The darkness makes it easier because you can lose one of your senses. If you don't have to see the dirty walls, the grungy sand, the way Snowflake is looking at you, the way you reach out towards her... then it doesn't have to be real. It can all be a figment of your imagination, a mystery that never happened, a whisper on the wind that disappears when gusts start blowing. But there is no wind down here in the caves, no tendrils of air to carry away whatever it is you're dealing with. Even the darkness cannot save you from your emotions. You are alone with them... Alone with Elsa.

And your nose has met her hide, touched her, pressed against her. Do you know what you're doing? Do you know what emotions you have dragged up within her? Doubtful, you don't even know what emotions it's dragged up within yourself. A touch, a willing touch that you provided. Who else? Nobody. Not since... Murderer. Blight. Slayer. Banished. No goodbye. The memories whirl through your head with ever-increasing speed. But why does she freeze? Why doesn't she move? Why does your touch make her as frozen as she looks? You almost back off, sorry that you ever tried to comfort her at all, but then she changes. Melting would be an appropriate word.

And she folds into you in the darkness, collapses into your chest, and you find that you enjoy the feeling. And what you thought was a brotherly protection for a younger sister begins to blur as your heart crosses a line you did not realize was an option for you. Infatuation for something pretty or is this more? You want to compare it to what you felt for the Phantom Seeker, to know what is real and what is fake and what is imagined and what is born within you. For the first time since you agreed to join the Asylum, you actually feel like you need counseling. You need someone to sort through your feelings with you because for all the smarts you have, you know nothing of your own heart.

And though you are stressed beyond all belief, for once you find that you do not need to reach for your leather bag. The call of the plants is sweet, but in this moment in the pitch black it is not a necessity. You have a different sort of drug cuddled up under your chin, pressed against your chest, in an embrace you never would have imagined yourself in just a few short hours ago. Can time and darkness really change so much? You dig your hooves into the sand, just in case your body suddenly spasms and decides you need to run. But you don't feel like you need to run. You feel at peace, strange peace, since linger thoughts of evisceration and destruction still linger in the corners of your mind.

And it is luck you did dig your hooves in, because as her tears come you stiffen in much the same way she did moments ago. But her head presses against your shoulder, accepting your sweaty embrace, and you are lost again, floating in the darkness, but you think it might be alright. You lift your head, but only far enough to let you lip at her mane. The motion is jerky, unpracticed, hesitant. It is rough around the edges, rather like yourself.

I need you. Your ears splay out and you stop playing with her mane. Promise you that you won't leave her? Once again you're thankful for the darkness. Your eyes grow wide and you shudder. But how can you balk at the princess who has lost her eye? How can you deny her this request when you have promised her everything else? But can you put yourself on the line to be hurt again? Can you deal with the agony that will come when she wants to run away? And what happens when she figures out what you not leaving means. Does she understand that you protect the things that are yours. Does she understand that protecting means being there. Will she be able to handle the over-bearing attitude or will you hear screams of how she needs you to give her space so she can breath? She says the words, but she doesn't know what she asks.

“You don't want that,” you answer her, but it is not a denial. It is a simple statement, a sentiment that you're certain is true. Because even though you know what type of protector you would be, and even though you know the types of relationships you create are pushy and claustrophic, and even though you know these things are wrong... you also know that you can't stop. You are an addict, with an addictive personality. If not your drugs, then something else. And if Snowflake asks you not to leave her, then she is asking you to take her on as your new addiction. You know she doesn't want that and yet... you try to return your lips to her mane. She doesn't want this at all, but you will give it her if she says she does, because even by the moment you grow weak. Her nose upon your shoulder is your kryptonite.

@[Elsa]

Oxy