The leopard skin is as much a reflex as curling up away from pain, retracting from a searing candle or the deadly bite of a snake. It is as much a suit of armor as any steel dress, a way to shield against the dangers, the damages, the painful responsibilities of her human skin. She wishes he could understand how much it means to her, how much she needs to be the leopard, how sometimes it is the only way she can make sense of the world. It is not that she thinks Deimos incapable: rather, she thinks it of herself, knows she cannot be the things he sees in her, the things they all see in her. Even Zariah seems to think Amalia is more than she is, some sort of leader, of guardian, of shield.
Why don't they all see that she is nothing, unworthy of their fear, their devotion, their hatred, their love?
Her deep purr reverberates through the room as Deimos caresses her ear, the simple caress as soothing as any sentiment he could offer, enough to keep her from balking at his words. What do you want me to do? She doesn't have an answer. She does not know what she wants him to do, except to stay here, stay with her, to love her and hold her and shield her from the dark. She wants to feel safe again, to know that there are walls and worlds keeping her from the storms. What do you want me to do- everything and nothing but be there for her, but forgive her her transgression, but allow her to be scared.
Because oh, but she is terrified, more than she has ever been.
But she cannot hide forever, cannot ask him to do these things while she wears a leopard skin. Sighing, Amalia curls and shifts, human features returning slowly, lips and eyes and hair and flesh, though her tail and ears remain. Onyx eyes gaze up at Deimos from her place still in his lap; she reaches up with a trembling hand, curling gently upon his cheek. How can he still offer the world, when she has proven time and again that she does not deserve it, has never deserved it, will never deserve his love?
"Stay with me," she whispers, chokes, her voice shaking and quiet, an earnest plea. "Just... please. I'm sorry. I can't- I don't-"
But oh, the tears cannot be stopped, and the girl turns her face away, her body coiling as she sobs.
Why don't they all see that she is nothing, unworthy of their fear, their devotion, their hatred, their love?
Her deep purr reverberates through the room as Deimos caresses her ear, the simple caress as soothing as any sentiment he could offer, enough to keep her from balking at his words. What do you want me to do? She doesn't have an answer. She does not know what she wants him to do, except to stay here, stay with her, to love her and hold her and shield her from the dark. She wants to feel safe again, to know that there are walls and worlds keeping her from the storms. What do you want me to do- everything and nothing but be there for her, but forgive her her transgression, but allow her to be scared.
Because oh, but she is terrified, more than she has ever been.
But she cannot hide forever, cannot ask him to do these things while she wears a leopard skin. Sighing, Amalia curls and shifts, human features returning slowly, lips and eyes and hair and flesh, though her tail and ears remain. Onyx eyes gaze up at Deimos from her place still in his lap; she reaches up with a trembling hand, curling gently upon his cheek. How can he still offer the world, when she has proven time and again that she does not deserve it, has never deserved it, will never deserve his love?
"Stay with me," she whispers, chokes, her voice shaking and quiet, an earnest plea. "Just... please. I'm sorry. I can't- I don't-"
But oh, the tears cannot be stopped, and the girl turns her face away, her body coiling as she sobs.
Amalia & Jyoti
WE MIGHT BE HOLLOW, BUT WE'RE BRAVE
