❛ Flattery?
I speak from the heart and you would trivialize my words as mere flattery?
Say, shouldn’t you be happy with the affirmation I am so kindly giving you, instead of going on and on about that insatiable hunger of yours? Truly, is there an end to that stomach? ❜
Problematic?
Throwing around words now, are we? Just what is it about me that’s ‘problematic’, pray tell?
Can a man not just enjoy a moment of respite with his cherished wives? Wantless and modest as I am, am I not even allowed this one simple pleasure?
Another chill runs down his spine at those words, at those bottomless eyes that seem to peer into his very soul.
❛ —I see what you're doing, and it won't work. Another exercise in futility. I've left behind such 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘶𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘴 over a century ago. ❜
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“You’re a smart one. So smart, in fact, that you’ve done everything in your power to convince yourself you’re whole, complete without having to touch—without having to acknowledge… certain fundamental urges.”
She paused, her hand reaching to brush against his lips, herー
Quiet? There was never any quiet— not with Regulus. His soul was an endless cacophony of self-justification; was it an attempt to fill some void, or something else?
❛ —and what are those would-be 𝘵𝘳𝘶��𝘩𝘴? ❜ he demanded, thick brows furrowed.
She held his gaze, unblinking, as her fingers wandered to the nape of his neck—light, playful, tracing idle patterns against his skin.
“Oh, I’d never corrupt you, my dear bishop,” she whispered, her voice dipping into something soft and velvety, like a secret meant only for—
Her presence is both comforting and deeply unsettling. The contradiction disorients him, just as much as her words do.
❛ —don't think me someone so easily swayed by such words. Just how many pure hearts have you corrupted with those words and that face? ❜
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She listened without interrupting, arms still loosely wrapped around him, her body warm, her expression unreadable.
When he finally ran out of breath, one of her brows lifted in mild amusement. A wry smile tugged at the corner of her lips—quiet, knowing.
“…So many words,”—
❛ And worst of all, the end result— another worthless soul born into the world. Can't you see how utterly depraved that is? More people only begets more misery. We should all simply know our places, appreciate what we have, and live our lives humbly without desire—am I wrong? ❜
❛ —never. ❜
The word is laced with an almost primal 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳, and repulsion as shifted to look into her eyes.
❛ What do you think I am? Reproduction is the most foolish exercise in futility of them all. What do you imagine will come of two beings connecting that way? ❜
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“Pure, hm?”
With a soft hum, her tone took on a musing tone. She continued to toy with his hair, the tips of her fingers tracing soft circles around the nape of his neck, the touch almost languid.
Her gaze was on his face, watching as he struggled to maintain his composure—
❛ You cannot connect with people. Everyone should be satisfied with what they have, with the body they're given, yes? So what is there to gain in sullying our only bodies with someone else's filthy touch? Think about it clearly and you'll realize my meaning. ❜
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