och jag växte upp snabbt, från min barndom var det allt—jag föddes redan slagen

då tänker du tyst och skriker högt, memorerar hela jävla monologen som skrevs för din inre röst,

So he had a thing for silence—and a way with it, too. It came easily, naturally, to him, eons of nothing but breathing and heartbeats to the backdrop soundscape of the world. Feather-light.

But he wasn't at peace now. He wasn't sure what he was, because he wasn't exactly angry, nor was he terribly sad, he was just.. hurt. That was the best word he had for it. He was hurt, and it made him slightly vindictive, so even as he stared out over the calming seas he felt weighted, heavy, his presence pressing on the silence like a thumb on a sore spot. He didn't want to be good company anymore. He didn't want to expose his fragile self to someone who had such careless and sharp elbows.

He didn't care if she had meant to hurt him or not; what good were intentions if you toppled something anyway? Whether it was a mistake or no was irrelevant when something laid in shambles in the end anyway.

And he didn't care if it affected her. He didn't care if the icy silence bothered her. He had saved her—for now—and if that wouldn't be enough for her, she could go fuck herself and drown.

Still, her movement drew his attention, blue eyes slipping off the horizon to glance down at her. Was she expecting him to do something? Lift the bird higher? Or was she just taking her chances with setting herself on fire? The darkness in him wanted to do the opposite, to force the hawk a little lower, just to watch her cringe.. and wince.. and to hear the crackle of it taking a bite, sinking into flesh, and gnawing it clean off her blackened bones—

Shut up shut up shut up.

He hadn't come down here to save her, only to rob her of hope and leave her in a darkness so absolute she would never re-surface from it. But still—part of him wanted to step on her fragile wings until they broke, and leave her in the cold arms of the sea.

"You," he answered her bluntly, amazed that he had not yet set her on fire. He still wanted to, even if the worst of the sting was fading; he could even talk now, without his voice locking up. It sounded rougher, and colder, than before, as if something had happened within—and something had, but he wasn't about to tell her. He would probably never see her again and good fucking riddance. He wasn't strong enough to handle the kind of company that stuck its claws in him like that. "I saw you fall."

Went to see if you'd washed up,
turns out you had,
but I kinda wish you hadn't.

"How are you feeling now?"

Angel, oh angel, what if they knew about that darkness in your heart?

It's so hard to imagine when you're acting like that.

[ @[Shadow] ]