Fingers shy just before flesh, unwilling to touch lest he give into whim which was desire trussed up upon the table, ready to be feasted upon. Yet, he does not bare down.
Perhaps, he’s too polite. “ Will you allow me to bathe you, though you find my presence endured? ”
A frown smoothed out into something carefully neutral; not quite serene, not quite 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺. No longer so docile as to give without bending; yet he yields, approaching with hesitant steps.
hands. are you alive yet? teeth. are you alive yet? the spit beneath your tongue tastes more him than you. the bed is cold, and you're alone. it's everything you wanted, isn't it? .. this is what you wanted.
so, tell me. are you alive yet?
@luxsatis his eyes, like the clear waters of the deep, pierce her own. then, as the current, they drift away.
“ death is but an end to all things, a natural consequence of living. death is neither good nor is it an inscrutable evil deserving of scorn. ” he smiles. “ nor are you. ”
@darkhorsespy You are, as you must be, as all are we. It does not lie in any singular person nor divine secularity. I can guide you to fresh water, but it is you who must drink.
there is great pride in the gesture, and in the handling of her, and in the righting of a gem like the sun’s rays reflected from the river Nile set askew just before the clavicle.
then, there is a step taken back in appraisal.
nimble fingers just shy of the flesh, which is that, which is of deep bronze and forged in its likeness, does he wind dripping gold of a complimentary tone to @bloodmatriarch’s with an inlay of precious stones about the collar.
such naive conviction, of which my admiration is beholden to. two of which, of those you speak, were of you——which is of the vampire magnus, and of her——and it sets the synapses alight. this inflammation is not their undoing,
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i 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 ! i have— and they too, abandon me. they have all left me to my loneliness. magnus, dancing in the flames. nicholas, razed upon a pyre, gabriella ( ... )
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but it does stoke the eternal flame of conviction. they have left, and so you find yourself a vagabond———a vagrant gilded in the silken dress of nobility.
beautiful, brave, foolish little pauper i can grant you this. yes, i will.