Everything spirals down and out like a fading storm, like a typhoon that wears itself out and lets the rains swell and die against the battered shores. They're left grieving in the wake, seeing only bars and chains in the prospect of love, and Hotaru wonders if it would have been kinder to spare him. But she was a selfish creature, and while it may have eased him to never know, it would leave her in shambles. She'd rather drag him down into the mire of her sick affections than drown without him next to her. Mother had never taught her any other way to love, after all. Possession and affection lay hand in hand, and Phaedra had been Tolio's demise in so many ways, just as he had been for her. An epic love story fit for the gods, so twisted and blackened their souls had been, made pure as they scalded one another clean. 

Was she following in their steps? Finding the same harsh soul to rub against for the rest of her days, until she was finally clean and saved?

There is nothing for her to say, and he lays before her broken beneath the weight of her sickness. Her heart cries to see him this way, because she'd love him in any fashion, but she knew that they both took comfort and strength in their facades. Why couldn't he see that she understood? She always would, because they'd walked the same paths, nearly toe to toe throughout their lives. If she knew herself, she knew him. Loved him even for the pits of darkness and sin and despair that marked him the same as she. 

Everything goes quiet. Not just because they've both stopped speaking, but something more profound than that. Her bones quiet, her spirit settles, and she stares down upon him and finds nothing left to do or say. He can reject her, but she will fight. She has fought for everything she has ever owned or attained in her life. She will fight for him. He cannot cast her aside, cannot ignore her love for him. This dance between them, it will continue, until one of them waves the final flag and their fates are decided. There was never a man my mother could not conquer, she tells herself hollowly, for how it only brings her determination rather than comfort. Am I not my mother's daughter? But as was the case for the Opulent, there was only one in the universe who truly mattered as an end game. 

She shuffled forward on her knees - a place she'd never let anyone else put her, see her - to where he lies crumpled and still. Tentatively twists to lay beside him, and gently drapes her neck over his withers if he allows her. Does it slowly, carefully, wondering if she was taking advantage of his state in order to do this. Sighs, a large gust of air that stirs the earth near her muzzle, and goes still. "I don't know much about the positives of love," she snorted caustically, even as her voice was weary. "But I'll show you," was whispered, a solemn but scared vow inside her heart. 

I'm not a girl, I'm storm with skin