REXANNA
The Penumbra snorts in response to his joke, nodding along with it. She didn’t know the Launceleyns well, but she knew how Edrei could make an entrance, and part of her was excited to see what kind of presence Loren might be able to add to that flare: family name and blood and all that. But she lets him make as many bad jokes as he wishes, eyes drifting from his wrist to his face as he looks away from her, before unrolling his sleeve.
Carefully, she regards him, uncertain but willing to go however long it will take for him to grow comfortable. She wonders if she should tell him to hold onto something, even herself, if he’s never been bit before. It’s an experience to say the least. Carefully, she reaches up with her pale hands, one to brace and the other to hold, she looks down to the revealing of scars — something akin to sadness burrowing within her, but she masks it, as though she doesn’t notice them. Her fingers are lukewarm in comparison to the heat he gives off, she’s basically cold in comparison. “Let me know if you want me to stop.” She says gently, wanting there to be nothing between them that would make him hate her after it.
But she turns herself to face him better, eyes drifting up toward him as though she’s asking if he’s ready, when she takes the look he gives to the mists and snowfalls to be the okay she needs. She lifts his wrist to her lips, giving him all the opportunity to stop it should he wish to. But if he continues, his wrist would find her cool lips in a brief kiss (seeking the veins) before she uses her fangs and bites as gently as she can.
Carefully, she regards him, uncertain but willing to go however long it will take for him to grow comfortable. She wonders if she should tell him to hold onto something, even herself, if he’s never been bit before. It’s an experience to say the least. Carefully, she reaches up with her pale hands, one to brace and the other to hold, she looks down to the revealing of scars — something akin to sadness burrowing within her, but she masks it, as though she doesn’t notice them. Her fingers are lukewarm in comparison to the heat he gives off, she’s basically cold in comparison. “Let me know if you want me to stop.” She says gently, wanting there to be nothing between them that would make him hate her after it.
But she turns herself to face him better, eyes drifting up toward him as though she’s asking if he’s ready, when she takes the look he gives to the mists and snowfalls to be the okay she needs. She lifts his wrist to her lips, giving him all the opportunity to stop it should he wish to. But if he continues, his wrist would find her cool lips in a brief kiss (seeking the veins) before she uses her fangs and bites as gently as she can.
until the lambs
have become
lions
