Thalassa
Despite the aching hollowness that she's come to recognize, Thal still has more emotions than the average person. Anger, shame, frustration, sadness, pride: they all lap against the recesses of her mind, threatening to drag her back down into that dark depression while she tries desperately to focus on anything else. Maybe it's why she doesn't leave, why she lingers just long enough to hear his drawling voice echo across the night air like a crystalline promise of violence and momentary distraction.
She pauses mid-step, eyes scanning him from the shadow she's taken refuge in, noting the card in his hand and the infuriatingly casual ease with which he walks the garden. His words break the illusion of surprise, but Thal doesn't reveal herself, under the incorrect assumption that he can't know it's her in this new shift. It's somehow easier not having to face him and whatever accusing words he might have for her - to be something else stalking him for the sole purpose of predatory instinct.
Slipping around the nearest hedge, she remains tucked into the shadows, using them like a cloak of security to disguise who she really is - to hide the pain that's barbed against her chest. There's no growling or hissing to give her away, a deadly silence that she eases into as she stalks a littler closer, pretending for a moment that she's nothing more than a molten tiger hunting an arrogant prick - one's whose words can't hurt her.
She pauses mid-step, eyes scanning him from the shadow she's taken refuge in, noting the card in his hand and the infuriatingly casual ease with which he walks the garden. His words break the illusion of surprise, but Thal doesn't reveal herself, under the incorrect assumption that he can't know it's her in this new shift. It's somehow easier not having to face him and whatever accusing words he might have for her - to be something else stalking him for the sole purpose of predatory instinct.
Slipping around the nearest hedge, she remains tucked into the shadows, using them like a cloak of security to disguise who she really is - to hide the pain that's barbed against her chest. There's no growling or hissing to give her away, a deadly silence that she eases into as she stalks a littler closer, pretending for a moment that she's nothing more than a molten tiger hunting an arrogant prick - one's whose words can't hurt her.
Bite my tongue, bide my time
Wearing a warning sign
Wearing a warning sign
