I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
He doesn’t believe her, and he cannot entirely pin why. Is it the determination as she pushes, insisting he must be wrong? The flicker of something dark in her eyes? The hurt lining her features at a truth he’s certain he’s shared before?
Or is it something else entirely?
“Where were you when I was spat on the beach with the memories of a newborn then?” he growls abruptly, demeanor changing with a swiftness that belies the uncertainty he’d felt moments ago. Pale feathers ruffle, shifting with a dozen whispers as his wings flare slightly, the first hint of dormant aggression rousing. “You, who would never give up on me, never fucking bothered to find me.”
He’s certain she could have, if she wanted to. He doesn’t know where that certainty comes from (doesn’t recall the years of running only to stumble right back into her, time and time again). He steps closer, crowding her, dark eyes flinty with dangerous emotion. The fury feels so familiar, yet somehow foreign. As though his fury had never been directed at her.
Impossible.
His jaw tightens as he stares at her, refusing to break his gaze. “Why now?”
What makes this moment so different from the thousands before? He may not know much, but he knows her words are not ones he recognizes. Not in the visceral way he’d recognized her face. Not in the familiar way he’d recognized her name at the edges of his tongue. So what had changed?
@[Desire]