In the blackened waters of conceit I saw my silhouette, pale and bleached
The last step, their final task, was a relatively simple one. Bleed for the cause. There’s something tacky about it, and something a little exciting. Nerissa takes the knife, marvels at it’s shiny blade, then takes Olavi’s hand in hers, opening a bright red wound in his palm. There’s her own symbolism in the gesture, one that just makes sense to her beloved and her.
Then comes her turn. Nerissa has always been one for a certain type of dramatics, and this is no different. She hauls herself out of the water, leaning over the bowl and opening her mouth wide. It’s not conventional, but she wouldn’t do it any other way. The blade drags across her tongue, opening enough of a cut to drip into the bowl. Then, she leans back again, trusting Olavi to hold her when she does. Pale blue eyes focus on Zeph, a grin that’s a touch too red spreading over her face. ”Anything else?”
Then comes her turn. Nerissa has always been one for a certain type of dramatics, and this is no different. She hauls herself out of the water, leaning over the bowl and opening her mouth wide. It’s not conventional, but she wouldn’t do it any other way. The blade drags across her tongue, opening enough of a cut to drip into the bowl. Then, she leans back again, trusting Olavi to hold her when she does. Pale blue eyes focus on Zeph, a grin that’s a touch too red spreading over her face. ”Anything else?”
Nerissa
