my held breath fills the room with blood
hurting in ways I can't describe
Horns curl through his hair, and though his gaze does not linger on her long - coward, her mind spits - she can at least see the claws on his fingers when he speaks and offers a box to her. Though her heterochromatic gaze falls to the proffered gift for a moment, they flit back up immediately to stare at the side of his face. Mulling over the cadence of his voice, the rough rasp around each word. She recalls with great detail her own thoughts sitting across from Deimos, that despite how much he had hurt her with his actions, that she was still reluctant to enact revenge. Knowing so much about him and how much he has already been hurt stills her normally judicious hand from seeking physical retribution. Instead her palm comes to his wrist, bypassing the box and firmly wrapping around what she can. Face still frigid, mightily attempting to keep her soulful eyes the same.
"You aren't well, stand up." Let me see you. Even now, faced with the impending opportunity, her mind is scattered and panicked with the inevitable. Scared to see him so solemn and sincere, fearing that it may crack her resolve into nothing and leave her as just another victim of his self-flagellating crusade. Just another broken heart on the trail to the noose that he walks so staunchly.
Her other hand comes to grasp the box, tentative. But she refuses to look inside, not with his wrist still in her grip, not when concern still festers unfairly in her ribcage. Like ivy, clinging to the vesicles of her heart no matter how many times she rips them out by the root. "So far I only see a gift, not an apology." Though her tone is mild, there is a darkness that lingers there, a well of hurt and anger that promises to drown him in his own foolish flood of a title if he says the wrong thing. Too many times has she been kicked down and hurt. Already he has brought her down too far, she'll not let him dig a grave for her as well.
"You aren't well, stand up." Let me see you. Even now, faced with the impending opportunity, her mind is scattered and panicked with the inevitable. Scared to see him so solemn and sincere, fearing that it may crack her resolve into nothing and leave her as just another victim of his self-flagellating crusade. Just another broken heart on the trail to the noose that he walks so staunchly.
Her other hand comes to grasp the box, tentative. But she refuses to look inside, not with his wrist still in her grip, not when concern still festers unfairly in her ribcage. Like ivy, clinging to the vesicles of her heart no matter how many times she rips them out by the root. "So far I only see a gift, not an apology." Though her tone is mild, there is a darkness that lingers there, a well of hurt and anger that promises to drown him in his own foolish flood of a title if he says the wrong thing. Too many times has she been kicked down and hurt. Already he has brought her down too far, she'll not let him dig a grave for her as well.
my heart bends and breaks
so many, many times
HOTARU
