T E N E B R A E
On my body, the grace of shadows
and in my heart: all Hells
and in my heart: all Hells
She surprises him in the way she says she would not change anything of her past. Hers had been full of grief and sorrow. Yet the smile upon her lips was assured, even when her answer comes low and sombre. Tenebrae watches how her lips shape the words and they fall, heavy, from her tongue. He feels the weight of them tumbling down, pulling upon the threads of her past. Do they twinge in her soul, is that why the corner of her lips are turned down, down, down?
Such sorrowful smiles. Such deep, dark gold along her gilded lips. Elena’s is the colour of temples, where travellers go to weep and rage. He thinks of Moira and her tears of light, filling, overflowing in the Night Goddess’ chamber. If Elena has ever had any of those feelings, she keeps them locked away within her box of supple gold and fragile bone.
He cannot read into her, not with looking. But it may be there in the way she seems to climb into him, in through his skin, his eyes, his nose. Idly he wonders if the press of their brows is too much, too needy. But she does not yield. Elena does not stand back so their breaths no longer mingle nor their eyes no longer document the close up features of weather-worn cheeks and sun tainted lashes.
He is glad they are close when she remembers how her parents disappeared. There is now poison upon her lips, he exhales at its sting. Again he wonders how many orphans he has made. The spoils of war were always costly, a thousand years upon his knees repenting could never make up for love-starved children.
She says nothing to him and he wonders if she knows that he has killed. If she did, would she still be pressed so close to him? Would she still taste his skin upon her lips and not shudder? The tragedy is, even if she did, he knows he would likely do it all again, if Caligo should only ask.
“I am sorry.” He breathes and it is not enough. No amount of anguish that groans through his voice would ever be enough for her loss. He can tell she is already healed, but for the niggling of scars. He would reach for them, if he could, ease them as she eases his. They push, they pull, they give, they take - even as they cling and climb into each other’s skin.
It is not your fault. She says and he smiles small and sad. He says nothing, but there is a promise between them, a voice that calls out into the shadows they cast upon eachother’s bodies, I will tell you one day, along with my name. That voice speaks a vow that will sear itself upon her soul, if Elena lets it, if she dares.
“I looked after myself.” Tenebrae gives her a truth at last. “I scavenged and stole,” A street urchin’s smile crosses his lips. It gleams dark and impish in the light. His shadows stir with the awakening of a scoundrel’s past and his magic skips and sneaks about her limbs.
I can take care of you now.
Tenebrae is smiling, smiling. He laughs a low chuckle. It is a black noise, sleek and lazy as a panther. It curls around them like a cat. “Oh but who will care for you, Elena?”
You, Elena, who trusts too easily.
You, Elena, who wants too much.
You, Elena, who walks into darkness and does not fear for her own soul.
You, Elena, who asked a boy if he would catch her if she fell.
And he, he is the boy who said he would catch her. “Maybe we can care for each other.” And the moment the words are out that urchin smile is fading. His expression grows as sombre as hers had been. There is a weight upon their words again as their words seem to bind them together atop the cliff.
He takes a breath, deep, deep, deep and tells himself it is not to drink her in one last time.Filled with the salt of her skin (the sea), the glow of her skin (the sun), the bright of her eyes (the sky), Tenebrae pulls away from her. The world returns in sharp relief and he wonders when it had faded into nothingness. He did not notice.
“If you want to remember,” Anything at all, “you should come to Denocte’s lake one night and watch the stars from there.” He reaches, as if to touch his muzzle to hers. His breath is something like a kiss upon her burnished lips.
He came to her hungry and feral and he leaves, quieter, his shadows a calm cloak across his flesh. But he is more unsettled than ever. He is hungrier than ever.
I want, Elena, He had said. I want.
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eeee Thank you for another lovely thread <3 I shall just casually go and start the next one now xDD
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