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—— soothe her, hold her, hear her voice alive and well.
silent as he climbs into her coffin with her and brings her into his embrace. “‘s okay. it’s just me, ain’t it .ᐣ you’re okay.”
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with sudden shock, he realizes what he recognized her expression from, the familiarity even stronger now; her frantically searching eyes, the large pupils, the blood. the night of her murder.
only now, he can do what he’d wanted to do back then: he can ——
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—— so openly .ᐣ no, it would be torment, resolve be damned.
“shh, shh,” he eases her as he lowers her down on the silk, taking her hand while the other continues its caress through her hair. “i’m here, les. i’m here.”
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she’s like a toxin he can feel invading his bloodstream, syrupy sweet tendrils of her love licking at his veins and curling around his heart that he never quite seems to have been rid of. how could he deny her when she begs him like that, when she 𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑𝑠 him ——
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a glance over at the body. he’d smelled the substances on her─ had just wanted her to say it, really. but he’s been there.
with a sigh, he scoops her up into his arms, off of the couch, to bring her to her coffin. nothin’ to do but sleep it off.
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there’s something utterly familiar about that expression. endeared by it, he smiles, shifts a little closer so he can hover over her. c’mon, be a doll and tell him.
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crouching down beside her. no, he won’t be doing that; he raises his hand to brush golden strands out of her face, scrutinizing her with his gaze.
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