☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"you know when you become / something it eats you? the teeth / in my hand. the weight of the handle, / the meat separating from the bone."
"you know when you become / something it eats you? the teeth / in my hand. the weight of the handle, / the meat separating from the bone."
With my shoulder pressed to him, I can feel his shock, though it does not much show on his face; the faint twitch of skin that suggests that he is surprised by my sudden proximity. I don’t feel any need to explain it. We are always close, and, generally speaking, that is his fault and not mine.
I drift away quickly, when he begins to walk - but I am never far. For once, however, he does not follow at my heels; I follow at his.
I trail after him as he walks down the bloodstained path through the mirror-laden landscape, and, when my reflection tries to catch my eye, I do not look at her. I do not look at any of them - none of the other Ishaks, and none of the other Ruths. I can feel them, though. Perhaps it is a symptom of my household that I can always feel it, when I am being watched, even before I have caught the eye of the watcher. Being an Ieshan means being seen, although I am by far the least noticeable of my siblings.
There is a way, however, that the reflection that has been following me hungrily, blood and gore dribbling in thick streams from her jaws, seems to sing to me. I think that it is because we are both wanting, both quietly starving - but she has found a cure for it that is not mine, a separate hunger to be quenched.
Some part of me does not want to leave until I understand it. Some part of me wonders if it is even a cure at all, or if it is simply another kind of disease - and, before we leave the island, I find myself tossing a glance over my shoulder at the Ruth covered in a kind of blood that is not mine, dirtied in the way that even a surgeon would never be; and I look into her eyes.
Her pupils are reptilian. Like a snake’s. When her lips twitch, they possess the barest suggestion of pale, hollow fangs. I nearly recoil at the sight, and it is not out of fear.
When we return to Solterra, beneath a constellation-stricken sky, when I have walked through the gates into the capitol, into the manor doors, into my room; when I have locked the door and laid down on my bed, and when there is almost nothing but me and the bare dark, I am still thinking of her eyes.
@Ishak || look at us, Finishing Threads || sam sax, "ribs"
I drift away quickly, when he begins to walk - but I am never far. For once, however, he does not follow at my heels; I follow at his.
I trail after him as he walks down the bloodstained path through the mirror-laden landscape, and, when my reflection tries to catch my eye, I do not look at her. I do not look at any of them - none of the other Ishaks, and none of the other Ruths. I can feel them, though. Perhaps it is a symptom of my household that I can always feel it, when I am being watched, even before I have caught the eye of the watcher. Being an Ieshan means being seen, although I am by far the least noticeable of my siblings.
There is a way, however, that the reflection that has been following me hungrily, blood and gore dribbling in thick streams from her jaws, seems to sing to me. I think that it is because we are both wanting, both quietly starving - but she has found a cure for it that is not mine, a separate hunger to be quenched.
Some part of me does not want to leave until I understand it. Some part of me wonders if it is even a cure at all, or if it is simply another kind of disease - and, before we leave the island, I find myself tossing a glance over my shoulder at the Ruth covered in a kind of blood that is not mine, dirtied in the way that even a surgeon would never be; and I look into her eyes.
Her pupils are reptilian. Like a snake’s. When her lips twitch, they possess the barest suggestion of pale, hollow fangs. I nearly recoil at the sight, and it is not out of fear.
When we return to Solterra, beneath a constellation-stricken sky, when I have walked through the gates into the capitol, into the manor doors, into my room; when I have locked the door and laid down on my bed, and when there is almost nothing but me and the bare dark, I am still thinking of her eyes.
@
HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTHlaughs at my red teeth❂please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence
