COLT
She staggers a step or two after the punch lands, all power and no grace. She feels that ugly twist of his shoulder relenting to her, hears the shuffle of bone in socket like the slide of boot over gravel. She chokes back the bitter sweep of hatred that fills her mouth like saliva before a bout of vomit—it's not him. Vesper doesn’t deserve the punishment for loving her too hard, too wrong—for breaking everything in the process.
The curtin of midnight pulls between them, blocking her view of Vesper just as her eyes clear enough to look for him. She reels at the awful sight of her late husband that greets her instead, finally as dark and ugly as he always pretended not to be. She's frozen, all to aware that this isn't a memory, that Vesper has sculpted his likeness from obsidian clay. She can’t even begin to ask how or why—it takes everything just to choke down the sob clawing up her throat and threatening to break free. She'll be damned if she spills one more tear over him.
Vesper's direction slips beneath the barrier like a folded note. Wanna beat him up? Circle yes or no.
A guttural snarl answers back as she flings herself like wildfire into the smoky image. Fist after fist thuds into the monster, until she’s sagging against it, spent from the idea and the heat of the day. Even then, it's still not enough to make up for every time he'd torn them apart. She already knows she won't get those moments back, but it feels fucking nice to imagine him hurting for a change, to pretend she was strong enough then as she is now. If only it hadn't taken the perspective of everything in her world shattering to rebuild her into someone who could move past a barrier as meager as a man.
She sinks to her knees, head bowing among gold and gratitude.
4/4
The curtin of midnight pulls between them, blocking her view of Vesper just as her eyes clear enough to look for him. She reels at the awful sight of her late husband that greets her instead, finally as dark and ugly as he always pretended not to be. She's frozen, all to aware that this isn't a memory, that Vesper has sculpted his likeness from obsidian clay. She can’t even begin to ask how or why—it takes everything just to choke down the sob clawing up her throat and threatening to break free. She'll be damned if she spills one more tear over him.
Vesper's direction slips beneath the barrier like a folded note. Wanna beat him up? Circle yes or no.
A guttural snarl answers back as she flings herself like wildfire into the smoky image. Fist after fist thuds into the monster, until she’s sagging against it, spent from the idea and the heat of the day. Even then, it's still not enough to make up for every time he'd torn them apart. She already knows she won't get those moments back, but it feels fucking nice to imagine him hurting for a change, to pretend she was strong enough then as she is now. If only it hadn't taken the perspective of everything in her world shattering to rebuild her into someone who could move past a barrier as meager as a man.
She sinks to her knees, head bowing among gold and gratitude.
4/4
I had some help
It ain't like I can make this kinda mess all by myself
Don't act like you ain't help me pull that bottle off the shelf
It ain't like I can make this kinda mess all by myself
Don't act like you ain't help me pull that bottle off the shelf
Received a Gilded Market wig from Remi that resembles her usual hair and is enchanted to stay on better than most wigs | has a reverse centaur tattoo on her left hand with the legs going down her pointer and middle fingers that looks like this.
