[ it's okay, she could murmur, with a voice usually reserved for spooked animals or children haunted by the imaginary monsters lurking beneath their beds. you're okay. all the comforting promises she wishes she could grant him. all the lies that will never come true. but what cure can she provide, when she's the curse? it's apparent, now; once is a coincidence, but twice is a pattern. perhaps it's simply a physical representation of what she's always known: to come close to her is to accept suffering as your destiny.
the darkling might have chosen destruction as his fate, but destruction has chosen her. something in her chest shatters all over again — until the shards have lodged between her ribcage, punctured her lungs, and turned every breath painful. a hurt of a different breed than he expects from her, that can't be inflicted from razor-edged talons. truthfully, she doesn't initially feel the caress of air against her skin. she blames it on the shock that comes with reeling, from being dipped into the warmth of his affection only to face the cold dread of reality — and the loneliness she is beginning to fear will plague the years they share.
gooseflesh climbs her ribcage, unmarred as she had known she would find it. a faith she doubts nikolai is keen to share. she smooths a hand over the dip of her waist as though it will erase the ghosting touch of shadow-stained claws, or how fervently she wishes those hands would still linger no matter which shape they take. ]
No. And I know you're never going to hurt me, or anyone else. [ no one but himself. how long can one person punish themselves, how long can two people punish each other, before they tire of it? her conviction is as iron-clad as any grisha steel, but she isn't so naive as to believe it will convince him. ] I know you don't believe that. I know you can't believe in my belief in you, but I know your strength. I've seen it plenty of times.
[ it's the truth. nikolai shouldn't have to master the art of avoiding bloodshed, but the degree with which he has repressed the monster is — impressive. impressive, and unfathomably horrifying when she considers the potential consequences of that practice. she doesn't give him the time or the opportunity to retract his hand from her grasping; it can only end in another rejection she will swallow and shoulder, but she kneads her fingertips into his wrist, regardless, to alleviate some of the rigid tension in his muscles before she settles it over the tattered fabric of her gown.
it doesn't seem wise to point out the corsetry on it had been suffocating her, anyway, or that it's ridiculous that he would ask after her safety when she's fed this disease. and so she says nothing of the sort, coaxing his fingertips to graze that unblemished skin to prove her point instead. her palm presses over the back of his hand, trapping it there, lest he thinks to yank it away out of instinctual fear. ]
See? You haven't done anything to hurt me, and you won't.
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the darkling might have chosen destruction as his fate, but destruction has chosen her. something in her chest shatters all over again — until the shards have lodged between her ribcage, punctured her lungs, and turned every breath painful. a hurt of a different breed than he expects from her, that can't be inflicted from razor-edged talons. truthfully, she doesn't initially feel the caress of air against her skin. she blames it on the shock that comes with reeling, from being dipped into the warmth of his affection only to face the cold dread of reality — and the loneliness she is beginning to fear will plague the years they share.
gooseflesh climbs her ribcage, unmarred as she had known she would find it. a faith she doubts nikolai is keen to share. she smooths a hand over the dip of her waist as though it will erase the ghosting touch of shadow-stained claws, or how fervently she wishes those hands would still linger no matter which shape they take. ]
No. And I know you're never going to hurt me, or anyone else. [ no one but himself. how long can one person punish themselves, how long can two people punish each other, before they tire of it? her conviction is as iron-clad as any grisha steel, but she isn't so naive as to believe it will convince him. ] I know you don't believe that. I know you can't believe in my belief in you, but I know your strength. I've seen it plenty of times.
[ it's the truth. nikolai shouldn't have to master the art of avoiding bloodshed, but the degree with which he has repressed the monster is — impressive. impressive, and unfathomably horrifying when she considers the potential consequences of that practice. she doesn't give him the time or the opportunity to retract his hand from her grasping; it can only end in another rejection she will swallow and shoulder, but she kneads her fingertips into his wrist, regardless, to alleviate some of the rigid tension in his muscles before she settles it over the tattered fabric of her gown.
it doesn't seem wise to point out the corsetry on it had been suffocating her, anyway, or that it's ridiculous that he would ask after her safety when she's fed this disease. and so she says nothing of the sort, coaxing his fingertips to graze that unblemished skin to prove her point instead. her palm presses over the back of his hand, trapping it there, lest he thinks to yank it away out of instinctual fear. ]
See? You haven't done anything to hurt me, and you won't.