all i want

KiadA but god, i look at you and know, hell is just another place i'll go So he didn’t seem to care. As she shifted and the curl in his lip of distaste seemed to come across, she pinned him with an icy stare. He wouldn’t turn to face her, but that was fine. She had gotten used to learning the subtlety of body language. At her offer of help, he grunted in response to that too and she found herself crossing her arms against her chest and glaring. It was like fighting against a wall. There wouldn’t be any winners here. And if he chose to deign to respond, she was wasting her time. Still, she couldn’t help but feel that pain in her chest at the sight of him. So familiar and so different. Even the clumsiness in his fingers with the rope panged at something long forgotten beneath the layers of hurt and betrayal she tried to keep hidden away – only to come out when absolutely necessary. All she could do was wait, and she’d wait there all day should he look like he was about to respond. She sighed into the wind, and audible little tantrum of the harpy. The girl had never been known for her patience. But then… was that? “Caihdoh.” The stranger said. Her heart thundered and she blinked, bewildered as all the anger and frustration drained from her face, leaving her paler than before. He tightened the rope around the deer and looked as though he was prepared to move when Kiada moved against the snow with surprising speed. It plumed behind her as she moved to stand before the stranger, her eyes wide and perhaps a bit pleading. “What’s your name?” She questioned, breathless as it left her lips in a cloud against the snow. ”Ru’in, Ru’in, Ru’in.” She silently begged, she prayed to any gods listening, that perhaps something might go right. But it still made no sense. He was dead, gone, erupted in a cloud of teal and black – demolished and destroyed before her very eyes. The X scar on the side of her neck pulsed with a twinge of pain, and she reached up to press against it as if she could keep the memories from returning. “Please.” “I’m Kiada...” She whispered, loud enough for him to hear. If it was Ru’in, he’d know that name. He’d know the first time they met, when she had frolicked carelessly in the fields and he had pushed her for no rhyme of reason – how she had wailed and yelled at him, only to ultimately find something to love about every mismatched part of him. How she had memorized every deformity – how she had chosen to put aside her calling, to conquer the world and everyone in it for the boy with mismatched eyes and little words. “Please remember me.” to keep you warm. and with bloody knuckles, you'd follow me anywhere.

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