He reminded her of the Reaper come to collect.

His body betrayed the tension and ire snaking violently at his core, while Essetia was the damned and the agony finally bringing his demons to surface. She’d seen him before, a true monument with all his sharp edges and calculating grins, but not like this. Her words had stilled him against further movement, yet it was not the reaction she’d been praying for. Instead, he balked, his muscles gripping him in a wild frenzy that sparked the flames of fear into settling warily in Essetia’s gut. If she’d been unable to put a description to him prior, it came to her suddenly and with vehemence. Where he’d once been controlled, analytical, and foreboding, he was now wild and wolfish, lethal even.

For a moment, her walls began to crumble, her pleas pressing against the stone and the wood that separated her from Romul. Her eyes lingered on the subtle curve of his ears as they swiveled to catch the lingering notes of her false loathing. Had she truly meant them? Was she just looking for someone else to carry her burdens? Somehow, she felt ashamed and distraught and suddenly, without reason, she longed for the Throat and all its security. After all, who could save her now that she’d prodded a growing storm? Who would keep her safe from the events that unfolded like a wildfire before her?

Tension grew untamed along her skin and before the spy could fully register her own distress, Ulrik had turned full tilt, his smoldering gaze bringing her to mind before him. Her muscles rolled and Essetia threw her head back as he stormed her, leaving no space in which to run or hide from the gathering clouds. Nervous energy surged unkempt in her veins, but Essetia couldn’t turn away from the challenge Ulrik posed; she’d managed this long without him, encountered situations far worse, hadn’t she? Yet, his scent, his closeness, only served to extinguish her rampant flames until she was nothing more than a wet cloth hung out to dry.

The bronze in his stare, the unruly forelock that often fell over his eyes, and the sharp planes of his face were all suddenly too real now. Many times, too long ago, she’d admired him for such attributes, but now she found herself confused by them. She recognized this man and yet could not find in him the things she had known. It wasn’t until he spoke, venom lacing the very syllables as they turned from lip, that Essetia suddenly understood. He’d been changed somehow.

There still remained traces of the cunning engineer, but there also existed a wild and unfortunate beast trailing in his wake. Instead of absorbing her accusations as he’d done in the past, he matched her insults and brought Essetia to heel, despite her defiant stare and open hostility.

"Your fucking Midas shook the ground on which I had comfortably stood for years, and then you...."

What did any of this have to do with her? She laughed when he paused to gather his thoughts. She wanted to remind him that she’d never designed to cross paths with a creature such as he; she’d never wanted to be absent a battle for her home, for her honor. However, as he continued, she stilled noticeably. She shook her head in an attempt to blot out the sentiment, compel him to stop lying. They’d shared nothing but animosity. How could she possibly break a monster so intentionally made for the cold?

It was his breath against her cheek as she turned away from him, his admission of feeling just as lost as she, which kept her from further abuse. For reasons she couldn’t yet understand, she sought peace in his destruction, if only because she longed to piece him back together again. Confusion overruled her sense of understanding and when she turned again to face him, her face somehow softer, more open, she sighed. Essetia had wanted to ruin him for what he’d done, for taking her into captivity, for standing idly by when Midas had died, but… there was new emotion too. It was longing that surpassed her best intuition, her best sense of self-preservation- it just was and had always been. “I ruined you?” she spat. “I didn’t ask for you. I didn’t want you to leave the Basin. I don’t give a shit about your legacy. I didn’t want any of this.”

The embers were still smoking, but slowly burning out. The longer she fought, the more her body betrayed her. She wanted. She desired. She cared. “I don’t understand you either and as far as I’m concerned, I think I’ve paid enough.”

Then, just as she’d done on the day of her capture, she reached toward his shoulder, still just as stunned by her actions as she’d been in the past. Yet, a small smile curved in its wake… After all, hadn’t Ulrik been right?

Hate is only cathartic for so long.