REXANNA
It’s been awhile, a long while, since she has seen the devil.
And she decides that perhaps it might be important to tell him a portion of her exciting news and to make use of the safehouse that she had helped Sam put together with the help of Wessex and Bastien. She sends a note to him in the near hours of dawn, uncertain of where it goes to meet him, but it all points to the same. ‘Meet at the Safehouse, Midnight. – R” She imagines it doesn’t need anything else, and the scrawled, near royally perfected R acronym should be enough for him to figure it out. If not, she’s underestimated him, and she highly doubts that she would.
But she gives no inclination in the meeting, deciding that perhaps the vagueness of it might intrigue him enough to join her. And when midnight nears, looming overhead, she slips into the Safehouse, sliding the cube out of the way that blocks the door before replacing it – rather not having anyone randomly happening upon it and finding it. And besides, he’s Ascended, he can move the damn cube himself, too.
Thanks to no longer feeling the cold, she doesn’t come dressed with much – a favorite of hers, a drooping neckline dressed in dark silks and leather. And her hair is cut above her shoulders, far shorter than he had seen her last. She aims for the surprise, the most, out of this. It’s the little things that keep her happy. And as she makes her way into the basement, she fluffs a few of the blankets along the bed, before choosing the one beside the makeshift shine, sprawling along it like a cat getting comfortable – and then she waits for the inevitable.
And she decides that perhaps it might be important to tell him a portion of her exciting news and to make use of the safehouse that she had helped Sam put together with the help of Wessex and Bastien. She sends a note to him in the near hours of dawn, uncertain of where it goes to meet him, but it all points to the same. ‘Meet at the Safehouse, Midnight. – R” She imagines it doesn’t need anything else, and the scrawled, near royally perfected R acronym should be enough for him to figure it out. If not, she’s underestimated him, and she highly doubts that she would.
But she gives no inclination in the meeting, deciding that perhaps the vagueness of it might intrigue him enough to join her. And when midnight nears, looming overhead, she slips into the Safehouse, sliding the cube out of the way that blocks the door before replacing it – rather not having anyone randomly happening upon it and finding it. And besides, he’s Ascended, he can move the damn cube himself, too.
Thanks to no longer feeling the cold, she doesn’t come dressed with much – a favorite of hers, a drooping neckline dressed in dark silks and leather. And her hair is cut above her shoulders, far shorter than he had seen her last. She aims for the surprise, the most, out of this. It’s the little things that keep her happy. And as she makes her way into the basement, she fluffs a few of the blankets along the bed, before choosing the one beside the makeshift shine, sprawling along it like a cat getting comfortable – and then she waits for the inevitable.
the penumbra
the moon is drunk with the sins of the sun.
& you stare, and wonder why
the universe never loved you back
