COLT
I'm homesick for somewhere that doesn't exist
For someone I'm still learning to miss
Said goodbye, wasn't ready yet
Only see you in this silhouette
For someone I'm still learning to miss
Said goodbye, wasn't ready yet
Only see you in this silhouette
You're right stuns her almost as much as the kiss had. It's gentle, and curled a bit along the edges, like a bruised petal. It's nothing like the rising fury she expected to reflect back at her. She'd braced for something to fight against, for his silver tongue to glint like a switchblade, for something spiteful to edge into all the parts of his face she'd once held. She expected the ugly parts of him to finally show through, wanted them to even, so that she wouldn't be the only one wearing them. Instead he levels a careful calm, and beneath it some of her heat gutters.
She shakes her head when he says he can't do right by her. "No," she says, voice still clipped, but thick with everything she's still trying to keep back. This is one she can admit to though. "You have. You’ve always done right by me. The best, actually." Something sharp fell away when she said it, because that isn't a weapon, it's just the truth, and he deserves it. Deserves a hell of a lot more than that.
She hadn't been sure at first, but now she is. It's definitely worse, the steady way he stays so put together, making all her noise look foolish in comparison. It's one of the things she'd been afraid of, that she'd splinter while he watched, that her grip would be tighter than his. From what she can tell, he's barely holding on, and she—she's been white-knuckling all the memories since she got back from the desert. She didn’t want him to matter, because she’s certain she doesn’t. Not like that. Not the way he matters to her. Each attempt to get her to admit to it felt like taunts, a way for him to prove she'd fallen while he's still standing.
She has no illusions about what they are—plenty of questions, but no fantasies. He could have the world, and she's just one small part of it, nothing but a dusty road he could put behind him. It's why she should have let him walk away. She's the one that's tangled in him, not the other way around, so she's been trying to cut through it to free them both.
Her hands fall away from him, wringing together at her waist now as she retreats from his stare. Her attention flicks to the ground between them, a small distance, yet yawning wider with each exchange. He presses on her bruise again, the one in the shape of him that's bloomed in her chest. She sighs at it, bottom lip snared with worry against her teeth.
Then he says something she can grab onto. "That's just it," she says, low and tight. "Why aren't you asking for something?" Her gaze snaps back to his, finding some footing in this free fall now. It'd been bothering her this whole time, how much he gives. She'd told him he's too good, and she meant it. Too good to be real, too good for her if he is. So why? How? "What do you want, Vesper?" Because it can't be nothing.
She shakes her head when he says he can't do right by her. "No," she says, voice still clipped, but thick with everything she's still trying to keep back. This is one she can admit to though. "You have. You’ve always done right by me. The best, actually." Something sharp fell away when she said it, because that isn't a weapon, it's just the truth, and he deserves it. Deserves a hell of a lot more than that.
She hadn't been sure at first, but now she is. It's definitely worse, the steady way he stays so put together, making all her noise look foolish in comparison. It's one of the things she'd been afraid of, that she'd splinter while he watched, that her grip would be tighter than his. From what she can tell, he's barely holding on, and she—she's been white-knuckling all the memories since she got back from the desert. She didn’t want him to matter, because she’s certain she doesn’t. Not like that. Not the way he matters to her. Each attempt to get her to admit to it felt like taunts, a way for him to prove she'd fallen while he's still standing.
She has no illusions about what they are—plenty of questions, but no fantasies. He could have the world, and she's just one small part of it, nothing but a dusty road he could put behind him. It's why she should have let him walk away. She's the one that's tangled in him, not the other way around, so she's been trying to cut through it to free them both.
Her hands fall away from him, wringing together at her waist now as she retreats from his stare. Her attention flicks to the ground between them, a small distance, yet yawning wider with each exchange. He presses on her bruise again, the one in the shape of him that's bloomed in her chest. She sighs at it, bottom lip snared with worry against her teeth.
Then he says something she can grab onto. "That's just it," she says, low and tight. "Why aren't you asking for something?" Her gaze snaps back to his, finding some footing in this free fall now. It'd been bothering her this whole time, how much he gives. She'd told him he's too good, and she meant it. Too good to be real, too good for her if he is. So why? How? "What do you want, Vesper?" Because it can't be nothing.
I'm homesick for conversations I would avoid
And now I miss the sound of your voice
Now there's nothing but a shadow left
So I'll just keep on chasing shadows of you
And now I miss the sound of your voice
Now there's nothing but a shadow left
So I'll just keep on chasing shadows of you
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.
