HOTARU
She wishes he would just kiss her and let it end. Let their bodies do the talking so that his words won’t follow her into her dreams to haunt her so much longer than the echo of his touch will ever manage. It’s cruelty, to pull her apart like this. But she’s incapable of telling him to stop, even as she burns and withers into nothing in his arms. What can she even say? There is no gratitude to be had in this. No relief. Only the added burden of distinction, of being chosen and cherished and still let go. Abandoned. It is a hurt that has haunted her from birth, and she presses into his kiss to hide the way hot tears spill over in abject agony as history repeats itself once more. A different world, a different love, but still the same ending.
Even still she trusts him to hold her up, to buoy them as he clutches her close. Trust like theirs is not so readily undone. And it is not her choosing to end this. She is not the one holding the knife that frays and tears their strings apart. Instead she is left to rot and simmer in the love she still holds for him, taking what she can get even as each piece lacerates her palms. Ashamed to be brought so low and desperate by love, but incapable of resisting.
At least the bite of his fangs washes the rest away into a muted haze. Here, there is nothing but pleasure. Preternaturally created, and as such easily overwhelms the emotions that would otherwise make it impossible to feel this way naturally. It’s a blessing. Hotaru arches into him with a barely-there wounded utterance of his name, a last pleading prayer on a sinner’s lips as they face the executioner’s blade. She can only hope he will carry her lightning with her for some time more. That he won’t forget her so easily with her magic residing in his veins. Hotaru doesn’t hold out hope for it, but it’s enough to let her drown peacefully in the waves of euphoria instead of fighting against them.
Even still she trusts him to hold her up, to buoy them as he clutches her close. Trust like theirs is not so readily undone. And it is not her choosing to end this. She is not the one holding the knife that frays and tears their strings apart. Instead she is left to rot and simmer in the love she still holds for him, taking what she can get even as each piece lacerates her palms. Ashamed to be brought so low and desperate by love, but incapable of resisting.
At least the bite of his fangs washes the rest away into a muted haze. Here, there is nothing but pleasure. Preternaturally created, and as such easily overwhelms the emotions that would otherwise make it impossible to feel this way naturally. It’s a blessing. Hotaru arches into him with a barely-there wounded utterance of his name, a last pleading prayer on a sinner’s lips as they face the executioner’s blade. She can only hope he will carry her lightning with her for some time more. That he won’t forget her so easily with her magic residing in his veins. Hotaru doesn’t hold out hope for it, but it’s enough to let her drown peacefully in the waves of euphoria instead of fighting against them.
Pull you in, but don't you get too close
Love you now, but not tomorrow
Love you now, but not tomorrow
