09-10-2021, 12:21 AM
YOU'RE WALKING IN THE SHADOWS OF YOUR FEAR AND YOU'RE HEADED
FOR THE GALLOWS, SIN AROUND YOUR THROAT AND NO ONE'S NEAR
FOR THE GALLOWS, SIN AROUND YOUR THROAT AND NO ONE'S NEAR
She obeys, and he feels guilty.
He should have just let her continue to be angry, should have just let her rage at him until she had nothing left to say. He tells her to shift thinking it will be easier to get through to her this way, and for what reason? Because as badly as he wants her to forgive him, he also knows that she shouldn’t. She should walk away, should tell him that there are no more chances, because he knows he doesn’t deserve a single one.
Because a large part of him is so afraid that this won’t be the last time, and that they won’t survive this again.
But he asks her to shift and she does, and he realizes he would rather have her fury than this broken sorrow that she is now. He would rather see her strong and enraged than see her wilting before him, like a flower he had carelessly trampled. The way she drops her lovely head, and how he wants nothing more than to brush that black forelock from her eyes and press his lips to her skin—it compounds the guilt and the grief in his own chest until he is sure it is going to split him apart.
Against his better judgement he closes the space between them, until he is close enough that the tendrils of his shadow mane nearly brush her cheek, close enough that she would not have to strain to hear his quiet voice. “I am a monster, Despoina,” he tells her, and it is only then that he lowers his head, gently using his nose to brush under her chin to tilt her gaze to his. “And I don’t mean just because of what I did to you.” He slowly pulls away from her, his jaw clenching tightly from beneath his shadowed skin. “I wasn’t born this way. Maybe if I had been I could control it better. Or maybe I would be worse off, I don’t know.” He takes another step back, and he no longer notices all of the emotions that spin around them, can no longer taste or smell any of it.
He is too busy watching her, knowing exactly what he needs to do, and knowing too that he won’t have the strength to do it.
“If I could change anything about my life at all, it would be that I could have met you before any of this happened to me. So that I could love you exactly the way you deserve.” He pauses, and for a moment his face is utter darkness as he closes his eyes, and when he opens them the red somehow seems dimmer, shadowed entirely by a sorrow that he is not sure he has ever felt before. “I don’t know if I am ever going to be better than I am right now. I don’t know if I will ever know how to not hurt you.”
Another pause, and he forces himself to look at her.
“And I'm so sorry for that.”
He should have just let her continue to be angry, should have just let her rage at him until she had nothing left to say. He tells her to shift thinking it will be easier to get through to her this way, and for what reason? Because as badly as he wants her to forgive him, he also knows that she shouldn’t. She should walk away, should tell him that there are no more chances, because he knows he doesn’t deserve a single one.
Because a large part of him is so afraid that this won’t be the last time, and that they won’t survive this again.
But he asks her to shift and she does, and he realizes he would rather have her fury than this broken sorrow that she is now. He would rather see her strong and enraged than see her wilting before him, like a flower he had carelessly trampled. The way she drops her lovely head, and how he wants nothing more than to brush that black forelock from her eyes and press his lips to her skin—it compounds the guilt and the grief in his own chest until he is sure it is going to split him apart.
Against his better judgement he closes the space between them, until he is close enough that the tendrils of his shadow mane nearly brush her cheek, close enough that she would not have to strain to hear his quiet voice. “I am a monster, Despoina,” he tells her, and it is only then that he lowers his head, gently using his nose to brush under her chin to tilt her gaze to his. “And I don’t mean just because of what I did to you.” He slowly pulls away from her, his jaw clenching tightly from beneath his shadowed skin. “I wasn’t born this way. Maybe if I had been I could control it better. Or maybe I would be worse off, I don’t know.” He takes another step back, and he no longer notices all of the emotions that spin around them, can no longer taste or smell any of it.
He is too busy watching her, knowing exactly what he needs to do, and knowing too that he won’t have the strength to do it.
“If I could change anything about my life at all, it would be that I could have met you before any of this happened to me. So that I could love you exactly the way you deserve.” He pauses, and for a moment his face is utter darkness as he closes his eyes, and when he opens them the red somehow seems dimmer, shadowed entirely by a sorrow that he is not sure he has ever felt before. “I don’t know if I am ever going to be better than I am right now. I don’t know if I will ever know how to not hurt you.”
Another pause, and he forces himself to look at her.
“And I'm so sorry for that.”
T O R R Y N