COLT
She's a runner, she's a lover, always stuck in her ways
Pull her closer, think you know her, now she's turning the page
She gave a warning if it's storming, she'll be gone with the rain
Pull her closer, think you know her, now she's turning the page
She gave a warning if it's storming, she'll be gone with the rain
The awareness descends like ink in water. The full spread of it is slow after the immediate bloom of color, but in time, all of it will be stained a shade darker, no place left untouched. Already it’s saturating each memory she has of him, the third time now that they’ve changed color, each new layer making it all the less likely that the original, untarnished silver can be polished back.
Her gaze slowly unfolds back to him over the useless border of her limbs as he talks. She doesn’t crumble the castle that she’s built of her body, the hollow security feeling better than visibly baring herself to him, even if she’s beginning to understand that she already is. No defense will keep him out. She has never been in control around him. All her small triumphs were mere pretence. These truths crawl through her skin with an unease that makes her nauseous, and she shifts her hold around her knees with the discomfort of it. "Fuck," comes the ragged exhale of a breath she didn't know she began to hold onto.
Everything. He knew everything.
All the stillness she begs of her mind is impossible, especially as she slips into the burn of embarrassment. All attempts not to make any ripples, not wanting to alert what lurks beside her, simply doesn’t work and never would. Breath alone forces her to shift, and short of passing out, there’s no end to the current she creates. That’s for the best, really. Once before, for her ex-husband, she tried a similar approach to no avail. She died a little every day. Made herself smaller, as though one day he’d have enough room to stop crowding her. He never stopped, and eventually she decided she’d stop making herself easier to swallow. He could choke on her.
Vesper isn’t asking that of her. Makes a point not to, in fact. He’s kind, as much as he can be while ripping up everything that’d healed wrong and misshapen. Thorough, honest, self-aware. She recognizes that, and in a way she can’t properly name now, she’s grateful for it. Understanding is a certain kind of peace she's long been without, but it does not come without a cost, and it remains to be seen how these new wounds mean to close.
Each detail drags something sharp through her chest, but it's most severe where he lays out what she'd done to him, all by accident. "I never meant..." she starts weakly, but it falters under its own weight. He already knows. He's already said it. That doesn't stop the regret from swelling painfully against her ribs, lips tightening into a line as her throat works against the wretched feeling. Love only ever seems to carve someone up. Fear that it'd be her has bitten her so thoroughly that most of her has gone jagged, and there's no hope he could have held her without being cut. She doesn't blame him for withdrawing from that.
Knowing that this too will set another edge on him scrapes at her anew. A snake that's caught its own tail, she can only circle endlessly with the hooks of her own teeth and the marks they leave.
The heaviness of it all gradually pulls her eyes down to what he's methodically stripping apart in his hands. It's eerily similar to the experience of her own certainty being whittled away to nothing more than sprig and stem, and ridiculously, she empathizes with a fucking stick. "Why did you ever stay?" It's not blame, although it's muttered with a bitterness that curls the tone to a point, the tip meant for her rather than him, but it's one and the same in the end. "I'm sure there's quiet to be found somewhere." Not with her.
Her gaze slowly unfolds back to him over the useless border of her limbs as he talks. She doesn’t crumble the castle that she’s built of her body, the hollow security feeling better than visibly baring herself to him, even if she’s beginning to understand that she already is. No defense will keep him out. She has never been in control around him. All her small triumphs were mere pretence. These truths crawl through her skin with an unease that makes her nauseous, and she shifts her hold around her knees with the discomfort of it. "Fuck," comes the ragged exhale of a breath she didn't know she began to hold onto.
Everything. He knew everything.
All the stillness she begs of her mind is impossible, especially as she slips into the burn of embarrassment. All attempts not to make any ripples, not wanting to alert what lurks beside her, simply doesn’t work and never would. Breath alone forces her to shift, and short of passing out, there’s no end to the current she creates. That’s for the best, really. Once before, for her ex-husband, she tried a similar approach to no avail. She died a little every day. Made herself smaller, as though one day he’d have enough room to stop crowding her. He never stopped, and eventually she decided she’d stop making herself easier to swallow. He could choke on her.
Vesper isn’t asking that of her. Makes a point not to, in fact. He’s kind, as much as he can be while ripping up everything that’d healed wrong and misshapen. Thorough, honest, self-aware. She recognizes that, and in a way she can’t properly name now, she’s grateful for it. Understanding is a certain kind of peace she's long been without, but it does not come without a cost, and it remains to be seen how these new wounds mean to close.
Each detail drags something sharp through her chest, but it's most severe where he lays out what she'd done to him, all by accident. "I never meant..." she starts weakly, but it falters under its own weight. He already knows. He's already said it. That doesn't stop the regret from swelling painfully against her ribs, lips tightening into a line as her throat works against the wretched feeling. Love only ever seems to carve someone up. Fear that it'd be her has bitten her so thoroughly that most of her has gone jagged, and there's no hope he could have held her without being cut. She doesn't blame him for withdrawing from that.
Knowing that this too will set another edge on him scrapes at her anew. A snake that's caught its own tail, she can only circle endlessly with the hooks of her own teeth and the marks they leave.
The heaviness of it all gradually pulls her eyes down to what he's methodically stripping apart in his hands. It's eerily similar to the experience of her own certainty being whittled away to nothing more than sprig and stem, and ridiculously, she empathizes with a fucking stick. "Why did you ever stay?" It's not blame, although it's muttered with a bitterness that curls the tone to a point, the tip meant for her rather than him, but it's one and the same in the end. "I'm sure there's quiet to be found somewhere." Not with her.
When she's in it, she's all in it, ain't no holding her back
When I'm with her, she's a river moving steady and fast
She's afraid of all the ways her heart is broke like glass
When I'm with her, she's a river moving steady and fast
She's afraid of all the ways her heart is broke like glass
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.
