they say that war is hell, but,
true hell begins when the battle ends
and you're the only one whose
hands still drip red
She watches with baited breath as the hand covers his elbow, as the simmering danger engulfed in his palm — so vibrant and bright against the promise of pain and destruction and combustion — becomes something next to cinders, embers cut short, and she removes her hand and shuts off the upgrade as she stands back, arms crossing her chest as she focuses on Deimos with a catlike grin.
“Thank you.” She says, flashing him a bright grin that scrunches her nose before she settles in and reaches up to brush away at the burned fabric of her jacket. “I wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, to be honest.” An admission, turning her green gaze back toward Deimos as she remains in the shadows, bright and perhaps a bit proud at the result.
“Thank you.” She says, flashing him a bright grin that scrunches her nose before she settles in and reaches up to brush away at the burned fabric of her jacket. “I wasn’t entirely sure how it worked, to be honest.” An admission, turning her green gaze back toward Deimos as she remains in the shadows, bright and perhaps a bit proud at the result.
REXANNA
