bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Ark takes the ring the instant he offers it, and Jack will no doubt feel the sharp, bright flare of want that isn’t human greed so much as instinctive coveting of something that is both shiny and now hers. It flickers through her like a magpie spotting treasure, quick and unapologetic. She turns the ring between her fingers, admiring the curl of silver and turquoise, then slips it onto her pinky. It’s far too large, so she tries it on another, and then another, humming softly, intent on finding where it might sit best.
"Mm?" she replies vaguely at the mention of her lemon, already half lost to the ring, before turning. The sorbet has begun to soften inside its hollowed shell, a bright ribbon slipping down the carved edge. She reaches for it without the spoon, ignoring the vendor’s offered utensil entirely. Her tongue sweeps along the melting line first—cool, sharp citrus exploding across her tastebuds, the sweet tang dazzling and immediate—it sparks against the heat of her mouth, bright and clean, and she chases it instinctively, smoothing the drip away before it can fall.
The chill sinks into her tongue, then her lips, the sugar and lemon biting pleasantly as she traces another slow pass along the peel. The texture is uneven—icy crystals giving way to silkier melt—and she adjusts, lips parting wider as she draws the softened portion in with a slow, deliberate pull. The sensation is vivid: cold and sweet flooding her mouth, a soft suction that leaves the rind clean again. She finishes by wrapping her lips around the opening entirely, sealing and drawing until what had begun to spill is gone. When she lowers it, a faint sheen of melted sorbet glistens against her wine-dark lips. She looks up at Jack through her lashes, sunlit smile blooming, eyes bright. "Want some?"
"Mm?" she replies vaguely at the mention of her lemon, already half lost to the ring, before turning. The sorbet has begun to soften inside its hollowed shell, a bright ribbon slipping down the carved edge. She reaches for it without the spoon, ignoring the vendor’s offered utensil entirely. Her tongue sweeps along the melting line first—cool, sharp citrus exploding across her tastebuds, the sweet tang dazzling and immediate—it sparks against the heat of her mouth, bright and clean, and she chases it instinctively, smoothing the drip away before it can fall.
The chill sinks into her tongue, then her lips, the sugar and lemon biting pleasantly as she traces another slow pass along the peel. The texture is uneven—icy crystals giving way to silkier melt—and she adjusts, lips parting wider as she draws the softened portion in with a slow, deliberate pull. The sensation is vivid: cold and sweet flooding her mouth, a soft suction that leaves the rind clean again. She finishes by wrapping her lips around the opening entirely, sealing and drawing until what had begun to spill is gone. When she lowers it, a faint sheen of melted sorbet glistens against her wine-dark lips. She looks up at Jack through her lashes, sunlit smile blooming, eyes bright. "Want some?"
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
