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Thranduil
It was ever a dance. One long eternal dance of the damned. For punishment of their crimes perhaps, they were now to continually slip past one another on the floor, doomed to ever be off beat with one another, but destined to never stop till they held the other. Earth eyes flinch to see her do the same, and they narrow with the threat of breaking to see her in retreat. To see the bold woman in full retreat, and bashfully so at that. It soured his mouth and strained his soul. But then he steps forward selfishly, and her skin touches his, her retreat melts into him, and the world is still for a moment. The golden head reaches over her, letting her head bury to his chest, careful of the horn, while his reaches to her shoulder, and tucks, pulling her in, and burying itself into her thin wisps of her mane. This. This is what he sought. All the last of the gold’s defenses fall away, and even the white ghost’s cries fade as the addicting elixir of Hotaru seeps into his blood through the reality of her touch. This wasn’t a ghost. This wasn’t some far off haunter. This was real. This was her. This was him. She was by him, and it felt right in a way few things ever had before. This was how he should have woken up this morning. So as she pushes in, he does as well, earth eyes shutting away tightly as all his senses drink in the moment, the drug. He was stone cold liar, a steeled blade with a double edge, but he was helpless against Hotaru’s hot tears against his chest. Why could they never just feel? These creatures of words, lies, and disguises. Was it never enough for the two to let their souls feel the other force, and embrace? Of course not….they would both have long ago been dead. Brought down by lack of caution and strength. Their life’s work was ever to hide these feelings, to deny and resist them. And to the utterly painful agony of both they were good at it. A curse of the world marking their steps, their suspicions. It kept them off beat. Each word and resistance was some shove in an opposite direction. This time it was simply torture. As her chocked words tumble forth, the words hot in his chest, his ears pin back. Maybe he could just not hear. Maybe he could ignore her and the words just wash away with the next cold breeze…maybe…maybe not. But as always she doesn’t yield, her words don’t cease. How could he be this weak to her? How could she hold this much control him? Make him beg release without a single touch? Make him tremble at the very start of a sentence? Did she realize just how wrapped around her he was? Just how much he yielded to her without even being asked. If she was under his spell as much as she claimed, was she so blind to see he was the same? To see just how out of place and weak she made him? Judging by her words, she clearly didn’t. She doesn’t retreat, but he doesn’t allow her to either. Daggers dig into his chest, one for each hiccupped line, and good god he forgot how much that damn muscle could hurt. How much it could make him suffer. He wanes under the feel, his weight growing on her slender frame as he feels her claws. She begged of him. She begged him to release her. Where was that mercy to him shown as she laid beside him last? But the whispered breath of before is stolen from him, and he’s tortured once more. How could he so foolish? How could he be so naïve? To think she would so willingly return the sentiment! To think she would take selflessly instead of selfishly. His head spins slightly with voices and he’s weighted once more by it all. Yet he too is loath to let go. Here. In her arms, in her touch, the past was at last distant for the force of the present….but gods she was making this time just as painful. “You beg….” It rolls out in a moan…Did she not see? Could she not understand? The gold had gifted her, robed her in blue, gone to war for her, and protected her back in the shadows. If any could call anything resembling loyalty of this man it was her. And her alone. So when she asked, or begged, for something, his chest ached to see what she desired beyond his grasp. She had not given it to him when he begged, now she would feel the weight of her consequences. “...do not pretend my pleas were silent nor answered that day.” His fallen corpse of a body was not just a door stop to let her waltz through, but she had taken it as one. His pleas had been ignored for her selfish purposes, why should hers be any different. Then, they weren’t quite the same….it seemed. The gold knew this rosen ghost, or was at least secure in seeing behind her mask…but he? The thought made his back go rigid with the thought. That day, her demand to which he begged not was to see the real him. To find the chance to fall in love with the real Thranduil…but did she know which it was? Did she know this dust covered, war worn pale shadow was it? Or did she still believe the shimmering gold with a wicked smile was the one she needed? The thought settled uneasily and it caused the gold to release her from his grasp. He hadn’t thought of it before, but the notion came hot and ill upon him. Had he created so many faces that now the real one was lost among the rest? “You asked to know me that day. The real me…” His voice was haunted, still shaky, but soft in volume all the same. He wasn’t losing his temper today, just his feeling new cracks on a mended heart. “Have your eyes seen so many lies they can no longer find the truth?” It bite harder, letting the bandages slip slightly to reveal the scars. To show her it hurt. He stepped back again (his own body perhaps a tinge lustful for her touch groans). His earth eyes level with hers, and in them the world trembles on unsteady feet, a rare position, as it sorts through, trying to resist breaking every rule it knew (revealing pain, showing truth, explaining..) but failing. “You asked to be let in…..” His face contorted, the trouble of voicing what was never meant to be said. “I didn’t open those doors….but you came in anyway.” The bitterness of reveal twisted his throat and the crowned head turned away. And oh the havoc she had caused once she found herself there. That rosen ghost. That damned blessed rosen ghost, rising all she found in his mind, haunting shadows and glances, and never giving him a peaceful nights sleep. Torture. And while he begged she never relented. The rosen ghost never yielded. “Hotaru…I begged every night to not hear your voice….to not want to hear your voice.” Your scent. "I have not gone unpunished" For this absence, this distance. "I begged..." For your touch. Or mine…, a faint white shadow whispers from some far room. The gold coat flinches. “But you’re a stubborn mare.” Some false air. Some painted ray of sun flashes over him and he finds strength to look back to her. But they will never been that sunshine couple. Their story will never be christened with a happy ending. They’ve committed too many sins for that. “You promised to show me the pain of the past was worth facing.” His voice is stronger now, but chained down with desperation the inner turmoil caused. “That there is some good in this....in love. His weight shifts, some reveal of its heavy burden. “I helped you face yours…” Now I need help facing mine… “I beg of you to keep that promise….” Cause I won’t survive it alone. "talk talk talk" OOC:: |
Hotaru
IMMA JUST GO CRAWL IN THE CORNER AND CRY OK, JUST IGNORE ME
![[Image: 5381546acbe33]](http://images.helovia.net/index.php/view/5381546acbe33)
Feel free to use any force/magic on Thranduil, short of killing him.
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Ask Thranduil any question in the world, he'll be forced to answer on his profile. PM with your question.
