You like being wanted down to the marrow.
Even if you don't know the depth of what that means. But you understand, don't you? Because you’re a special girl, I see it in those pretty eyes. You know me. I know you. I've always known you.
There is a difference between pain and the idea of pain. Anandi walks that fine line with a dancer’s grace. It’s true that sometimes she leans a little too far to one side or another. But she always finds her way back to the center. (A test of her patience… surely there was more than a little delight to be had in the fall?) She treads ever so carefully now, the way she carefully maintains the distance between them even as her soft eyes beg for just a touch, just a taste of that delicious skin.
The ocean was never still and neither is its daughter; the current circles Apolonia now, a whirlpool with the pied girl at its heart.
“One day… and you could join me…”
Anandi’s green eyes practically glitter in the moonlight. Her pink fringe lowers to her poll in the rush of pleasure, and then it rises again. The play of color is something akin to a blush. “I’m going to hold you to that, my dear,” she purrs, eyes deadly serious as she takes another step around her new friend. "One day." The words are like a collar, not slipped around the neck but placed very deliberately against her cheek. Don't you like the scent of it? the feel? Anandi considered herself a woman of class and civility; she would never force anyone to do something (or at least, she had not yet been pushed to this) but she would coax you into taking the bit in your mouth yourself, and thinking it was your idea.
A strange thing happens then, for Apolonia’s laughter sinks into her chest like a fishhook. The sound of it was so pure, so unlike everything she’s ever heard before. A look of surprise and uncertainty clouds those jade eyes. They stabilize by drifting to that tender throat, the heart of the laughter. Her heavy gaze, half veiled by long dark lashes, anchors there between fluttering heartbeats. And then the hunger rises.
The illusion of innocence drains from the kelpie’s face. Her eyes seem to grow sharper, more predatory, and her jaw loosens as though ready to unhinge. “Well I’d love to stay but,” her voice is intentionally casual but she can’t help how it comes out so breathy, urgent, “I have plans.” Shoving her face into a kill, fresh and steaming, trying to think of anything but that laughter rubbing against her like shark skin.
(She just ate, didn’t she? So what is this ravenous feeling? Was it perhaps a different desire of the flesh?)
She ought to leave before she does something… unbecoming. But she hesitates, tension coiled all down her spine, huge wanting eyes staring at divine Apolonia. “Meet me here next full moon?” Command or question, want or need, all things blur and bow to the hunger, the hunger, the hunger. Even her words slur feverishly; they melt into her smile, confident and casual and calculatingly sharp. She’ll have to give her friend a close look. Some day, perhaps, when she had greater control over her urges.
Anandi turns and slinks into the overgrowth, and just like that– a girl stands alone on the shore except for the nightsong and a scattering of slivered-moon hoofprints.
What I've seen here, what I say
The white sun erases
@
some say the loving and the devouring are all the same thing
☾
