Tryin' to stay between the lines of who I am and who I used to be
"Gods," she gasps up at him, a hand reaching out to curl in his coat sleeve where he comes close enough, his crouch not allowing much else into her space beside him and the cold knocking on her ass. A fresh, wet shine dances in her gaze, lips twisting down with a severe drop and a pull at the edges as she works the shape of them around her words, the feeling thick and heavy. "You sound just like I used to." That stark realization feels like such a slap that her head hangs with it, gaze turned back to the ground.
How many times had she reassured her husband that she understood the different facets of him, that the angry him, the one that'd hurt her, that wasn't real. That was always some alternate version of the man she loved, because how else could she rectify the vast difference between the caring person she fell for and the one that would sling such atrocious accusations at her? How could they be the same person?
Has she spent so much time chasing his shadow away that she didn't realize it's begun to circle back around, that it's her darkness now?
She shivers abruptly, and while it has every right to be, it's not from the cold. She leans forward, pitiful and defeated and far too high to deal with the fucking revelation of being her own worst monster now. His forgiveness is as much a shelter as his arms are now, her forward tilt taking her into him, sagging into him with the full force of her weight, because for right now he is the only thing holding her up still. "Yeah." The sound comes out more like a croak, voice suddenly feeling like it hasn't been used in weeks. She clears it, tears abruptly dry as the chill thieves everything from her, feelings drying up into one, resounding horror. "A room at the House sounds nice." Sleeping, sounds nice, honestly.
Whatever rebuttals about his sharp edges compared to hers, his warnings compared to hers, they die out as she does her best instead to retake his friendship and hold it more carefully this time. "Anywhere but here," she decides with a whisper, arms looping around his neck and body folding against his chest to be carried away to somewhere warm again, although she won't truly feel it until the next morning, when this has all sunk in like a bad dream, despite knowing it's not. It's all that makes it a bit easier to carry come the next day, that and telling him never to give her this shit again, because some truths don't need to be stripped down into something so raw.
[FIN]
How many times had she reassured her husband that she understood the different facets of him, that the angry him, the one that'd hurt her, that wasn't real. That was always some alternate version of the man she loved, because how else could she rectify the vast difference between the caring person she fell for and the one that would sling such atrocious accusations at her? How could they be the same person?
Has she spent so much time chasing his shadow away that she didn't realize it's begun to circle back around, that it's her darkness now?
She shivers abruptly, and while it has every right to be, it's not from the cold. She leans forward, pitiful and defeated and far too high to deal with the fucking revelation of being her own worst monster now. His forgiveness is as much a shelter as his arms are now, her forward tilt taking her into him, sagging into him with the full force of her weight, because for right now he is the only thing holding her up still. "Yeah." The sound comes out more like a croak, voice suddenly feeling like it hasn't been used in weeks. She clears it, tears abruptly dry as the chill thieves everything from her, feelings drying up into one, resounding horror. "A room at the House sounds nice." Sleeping, sounds nice, honestly.
Whatever rebuttals about his sharp edges compared to hers, his warnings compared to hers, they die out as she does her best instead to retake his friendship and hold it more carefully this time. "Anywhere but here," she decides with a whisper, arms looping around his neck and body folding against his chest to be carried away to somewhere warm again, although she won't truly feel it until the next morning, when this has all sunk in like a bad dream, despite knowing it's not. It's all that makes it a bit easier to carry come the next day, that and telling him never to give her this shit again, because some truths don't need to be stripped down into something so raw.
[FIN]
Colt
I been livin', I been losin', findin' out that I can't run from me
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.
