![[Image: rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png]](https://orig15.deviantart.net/7f0b/f/2017/234/b/6/rhosbyspace2_by_outofthefurnace-dbkwvw7.png)
Rhos didn't trust him, not anymore. He was artful, made from the cold light of a winter moon - one that threw ugly shadows against every line and form of this earth, contorting them to the point where they were utterly unrecognisable. That was how she felt about Raum, and of the great Court she had left behind. A gaggle of roguish shadows. A half-truth, of course. For she was still of wolfblood, and maybe the wolf was in love with the moon, each night crying for a love it would never touch.
Her anger remained palpable, but there was something else fusing now with the frayed strands of her rage: hurt. Rhoswen had tucked away the bruises, hidden them underneath long sleeves and longer hair, feeling their tenderness long after they had faded from her skin; she could still feel their ache if she closed her eyes tight enough. Bruises left by Raum's brittle bludgeoning words. At first they had been sharp, almost startling to hear from a mouth she had grown (something close to) fond of. They had sliced her skin, but she had preferred that knifelike pain, to that which set in once the shock had passed. It had been dull, pounding, unbearable. He didn't understand her. And she couldn't understand why. Or, perhaps she couldn't understand why it pained her so that he did not. This blue-eyed boy. To everyone he had been a killer, to her he had been... he had been....
She couldn't seem to find the right words anymore.
The volcanic woman watches him watching her, this dangerous dance they had begun. Except Rhos didn't feel like she was dancing, it felt like she was descending. Into what, she wasn't yet sure. She didn't want to know.
Raum takes a step closer, and Rhoswen inhales, her breath ragged, fitful even. She read the flickering in his electric gaze, she could feel the tremors of his own fury even if it did not bleed the way hers did. It seemed like hatred; oceans and oceans of hate - well, she hated him right back. Hated the way even now he made her skin itch and her heart bang against a wide drum she loathed the sound of. Hated how small he made her feel with that straight cold stare, as though she had cursed Denocte with her absence. Did he suspect that she had spilled all of Night Court's secrets in Maxence's aureate bedchamber? He should have known better, but then perhaps he did not know her at all.
When at last he spoke the whisper of his rage was gone and from his lips came only silk. More words to lash like a whip against her hide, except this time, Rhoswen was ready: carrying steel armour and an exterior of flames to banish away his venom. He is like a blind man, unable to see what was right in front of him. But, perhaps there was truth in both their causes. Maybe he was right; had she listened long enough? Had she given up too easily, when the sun beamed and the night sulked. Rhos has always been more at home in the light, wearing Solis' golden rays with a pride that slipped away at the fall of night.
A hiss burned from her tongue, quieter now. "She was never there." Frustration caused Rhos to break their steadfast gaze for the first time, auburn tresses snatching around her delicate ankles as she looked away. He probes her, questioning her intentions and her heart. What business was it of his anymore? Did she even know the answer to his interrogations? "Maybe I have and maybe you did. It doesn't matter anymore. I am Solterran now, and apparently so are you." Her guard was raised, now, she didn't want to talk about the past anymore. Her words were belligerent almost, shielding the truth behind their force.
Rhoswen looked back at him, the smoke of her eyes dimmed into something harder, steelier; "If they catch you, they'll string you up by your neck with that pretty blue scarf of yours. I hope you know that."
@Raum
Her anger remained palpable, but there was something else fusing now with the frayed strands of her rage: hurt. Rhoswen had tucked away the bruises, hidden them underneath long sleeves and longer hair, feeling their tenderness long after they had faded from her skin; she could still feel their ache if she closed her eyes tight enough. Bruises left by Raum's brittle bludgeoning words. At first they had been sharp, almost startling to hear from a mouth she had grown (something close to) fond of. They had sliced her skin, but she had preferred that knifelike pain, to that which set in once the shock had passed. It had been dull, pounding, unbearable. He didn't understand her. And she couldn't understand why. Or, perhaps she couldn't understand why it pained her so that he did not. This blue-eyed boy. To everyone he had been a killer, to her he had been... he had been....
She couldn't seem to find the right words anymore.
The volcanic woman watches him watching her, this dangerous dance they had begun. Except Rhos didn't feel like she was dancing, it felt like she was descending. Into what, she wasn't yet sure. She didn't want to know.
Raum takes a step closer, and Rhoswen inhales, her breath ragged, fitful even. She read the flickering in his electric gaze, she could feel the tremors of his own fury even if it did not bleed the way hers did. It seemed like hatred; oceans and oceans of hate - well, she hated him right back. Hated the way even now he made her skin itch and her heart bang against a wide drum she loathed the sound of. Hated how small he made her feel with that straight cold stare, as though she had cursed Denocte with her absence. Did he suspect that she had spilled all of Night Court's secrets in Maxence's aureate bedchamber? He should have known better, but then perhaps he did not know her at all.
When at last he spoke the whisper of his rage was gone and from his lips came only silk. More words to lash like a whip against her hide, except this time, Rhoswen was ready: carrying steel armour and an exterior of flames to banish away his venom. He is like a blind man, unable to see what was right in front of him. But, perhaps there was truth in both their causes. Maybe he was right; had she listened long enough? Had she given up too easily, when the sun beamed and the night sulked. Rhos has always been more at home in the light, wearing Solis' golden rays with a pride that slipped away at the fall of night.
A hiss burned from her tongue, quieter now. "She was never there." Frustration caused Rhos to break their steadfast gaze for the first time, auburn tresses snatching around her delicate ankles as she looked away. He probes her, questioning her intentions and her heart. What business was it of his anymore? Did she even know the answer to his interrogations? "Maybe I have and maybe you did. It doesn't matter anymore. I am Solterran now, and apparently so are you." Her guard was raised, now, she didn't want to talk about the past anymore. Her words were belligerent almost, shielding the truth behind their force.
Rhoswen looked back at him, the smoke of her eyes dimmed into something harder, steelier; "If they catch you, they'll string you up by your neck with that pretty blue scarf of yours. I hope you know that."
@Raum
