THE GHOST IN THE SHELL \\
It takes his breath away.
It screams danger.
Aamu doesn't trust pretty things.
Yet he can't help himself from pressing his cheek into that cold palm, closing his eyes to narrow slits, aware of how long it has been since someone has touched him with anything resembling fondness (faux or not): he does not feel it much on his skin, but he feels it in his soul. Even as the touch turns punishing and rough, fingers twining into his long braid and pulling his head back, he can't pull away.
He can't not enjoy it, like a desperate and abandoned cat.
But the sprite is not there to save him, or love him, or any such thing. He barely registers the ominous words—
"Wait!" —I was a fool
It is gone. Aamu is all alone, and upon the tree's branches, the little flame charm swings softly back and forth.
(fin <3)
It screams danger.
Aamu doesn't trust pretty things.
Yet he can't help himself from pressing his cheek into that cold palm, closing his eyes to narrow slits, aware of how long it has been since someone has touched him with anything resembling fondness (faux or not): he does not feel it much on his skin, but he feels it in his soul. Even as the touch turns punishing and rough, fingers twining into his long braid and pulling his head back, he can't pull away.
He can't not enjoy it, like a desperate and abandoned cat.
But the sprite is not there to save him, or love him, or any such thing. He barely registers the ominous words—
"Wait!" —I was a fool
It is gone. Aamu is all alone, and upon the tree's branches, the little flame charm swings softly back and forth.
(fin <3)
