COLT
He doesn't say it, not outright, not all the way, but she can hear some of the heaviness in that loss that he says near a whisper. Surprisingly, she knows the kind of grief he carries for missing someone he still wishes he had. Not because she misses the husband she's put into the ground, but because he'd changed, and she mourns for the man he once had been, the one he'd promised her he'd be. People can die in all sorts of ways, and perhaps none are so bad as the kind where they're still living, just as someone you no longer know. She'd prefer a body over such a ghost. Somehow she ended up with both.
He admits to how he coped, how he built himself around that pain, and she gentles with the understanding and the familiarity of it. He didn't let it bury him though, and gods knows she's always trying to do the same. "Yeah, I do know," she says without regret, just the acceptance of doing what you can to get by. "Love’s a funny thing. Leaves deeper wounds than fists ever could." The kind that take too long to come to the surface and be seen, but that hurt with almost everything you do. That's why, you just don't make the mistake of loving at all, and you're as unbruised as a fresh peach.
It's all a bit heavy. She pushes it out with a sigh, shaking her head to free her face of the gathered water that's started to bead up and streak down in rivulets. Well, there's no alcohol out here, so only one way to feel something different then. "How about tonight?" she asks, glancing from his myriad of scars to his steel eyes, one 'brow lifting up with the question. She isn't afraid, doesn't feel the risk of a mistake settling in like a thorn. He means something to her, sure, but he's not a risk. She won't fall for him, can't, and she's positive he won't do the same for her. So this is purely and simply something to try, something for fun, something to cure her.
Raindrops cling to her lashes as she leans in, slow and deliberate. Her fingers reach out to skim the edge of his jaw, tracing the path where water runs down to his throat. "Let's forget for a while."
He admits to how he coped, how he built himself around that pain, and she gentles with the understanding and the familiarity of it. He didn't let it bury him though, and gods knows she's always trying to do the same. "Yeah, I do know," she says without regret, just the acceptance of doing what you can to get by. "Love’s a funny thing. Leaves deeper wounds than fists ever could." The kind that take too long to come to the surface and be seen, but that hurt with almost everything you do. That's why, you just don't make the mistake of loving at all, and you're as unbruised as a fresh peach.
It's all a bit heavy. She pushes it out with a sigh, shaking her head to free her face of the gathered water that's started to bead up and streak down in rivulets. Well, there's no alcohol out here, so only one way to feel something different then. "How about tonight?" she asks, glancing from his myriad of scars to his steel eyes, one 'brow lifting up with the question. She isn't afraid, doesn't feel the risk of a mistake settling in like a thorn. He means something to her, sure, but he's not a risk. She won't fall for him, can't, and she's positive he won't do the same for her. So this is purely and simply something to try, something for fun, something to cure her.
Raindrops cling to her lashes as she leans in, slow and deliberate. Her fingers reach out to skim the edge of his jaw, tracing the path where water runs down to his throat. "Let's forget for a while."
I ain't sayin' that I always sleep alone
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
Done a little bit of midnight movin' on
I never let my heart go all the way
I never fall in love, baby, just in case
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.
