I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
Zairah didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until Charlie’s words sank in, slow and heavy, each one dripping into her like warm resin. Life. Death. Struggle. Pleasure. Hunger.
It wasn’t just an answer to her question, it was a map. One she didn’t know she’d been looking for.
Zairah hadn’t known what blood meant until now. She’d known its scent, the bright rush of it on her tongue. Charlie was sketching it in bigger strokes, painting over the edges until she could see the shape of something vast and ancient—a story you could hold in your hands—and Zairah wanted to read every page.
Her gaze flicked to the bowl again, lingering this time. “If it’s so common an offering,” she said slowly, “then it must mean she needs… a lot.” The question was in her tone, even if she didn’t put the curl on the end.
Charlie’s tail moved like it had its own thoughts, and when she spoke of Dygra’s 'versatile appetite' Zairah felt her curiosity flare like a struck match. “Other kinds of worship,” she echoed, the words tasting foreign in her mouth but not unwelcome. She could imagine them—rooms thick with the copper tang of blood or something darker, stranger still.
But her hunger tugged her back to the bowl. Her voice dropped, daring to ask, “Is there enough for.. me?”
And then, softer still, as though speaking it too loud might make Charlie keep it to herself: “Show me the rest.”
It wasn’t just an answer to her question, it was a map. One she didn’t know she’d been looking for.
Zairah hadn’t known what blood meant until now. She’d known its scent, the bright rush of it on her tongue. Charlie was sketching it in bigger strokes, painting over the edges until she could see the shape of something vast and ancient—a story you could hold in your hands—and Zairah wanted to read every page.
Her gaze flicked to the bowl again, lingering this time. “If it’s so common an offering,” she said slowly, “then it must mean she needs… a lot.” The question was in her tone, even if she didn’t put the curl on the end.
Charlie’s tail moved like it had its own thoughts, and when she spoke of Dygra’s 'versatile appetite' Zairah felt her curiosity flare like a struck match. “Other kinds of worship,” she echoed, the words tasting foreign in her mouth but not unwelcome. She could imagine them—rooms thick with the copper tang of blood or something darker, stranger still.
But her hunger tugged her back to the bowl. Her voice dropped, daring to ask, “Is there enough for.. me?”
And then, softer still, as though speaking it too loud might make Charlie keep it to herself: “Show me the rest.”
so i stayed in the darkness with you
Zairah
