[ the light fizzles like a dying sun, disappearing over the horizon to let the darkness take its place. it won't be enough is her first thought, panic constricting her throat, waiting for the monster to rise as her strength drains. the blood he spills will be on her hands once it's unleashed, and even if she survives it, she won't ever forgive herself for her arrogant mistake. nikolai will never be able to look at himself without drowning in self-hatred, without seeing every life he's stolen stamped behind his eyelids. but then nikolai slumps, dragging her down with him — to the harsh stone floor, and spiraling into the madness of craving the very thing that could destroy them both.
he had been right — they can't return to what came before. before she knew the flavor of his blood on her tongue. before he sensed the slivers of darkness woven through her scars. it's too late to imagine it all away as though it's only a nightmare that can be burned away by the light of day, and yet her thumb still swipes over his bottom lip like they're the same people, soft and unsplintered, swept away by their visions for ravka's future. for a second longer, she can almost pretend she's allowed to soothe the pain of her bite with a kiss, chasing away that pain until it's a forgotten memory.
almost. the stark red painted across his mouth won't let her forget herself, no matter the trembling fingers she takes to it, wiping away the trickle of blood trailing toward his chin. it hurts — the wrongness of the thought that he's still beautiful like this, exhausted and fractured. she locks it away inside of the same room she's created for her darkness, knowing it will inevitably slither through the cracks in the door, feeding on the last, selfish brush of her mouth to his.
he doesn't want you, she reminds herself, even if the beast pulling on his strings does. it's with a sense of finality that presses her lips to his temple, lingering just a moment too long, and raises herself onto weak, shaking knees. untangling herself from him feels like stepping into the ravkan tundra, a chill that follows her as she retreats toward the door — slowly, cautiously, in case a single movement inspires the monster to give chase. in case her body gives out, running on what little energy she hasn't poured into laying his monster to rest. ]
I don't expect you to forgive me. [ the door creaks open, her fingers tightening around its frame. ] I haven't forgiven myself. He turned you into this because of me, and I couldn't —
[ she cuts herself off, closing her eyes briefly. she doubts he wants to hear her guilt-ridden explanations when it's space from her he's asked for. ]
I swear to you I'll fix it. Whatever it takes.
[ the click of the door seems to echo behind her as she softly closes it, resisting the sudden urge to turn back. the farther she travels down the corridor, the worse it aches — this maddening, impossible tether stretching thin between them. it's all she can do to ignore it as she settles into a hallway corner not far from his rooms, a guard at a post, waiting for any sign of danger — even as a new wave of fatigue washes over her and threatens to drag her into sleep. ]
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he had been right — they can't return to what came before. before she knew the flavor of his blood on her tongue. before he sensed the slivers of darkness woven through her scars. it's too late to imagine it all away as though it's only a nightmare that can be burned away by the light of day, and yet her thumb still swipes over his bottom lip like they're the same people, soft and unsplintered, swept away by their visions for ravka's future. for a second longer, she can almost pretend she's allowed to soothe the pain of her bite with a kiss, chasing away that pain until it's a forgotten memory.
almost. the stark red painted across his mouth won't let her forget herself, no matter the trembling fingers she takes to it, wiping away the trickle of blood trailing toward his chin. it hurts — the wrongness of the thought that he's still beautiful like this, exhausted and fractured. she locks it away inside of the same room she's created for her darkness, knowing it will inevitably slither through the cracks in the door, feeding on the last, selfish brush of her mouth to his.
he doesn't want you, she reminds herself, even if the beast pulling on his strings does. it's with a sense of finality that presses her lips to his temple, lingering just a moment too long, and raises herself onto weak, shaking knees. untangling herself from him feels like stepping into the ravkan tundra, a chill that follows her as she retreats toward the door — slowly, cautiously, in case a single movement inspires the monster to give chase. in case her body gives out, running on what little energy she hasn't poured into laying his monster to rest. ]
I don't expect you to forgive me. [ the door creaks open, her fingers tightening around its frame. ] I haven't forgiven myself. He turned you into this because of me, and I couldn't —
[ she cuts herself off, closing her eyes briefly. she doubts he wants to hear her guilt-ridden explanations when it's space from her he's asked for. ]
I swear to you I'll fix it. Whatever it takes.
[ the click of the door seems to echo behind her as she softly closes it, resisting the sudden urge to turn back. the farther she travels down the corridor, the worse it aches — this maddening, impossible tether stretching thin between them. it's all she can do to ignore it as she settles into a hallway corner not far from his rooms, a guard at a post, waiting for any sign of danger — even as a new wave of fatigue washes over her and threatens to drag her into sleep. ]