[private] the kind of heartbreak time could never mend, atrox

[Ryatah]

Ryatah

— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?

It would be a lie to say that she had not been afraid of what this would do to the two of them. It was hardly a secret, what they were known for—he with his numerous children, her with a body worn and scarred by the countless marks others have left. She has lived her life knowing that most only wanted her for one thing, and while she knew it was foolish to ever think the same of him, it was a doubt that proved impossible to shake. No matter how badly she believed that this was different from anything that had come before it (and that there would be nothing after), it did nothing to keep her age-old insecurities at bay.  It crept into her mind late at night if he was not there, and she would let suspicion and unrest get the better of her. She, of anyone, did not deserve any kind of loyalty; she had certainly never offered it to anyone else. 

Night after night, day after day, she was always surprised when he returned—flecked with blood and smelling of torn flesh, but nothing else.
No one else.

The realization that he is hers—entirely hers—hits her again for what must be the hundredth time, and still, it feels like the first. 

With her breath and heart lodged in her throat she lets him pull her close, her skin trembling at the feel of him after so long without it. She breathes him in as she presses herself closer, the porcelain-white of her chest a stark contrast against the velvet-black of him, and for a long moment she is still, save for the uncontrollable way her heart pounds in her chest.

When she pulls back just slightly it is only to trail her lips up his neck, lingering against his cheek as she says with a low laugh, “That was a cruel way to find out you really do love me for my personality.”

there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —