[P] all the light we cannot see

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 

She stands, a lick of flame brighter than the red and golds of turning autumn. The trees and shed leaves littering the ground, frame her, turning her flame as bright as the sun. But even with her skin not as bright as any flare, Raum would find her. He would find Rhoswen even at the ends of the earth when all was black and her light snubbed out to naught but shadow and ash.
 
He moves to her, in pain, in vicious victory and hidden secrets. Once Raum told her all, but now he keeps his lips shut. The Crow is a piece of art, a tribute to death and blood and violence. He is painted red and silver, moonlight bleeding. He might have bathed before meeting her here, had he passed a stream, had he felt he should hide. But Rhoswen knows every part of him; this girl knows the blood on his hands and the black of his every thought.
 
The Ghost stops, a few feet stretching between them, feeling at once an intimate distance and yet a whole canyon dividing them. Acton’s blood is the spray and splatter, smear and brush of red paint across his skin. It adorns Raum in death and he does not hide it from Rhoswen.
 
Raum drowns her in electric blue as he studies her, before slipping his gaze away to study the way Denocte frames her. “Denocte.” He hums softly, as his gaze returns to her, “Can you not stay away, Rose?” Those words fall off his tongue, heavy and mocking. He knows she is made for more than darkness. She is made for sand and sun and mirages and a part of him still resents her for it. It prowls leonine and sets his gaze like teeth against the heat of her skin.

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@Rhoswen - so sorry, this is off the boil