[ it's a funny thing, to have once believed she couldn't possibly miss what she had forgotten. no longer does that ring true as she slots against him, ankle tethered around the hook of his own, weaving them together like yarn — close as she can be, without crawling between his ribcage. as though she subconsciously fears the loss of the tranquility, the absence of comfort, even now.
she's right to cling to it, she thinks; for them all, peace has been the hardest element to mine, to keep for themselves. (has she known it, before? some hazy childhood memory tries and fails to break the surface. it seems an impossibility that serenity should have ever come from her, when all she's known is the strain of honing her mind as a tool, her body as a weapon. whatever peace had been promised had merely been another piece wrenched from her mind by shar's claws, some illusion of easing her suffering, her grief. this, she knows with an alarming amount of certainty, can't be a mirage. it's much too perfectly imperfect.
and just as likely to be ripped away, once they leave the shelter of this little moment. perhaps it's simply their lot in life, to always have an executioner's axe dangling above their necks. for now, though — for now, it's enough to just know the taste of it.) ]
True enough, [ she concedes, though it's known that any concession from her is suspicious. ] Your ego would devour us both, if I weren't here to tame it.
[ cheekiness aside, she knows it is not, of course, the sort of gift he's hinting toward. it's a fair exchange, equal footing; if she does not have to continue on this journey alone, neither does he. in the end, perhaps they'll all go walking hand-in-hand into the flames of what's to come — but it makes it easier, braver, to face what's next. (no matter the latent worry that rests in the back of her mind, like a child fearful of a monster in the woods, of cazador and the number of wolves within his gruesome little army.)
her nose glides upward, nuzzles against the scar that decorates his throat. it's easy to read her smile for what it is, with the soft shape of it pressed to his skin. ]
I'd dare say you sound prepared to start singing my praises. [ it's fleetingly light, that chaste kiss she lays over old puncture wounds. ] Enlighten me.
john mulaney kin
she's right to cling to it, she thinks; for them all, peace has been the hardest element to mine, to keep for themselves. (has she known it, before? some hazy childhood memory tries and fails to break the surface. it seems an impossibility that serenity should have ever come from her, when all she's known is the strain of honing her mind as a tool, her body as a weapon. whatever peace had been promised had merely been another piece wrenched from her mind by shar's claws, some illusion of easing her suffering, her grief. this, she knows with an alarming amount of certainty, can't be a mirage. it's much too perfectly imperfect.
and just as likely to be ripped away, once they leave the shelter of this little moment. perhaps it's simply their lot in life, to always have an executioner's axe dangling above their necks. for now, though — for now, it's enough to just know the taste of it.) ]
True enough, [ she concedes, though it's known that any concession from her is suspicious. ] Your ego would devour us both, if I weren't here to tame it.
[ cheekiness aside, she knows it is not, of course, the sort of gift he's hinting toward. it's a fair exchange, equal footing; if she does not have to continue on this journey alone, neither does he. in the end, perhaps they'll all go walking hand-in-hand into the flames of what's to come — but it makes it easier, braver, to face what's next. (no matter the latent worry that rests in the back of her mind, like a child fearful of a monster in the woods, of cazador and the number of wolves within his gruesome little army.)
her nose glides upward, nuzzles against the scar that decorates his throat. it's easy to read her smile for what it is, with the soft shape of it pressed to his skin. ]
I'd dare say you sound prepared to start singing my praises. [ it's fleetingly light, that chaste kiss she lays over old puncture wounds. ] Enlighten me.