though the way his lips quirk into a crooked smile is lost in the shifting shadows the action can almost be heard in his voice. “But I like to think that I am.” He has stepped closer now, taking in the feminine curves of her body, the pretty angles of her face. “You're alone?” the question sounds strange in the smoke of his voice, and he realizes belatedly that it could sound intimidating. For once, he did not mean any harm by it. He was simply curious, and a little bit surprised, that there was not someone she should be next to this time of night.
He could make her afraid, and he hovers just above that trigger but decides not to pull it.
Her eyes find his own, the only things that seem to reassure any of them that he is real and that he is one of them. Sometimes he curses that; wishes that his eyes had been shadow like the rest of him so that he might be entirely invisible. But he liked it too much when her eyes locked with his like she was able to really see him, and for now, he is grateful for the glinting ruby-red of them. “My name is Torryn,” he offers her. Her name was vaguely familiar, but he cannot place why, but for some reason thinks he can remember it being spoken from his mother’s tongue.
“The shadows are not always friendly,” he tells her, and though the way his lips quirk into a crooked smile is lost in the shifting shadows the action can almost be heard in his voice. “But I like to think that I am.” He has stepped closer now, taking in the feminine curves of her body, the pretty angles of her face. “You're alone?” the question sounds strange in the smoke of his voice, and he realizes belatedly that it could sound intimidating. For once, he did not mean any harm by it. He was simply curious, and a little bit surprised, that there was not someone she should be next to this time of night.
torryn
@[Breckin]