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12-13-2015, 05:29 PM
Tandavi I'll light a fire in your new shoes. He comes because he always comes; he is her destiny, her doom, the darkness she shies from made mortal and cruel. His figure casts a heavy shadow across her own lithe frame; his grey gaze falls upon her, cast with the force of a stone. For a moment she flickers, falters, poised on the brink of running away from this, from what she is about to do, from him and all he means to her- nothing, yet everything, the only thing that makes her feel this strange self-loathing, that allows her to stop trying to be good.
("Ungrateful child!" Kaj spits in her face.)
Because she isn't good, isn't strong; she's simply a pale reflection of some greater glory, a watered down light with all the heat of winter's day.
He comes, and she does not flee, not because she is weak, but because she does not want to be strong. She yearns for his abuse, his hatred, for her hatred to slip above the dismal haze of tragedy and desolation which floats like fog across her mind. She clings to his fervid accusations, drawing them close against her breast. Her name is a mockery within his voice, and the anger within her blazes cold and bright, brittle heat swelling within her heart. "I might ask you the same-" she could say, but does not. She need not be polite for him.
(And if it had been someone else- if there had been anyone else? What would she have said, then?)
Her words surprise her, though she knows they are true. "I need you," she tells him darkly, defiantly, and draws herself taller, black eyes glittering in the firelight. I need you to hurt me, because nobody will help me. I need you, and you need me, or else why would you have come?
And that need, his need- well. She is willing to give it to him, if he will earn it, if he will be honest in his disdain, open in his wrath, because she needs it, too- can smell it on herself as clearly as on him, the raging spiral of hormones and the shuddering weight of desire, tainted as it is by despair and rage. Hate me, and I will let you love me- and the thought almost makes her giggle, even as her brother's mind rebels and screams.
Because isn't that what this is about? Isn't that what it was always about? Being broken, being claimed, being the possession of someone else, their plaything, their pleasure, even as they became yours? She cannot say for sure, of course. She knows she needs him-
(- and would it be the same with someone else? What if it had been Caneo, or Sacre, or even Lace? -)
- and she knows she does not love him, because love doesn't matter, because she has given up on love -
(- but it doesn't matter, because they're all gone.)
For a moment she regards him, heart beating heavy in her aureate chest, body eerily still- she does not know what happens now. Perhaps he will reject her after all, laugh at her childish weakness, scoff in the face of her vengeful desire. Or will he leap at her, crush her beneath his considerable strength, take her in his gaze and attempt to douse what's left of her once so fervent flame? Either way she'll fight- it's what she wants, after all, a fight, an honest altercation, a clash of bodies and the spilling of blood
(Who am I? What have I become?)
and then... and then... whatever and then is.
(It doesn't matter if my soul is dead. There is no one left to care.)
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@Reginald
(idfk)
o. pixel pony credit to tamme
o. permission granted to use force and magic on Tavi
o. only tag me in opening posts, please!
