And so the battleships will sink beneath the waves
You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same
You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same
Maybe it was selfish, but if she was selfish, then so was he, for even as he stood on the precipice of heartbreak, he longed to linger for just a few more moments in the hazy dream that was their relationship. But it was not to be: Hotaru crossed her arms and turned away, and in that moment, George knew that, whatever had happened, it had ended whatever they had been. He took a step closer, then hesitated, his gaze going to the jar on the entry table, his hand going to fiddle listlessly with the open container. He wasn't sure what was in it - spines, of some sort - but they were suddenly far more exciting than whatever conversation was sure to come next.
He could ask for explanations, but at the end of the day, it wouldn't ease the sting of rejection, and she didn't owe him anything. They'd made no vows to one another, no promises had gone unkept; had he not come to find her, perhaps she would have made it away with a clean break. So he simply sighed softly, a sad kind of sound for what might have been, and tried to think of something to say.
He started to speak, something to the effect of, "I just wanted to make sure you were alright," or perhaps "Are you happy?" or any number of other vague things to just make sure that whatever she had chosen was right for her; but then he felt a prick on a finger, and he looked down to find that one of the spines had shifted in the jar, stabbing delicately into the pad of his forefinger. Well, that was annoying. He put the jar down where he'd found it.
"Hotaru..." he started again, but there was something strange about the room, wasn't there? It was growing darker, ominous somehow, and he shifted uneasily, his hands going to the daggers he wore instinctively. When he looked back at Hotaru, it was no longer a woman he saw, but a monster: all sharp fangs and dripping blood, and for a moment he could only stare in horror.
And when he snapped out of it, he drew his blades.
Cursing my name, wishing I stayed
You turned into your worst fears
You turned into your worst fears
George
