This red, red girl is wild and fierce. About her the gilded walls were surely trembling, the marble pooling at her feet. She was an inferno he let rage; a blaze that would consume him with passion and fury.
Raum lets her build, watching the lightning crack behind her stormy eyes, watching it gleam along each eyelash. The room continues to bend to her, she controls it, she masters it. The worlds would surely shiver before this creature of smoke and brimstone. She was the dragon that would never be tamed and he was the quiet thief that would steal all of her treasured belongings whilst she slept.
He would take from her, feeding her with simple words designed to spark, just to watch her burn like the sun, piercing the sky. She commands his eyes and they go to her, willing and obedient. They are the ocean to her fire, the waters that will extinguish her, if only he let them… if only he would find the words to sooth along her smoky skin, to cool her down to smoldering embers.
The Ghost watches as her clever mind worked, as she drank the scent of his skin. Yes He thinks with a smile that hides behind his lips. It is a smile he hates because its for her, its because of her. He watches Rhoswen’s mind work, crow-like and quick. Then, she is there with an avian look of burning embers and wild thrashing storms. Her fury is palpable, but it is nothing compared the name - the spark - that opens her up like a volcano: Rose.
That name fell from his lips as both a feather of fondness and a knife designed to cut. He hates this girl. He loves this girl. His fury simmers within him, somewhere dark, somewhere deep. Somewhere no one, not even he, can reach. But it’s there, oh its there and it lurks, thick like tar, consuming him, eating him and it’s black, black, black.
Her voice clatters off the walls, it hisses, water on flame, as she rages in this gilded hall. He wishes she would burn it, he longs to drag her back to Denocte, back to the Crows, but this is her bed and the more she speaks, the more she cuts into his skin. They would neither survive this encounter.
He steps close to her, quiet anger, silent, deadly anger. The silk of his blue scarf brushes against her hair, blue, bright contrasting beautifully. The water to quell her raging fire. If only that was what he desired.
Inside Raum laughs. Inside he is furious, but it sinks again and again into that tar and all that slips out from his lips are soft, soft words, “Caligo never abandoned you, Rhoswen. You abandoned her.” He lets it hang there, the accusation, the menace. His blindness. He cannot see why she would betray them.
The Crow knows just how long to leave it before he speaks, to stop her talking, to stop her leaving. “You were never quiet enough to listen to the shadows speak.” His words are both adoration (of her fire, of her unremitting vitality) and a lament for her. For she was the girl who never gave herself a chance to follow Caligo – not so far as he saw at least.
He did watch her, from the darkness, from within Caligo’s thrall, he watched her. The beautiful privileged girl, always a Crow and never one. Was she above them? Is that what she felt? “Have you turned your back on us Rhoswen? Did we stifle you?” He asks, measured, slow and sinister. Her eyes trickle over her face, over the lines he once knew so well. The boy knew where they crinkled when she laughed, when she smiled, when she wept… He waits for her now, reading her. Would she lie to him? Could he ever believe her?
Would you turn your back on me?
@Rhoswen
Raum lets her build, watching the lightning crack behind her stormy eyes, watching it gleam along each eyelash. The room continues to bend to her, she controls it, she masters it. The worlds would surely shiver before this creature of smoke and brimstone. She was the dragon that would never be tamed and he was the quiet thief that would steal all of her treasured belongings whilst she slept.
He would take from her, feeding her with simple words designed to spark, just to watch her burn like the sun, piercing the sky. She commands his eyes and they go to her, willing and obedient. They are the ocean to her fire, the waters that will extinguish her, if only he let them… if only he would find the words to sooth along her smoky skin, to cool her down to smoldering embers.
The Ghost watches as her clever mind worked, as she drank the scent of his skin. Yes He thinks with a smile that hides behind his lips. It is a smile he hates because its for her, its because of her. He watches Rhoswen’s mind work, crow-like and quick. Then, she is there with an avian look of burning embers and wild thrashing storms. Her fury is palpable, but it is nothing compared the name - the spark - that opens her up like a volcano: Rose.
That name fell from his lips as both a feather of fondness and a knife designed to cut. He hates this girl. He loves this girl. His fury simmers within him, somewhere dark, somewhere deep. Somewhere no one, not even he, can reach. But it’s there, oh its there and it lurks, thick like tar, consuming him, eating him and it’s black, black, black.
Her voice clatters off the walls, it hisses, water on flame, as she rages in this gilded hall. He wishes she would burn it, he longs to drag her back to Denocte, back to the Crows, but this is her bed and the more she speaks, the more she cuts into his skin. They would neither survive this encounter.
He steps close to her, quiet anger, silent, deadly anger. The silk of his blue scarf brushes against her hair, blue, bright contrasting beautifully. The water to quell her raging fire. If only that was what he desired.
Inside Raum laughs. Inside he is furious, but it sinks again and again into that tar and all that slips out from his lips are soft, soft words, “Caligo never abandoned you, Rhoswen. You abandoned her.” He lets it hang there, the accusation, the menace. His blindness. He cannot see why she would betray them.
The Crow knows just how long to leave it before he speaks, to stop her talking, to stop her leaving. “You were never quiet enough to listen to the shadows speak.” His words are both adoration (of her fire, of her unremitting vitality) and a lament for her. For she was the girl who never gave herself a chance to follow Caligo – not so far as he saw at least.
He did watch her, from the darkness, from within Caligo’s thrall, he watched her. The beautiful privileged girl, always a Crow and never one. Was she above them? Is that what she felt? “Have you turned your back on us Rhoswen? Did we stifle you?” He asks, measured, slow and sinister. Her eyes trickle over her face, over the lines he once knew so well. The boy knew where they crinkled when she laughed, when she smiled, when she wept… He waits for her now, reading her. Would she lie to him? Could he ever believe her?
Would you turn your back on me?
@Rhoswen
![[Image: x341oLX.png]](https://i.imgur.com/x341oLX.png)
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
in his catastrophic plan
