[ go where? anywhere. out of this room. out of the palace. she could go search for truffles in the dirt with mal for all he cares right now. he just needs her to be away from him, because he can feel the monster moving again, how it's awakened from their close proximity and his foolish choice to touch her. and yet still he wants to reach for her again, to twine their hands together, to hold her in his arms, because now that he's had a moment of quiet, everything that's happened is beginning to sink in. how many people did he kill during those months? did he do it quickly or did they suffer? how much flesh has he consumed, how much blood? was it anyone that he knew, anyone he served alongside with in the first army or shook hands with as their prince? did they know nikolai lantsov? did they trust him?
the questions swarm him like a tempest, questions he will never know the answers to and could spend his entire life poring over. already he makes an attempt to push them deeper within himself, trying to fumble them into a locked box that he can toss alongside the rest, boxes of secrets and fears and doubts that the unflappable nikolai lantsov would never say aloud. and what makes it worse in this moment is that he can feel the monster wrapping tendrils of darkness around his weaknesses, filling the cracks and blanketing the bruised parts of him like an acid. he wants to close his eyes and give in, because if this is what the beast preys on then he's already done for. there's too much of it inside of him to ever truly be safe from this.
alina hasn't moved. he can feel her presence even with his head in his hands, with his eyes closed, with his mind fragmenting. even if she goes he doesn't think he can hide from her aura. he feels it too acutely now, the catch of her breath and the quickening of her pulse, both a roar in his ears. this plan falls to pieces if he can't pull this under his control. ]
It wants you, but I — [ don't is what he wants to say, because maybe if the words leave his mouth then it will somehow become true. alina isn't the darkling. she will never be the darkling, and nikolai is firm in his belief of this, because at her core she wants better, just as he does. he's seen it in her eyes, that hope, that careful optimism that together they could do all the things he's always dreamed of for this country. that they could make it a place that wasn't horrible for children to grow up, a place to grow into more than just a uniform with a gun that jammed when you needed it the most.
she is not the darkling, but the power within her feels like the darkling, and if chafes against every part of him as much as it draws the monster even more insistently toward her. he blinks and he's out of his chair, his hands roughly cradling her face and — it's as if he has no control, no say in stopping himself from doing something he knows he shouldn't but craves desperately anyway. nikolai always thought he knew fear, but the loss of his own agency, the confusion that comes from not knowing whether it's him or something else, having the monster push him to do things he would never otherwise allow himself to do, that is a brand new type of horror that feels like razor-sharp cuts running along his veins.
it's powerlessness, he thinks, that scares him the most, and he wonders if that means he's as power-hungry as the rest. alina was right. losing control is a unique type of dread, a black hole that's nearly impossible to escape once you're in it.
their mouths collide harshly, the taste of her sharp and sweet at once, so familiar and yet it sends an edge of disquiet through him. the monster lurches to the forefront, his hands tightening in her hair — too tight, just like his lungs and how he suddenly struggles to breathe. his eyes flutter open, clouded in black. ] I told you to go.
no subject
the questions swarm him like a tempest, questions he will never know the answers to and could spend his entire life poring over. already he makes an attempt to push them deeper within himself, trying to fumble them into a locked box that he can toss alongside the rest, boxes of secrets and fears and doubts that the unflappable nikolai lantsov would never say aloud. and what makes it worse in this moment is that he can feel the monster wrapping tendrils of darkness around his weaknesses, filling the cracks and blanketing the bruised parts of him like an acid. he wants to close his eyes and give in, because if this is what the beast preys on then he's already done for. there's too much of it inside of him to ever truly be safe from this.
alina hasn't moved. he can feel her presence even with his head in his hands, with his eyes closed, with his mind fragmenting. even if she goes he doesn't think he can hide from her aura. he feels it too acutely now, the catch of her breath and the quickening of her pulse, both a roar in his ears. this plan falls to pieces if he can't pull this under his control. ]
It wants you, but I — [ don't is what he wants to say, because maybe if the words leave his mouth then it will somehow become true. alina isn't the darkling. she will never be the darkling, and nikolai is firm in his belief of this, because at her core she wants better, just as he does. he's seen it in her eyes, that hope, that careful optimism that together they could do all the things he's always dreamed of for this country. that they could make it a place that wasn't horrible for children to grow up, a place to grow into more than just a uniform with a gun that jammed when you needed it the most.
she is not the darkling, but the power within her feels like the darkling, and if chafes against every part of him as much as it draws the monster even more insistently toward her. he blinks and he's out of his chair, his hands roughly cradling her face and — it's as if he has no control, no say in stopping himself from doing something he knows he shouldn't but craves desperately anyway. nikolai always thought he knew fear, but the loss of his own agency, the confusion that comes from not knowing whether it's him or something else, having the monster push him to do things he would never otherwise allow himself to do, that is a brand new type of horror that feels like razor-sharp cuts running along his veins.
it's powerlessness, he thinks, that scares him the most, and he wonders if that means he's as power-hungry as the rest. alina was right. losing control is a unique type of dread, a black hole that's nearly impossible to escape once you're in it.
their mouths collide harshly, the taste of her sharp and sweet at once, so familiar and yet it sends an edge of disquiet through him. the monster lurches to the forefront, his hands tightening in her hair — too tight, just like his lungs and how he suddenly struggles to breathe. his eyes flutter open, clouded in black. ] I told you to go.