When is a monster not a monster?

ASHE he was something solid to lean against.    Her triumph inflated in her chest, but she didn't loosen her hold on him. It wasn't until their Master approached that she finally looked up, her blood suddenly feeling hot as her skin grew cold. Ashe didn't dare move, hardly dared to breathe as he looked down at them. No indication of approval or pride, nothing from the man that ruled their every breath. Only an impersonal dismissal, orders to clean themselves up.    Once in the corridor with no peering eyes to see them, Ashe quickly removed her suffocating mask and let cool air kiss her skin. She hated the fucking thing, but it was necessary. How else would she be able to stroll about the capital as she pleased if not for her identity being concealed?    Ashe was just behind Kalt, and she watched as he supported himself upon the wall, his blood quickly becoming a large stain over his side. Her own hand was pressed against her stomach that bled openly, and while it needed stitching, she had done much worse damage to her counterpart. She didn't let the guilt creep in, or the worry, not now. He would be healed and he would have a new scar, and he wa as fine. They couldn't afford to wallow in guilt and apologies every time they had to hurt each other - if they did, they both would have surely lost their minds by now.    With her heart still racing, Ashe halted beside Kalt and smirked wickedly up at him. ”And you nearly gutted me, fucking prick,” she shot back, fire-blue eyes dancing. ”Guess you should have been quicker than that, silver. Should I start going easier on you?” Her smirk turned sharp, unable to stop the snarky remarks falling from her lips, even through breath that was ragged with exhaustion and distant pain. something violent and fierce and unmoving

KALT He was her dark fairytale She was his twisted fantasy    He maintained the piercing glare down at the tiny woman, his jaw feathering, until a smirk overtook his scowl. He couldn’t help it. While he was definitely soured by losing the fight, it was impossible to stop the creeping pride he felt towards Ashe.    “Bullshit,” he scoffed, turning to face her, his eyes falling to where his blade had cut her open. “Regardless of who won, I drew first blood. Let the record show that much.”    Kalt then reached out quickly to grab her arm and pull her into his body, caging her between the wall and him. She could move if she really wanted to, but that wasn’t the point. He dipped low to claim her lips, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his side, ignoring the bloodloss he was definitely starting to feel.    A knife slipped into his hand, sharp enough to slice apart a falling hair, and he would then part from her just enough to look her in the eye. The blade raised, and she would feel cold steel against the skin of her cheek. “Don’t get cocky, pet,” he whispered tauntingly.    His heart was racing in his chest, and he wasn’t sure whether the lust was caused by blood or by her. How dangerously close the two were… And together They made magic