[ in the end, she feels no better for rallying against him. it's an empty victory — like razing a kingdom to the ground, reduced to ashes and dust, simply to keep it from falling into the hands of an enemy. there's nothing noble in it, no prize awaiting her in the aftermath, just the sickening sense of guilt and bitter defeat that often follows those that have survived the bloodshed.
survived feels like too strong of a word when the crushing pressure on her chest hasn't lessened. not even once, not even for a moment. but what triumph is to be had, when he is as composed as he's ever been, letting her beat her fists against his defenses until she tires? she resents him all the more for it — for remaining upright, his mask refusing to slip, while she crumbles around him. it must be an illness to want his blood beneath her fingernails, his tears on her skin, if only to have the proof that this had ever mattered.
that she had mattered, however briefly, as more than just another tool. she waits for the denials that never come, the justifications he never offers. something to give her, when he's taken so much with one proposal. she nearly laughs when he demands more of her — more, as though she hasn't negotiated away all that she is — but it traps itself in her throat, a breath she chokes on once his fingers encircle her wrists.
her palm illuminates the small space between them the moment it touches his skin, a soft glow that seems to recognize the shred of herself she has stowed away inside of him. like a beacon, guiding her closer, aching for connection — for a rightness that feels so very wrong. she nearly flinches away from it, frightened by the sudden surge of misplaced possessiveness that falls over her in response. he isn't hers any longer, if he had ever been, no matter the strange impulse to claim otherwise. her fingers twitch against his chest, twisting loosely in the fabric of his shirt of their own accord. ]
I swear it. I hate you for making me promise that. [ the wetness on her cheek doesn't register, at first. it's only after she blinks that she realizes it's coming from her, beads of moisture clinging to the ends of her eyelashes, dripping onto her skin. it's too much to ask. it's unfair to demand her. it's the least of what they owe one another. ] But who knows? Maybe you'll have to kill me first.
[ maybe neither of them will survive. maybe ravka will fall, after all. scrapped raw as she is, she can't bear to look at him for long — but settling her eyes on that gemstone, gleaming back at her, is hardly any better. for a brief moment, she squeezes her eyes shut, and offers a shake of her head. ]
Keep it. Some of us can't be bought off. [ and she doesn't want the lasting memory of it, truly, to follow her into her next life. it seems too close. it seems too faraway. all the same, she doesn't want nikolai to haunt that one, too. not when the point is to escape all of this. ] It never really belonged to me, anyway.
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survived feels like too strong of a word when the crushing pressure on her chest hasn't lessened. not even once, not even for a moment. but what triumph is to be had, when he is as composed as he's ever been, letting her beat her fists against his defenses until she tires? she resents him all the more for it — for remaining upright, his mask refusing to slip, while she crumbles around him. it must be an illness to want his blood beneath her fingernails, his tears on her skin, if only to have the proof that this had ever mattered.
that she had mattered, however briefly, as more than just another tool. she waits for the denials that never come, the justifications he never offers. something to give her, when he's taken so much with one proposal. she nearly laughs when he demands more of her — more, as though she hasn't negotiated away all that she is — but it traps itself in her throat, a breath she chokes on once his fingers encircle her wrists.
her palm illuminates the small space between them the moment it touches his skin, a soft glow that seems to recognize the shred of herself she has stowed away inside of him. like a beacon, guiding her closer, aching for connection — for a rightness that feels so very wrong. she nearly flinches away from it, frightened by the sudden surge of misplaced possessiveness that falls over her in response. he isn't hers any longer, if he had ever been, no matter the strange impulse to claim otherwise. her fingers twitch against his chest, twisting loosely in the fabric of his shirt of their own accord. ]
I swear it. I hate you for making me promise that. [ the wetness on her cheek doesn't register, at first. it's only after she blinks that she realizes it's coming from her, beads of moisture clinging to the ends of her eyelashes, dripping onto her skin. it's too much to ask. it's unfair to demand her. it's the least of what they owe one another. ] But who knows? Maybe you'll have to kill me first.
[ maybe neither of them will survive. maybe ravka will fall, after all. scrapped raw as she is, she can't bear to look at him for long — but settling her eyes on that gemstone, gleaming back at her, is hardly any better. for a brief moment, she squeezes her eyes shut, and offers a shake of her head. ]
Keep it. Some of us can't be bought off. [ and she doesn't want the lasting memory of it, truly, to follow her into her next life. it seems too close. it seems too faraway. all the same, she doesn't want nikolai to haunt that one, too. not when the point is to escape all of this. ] It never really belonged to me, anyway.