05-27-2021, 03:35 PM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
He steps away, melting back into the dark, and she feels a sting of almost hurt flash inside her chest. It felt like rejection for him to move away like that, and even though she does not know him there is still that deep-rooted need to appease him. Her head lowers, the light of her halo mixing with the dark around them to cast strange shadows across her face, sharpening the otherwise soft, ethereal angles. When she looks up there is an apology in her eyes, though it does not reach her tongue.
She is full of apologies and a bone-deep need to please, but she fights it away, for now.
She is already fractured into so many pieces, scattered like broken glass, and whatever was left her already belonged to someone else.
“Are you sure?” she says with another thin, hesitant smile, looking at him in a way that suggests she does not believe him. Despite her earlier caution, she finds herself once more closing the space the two of them had left with their respective steps back, ignoring the nervous way her heart flutters—a warning, the kind that she always ignores. “If you’re hurt I could try to heal you.” She does not always offer such a thing so freely to strangers, but something about him pulls at her; it is not pity, as she is not really the type to pity anyone.
It’s a magnetic pull, the darkness of him drawing her out of the light. The kind of pull she can’t ignore.
“What makes you think I am not afraid?” She asks, and this time there is a smile and a laugh evident in her question. She is afraid of him, but perhaps not for the reason that he would think. She is afraid because she does not know him, does not know his limits and boundaries, does not know what could set him off. And maybe a small part of her is afraid at the most base level—afraid that he could hurt her or kill her, but that’s nothing new. “I must admit though, I am more curious than afraid.”
Always the curious, beautiful fool, who never learns when to walk away.
“I’m Ryatah.”
She is full of apologies and a bone-deep need to please, but she fights it away, for now.
She is already fractured into so many pieces, scattered like broken glass, and whatever was left her already belonged to someone else.
“Are you sure?” she says with another thin, hesitant smile, looking at him in a way that suggests she does not believe him. Despite her earlier caution, she finds herself once more closing the space the two of them had left with their respective steps back, ignoring the nervous way her heart flutters—a warning, the kind that she always ignores. “If you’re hurt I could try to heal you.” She does not always offer such a thing so freely to strangers, but something about him pulls at her; it is not pity, as she is not really the type to pity anyone.
It’s a magnetic pull, the darkness of him drawing her out of the light. The kind of pull she can’t ignore.
“What makes you think I am not afraid?” She asks, and this time there is a smile and a laugh evident in her question. She is afraid of him, but perhaps not for the reason that he would think. She is afraid because she does not know him, does not know his limits and boundaries, does not know what could set him off. And maybe a small part of her is afraid at the most base level—afraid that he could hurt her or kill her, but that’s nothing new. “I must admit though, I am more curious than afraid.”
Always the curious, beautiful fool, who never learns when to walk away.
“I’m Ryatah.”
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —
@[Balto]