Toaru had always excelled at stoking the fire inside of Fever.
The bite in his words stung like a slap across the face, yet most of Fever was pleased to have him angry with her. She wished for him to hate her, lamented over his scowl of disgust, knowing it would be easier on them both if he thought her the villain.
It is not hard to imagine her fat and swollen with sin – she is gluttonous with an insatiable appetite, full of wrath and war for those she has deemed unworthy of mercy. She was destined to be a manifestation of spite and envy, a specter of malicious intent.
And yet, Fever thinks briefly of the twin girls who she pays to occasionally braid her tail – she listens to them giggle as she feigns snoozing; their childish whimsy infectious as they day-dream and prattle about life beyond the canyon walls, beyond the glitter of the ocean, wondering what fruit might taste like if picked from the tree.
Does he really believe she wouldn’t deliver them to paradise as well?
Good. Let him.
“You’ve always been so self-righteous. It’s a good thing there are good men like you in this world to smite wicked witches like me.” A chuckle bubbles from her black lips, her narrowing eyes a cocking gun. “I bet you’d be beautiful in the glow of the fire you’d burn me in.”
Their reunion had turned into a hazardous game of cat-and-mouse, treacherous tug-of-war, testing who was going to fold, to bend, to break, who was going cave first and be honest? Their banter was becoming less cordial and gradually growing hostile. Fever may be the one to inflict the wounds, but Toaru was carrying the salt.
She expected him to bark at her for trying to turn away, sure, but she didn’t think he would come in closer and use his teeth to pull the hairs of her tail. In a wild and liquid motion, she pirouettes and snaps her own porcelains in his direction – ears flattened to the back of her skull, gaze set in a glare as she questions the audacity in this man.
She can’t help but wonder what he would have done if she kicked him in the mouth.
It tickles her fancy.
But as she was busy contemplating her next move, just like that, Toaru changes his tactics, and he is now a shark circling blood in the water. Again, he surprises her with his own coldness, his own spitefulness that would rival her own. A fraction of her was pleased he had the balls to speak to her like that, the other couldn't help but frown at his unhappiness with her. She brushes off her own feelings quickly, inhales sharply, and watches as he inspects her. Fever is familiar with gawking, yet for some reason, this felt more invasive than her usual clients.
Alas, she chooses not to let it bother her. The woman makes sure to emphasize the sinuous dip in her spine as she curls her neck into a swan-like arch, her lashes fan and flutter in the sunlight like monarch butterflies. The fire in her rages as he pokes her with his own questions; he still knows her well enough to assume she’d be wild with jealousy; he remembers her possessive nature. So, she ignores those words, instead she asks with feigned innocence, beguilement flirting with her lips as she giggles dangerously, “You think I’m pretty?”
She coos to him in a saccharine, mocking voice. “I’m glad you think so highly of me, I can’t say the same of you, though. My expectations of you have, well – “ she pauses, her eyes a finger tracing the muscles in his legs, tip-toeing up the strong and masculine curve of his neck as she eyes his height, “They’ve fallen a little short.” Her lower lip is a pout before metamorphosing into a devious simper.
Fever braces herself for whatever retaliation she might face for poking the bear, the white on his face suddenly looking less like an uncharted map waiting to be discovered and more like the bleeding of war-paint.
And when she would find a moment in the dust, when things had become quiet and still once again, she would snake her head closer to him, so that she was just out of reach, where the heat of her breath could mingle with his dappled cocoa skin of his ear. She whispers to him, hushed and pained, so quiet so that the sands of Solterra could not hear the secrets that slipped from her tongue.
He breaks her - just a little.
“Stop living in a dream?” She asks with a breathy desperation she had long forgotten she held. “You stupid boy, you were my dream. I would have spilled my own blood if it meant a promise of your happiness. I would have broken my bones if it meant I could see you smile, Toaru. I would have been a weapon for you to wield against your enemies without question, and I would have been a prayer of salvation had you needed it from me.”
There were few things that would satisfy her in this world. She pulls away from him and turns her back on him, avoiding the scrutiny of his gaze. Her brow furrows, a silent curse as she scolds herself for her bout of weakness. She had let him get to her, and it infuriates her.
“I would have left with you if I could have, but I suppose that doesn't cut it for you now either, does it?”
@Toaru
The bite in his words stung like a slap across the face, yet most of Fever was pleased to have him angry with her. She wished for him to hate her, lamented over his scowl of disgust, knowing it would be easier on them both if he thought her the villain.
It is not hard to imagine her fat and swollen with sin – she is gluttonous with an insatiable appetite, full of wrath and war for those she has deemed unworthy of mercy. She was destined to be a manifestation of spite and envy, a specter of malicious intent.
And yet, Fever thinks briefly of the twin girls who she pays to occasionally braid her tail – she listens to them giggle as she feigns snoozing; their childish whimsy infectious as they day-dream and prattle about life beyond the canyon walls, beyond the glitter of the ocean, wondering what fruit might taste like if picked from the tree.
Does he really believe she wouldn’t deliver them to paradise as well?
Good. Let him.
“You’ve always been so self-righteous. It’s a good thing there are good men like you in this world to smite wicked witches like me.” A chuckle bubbles from her black lips, her narrowing eyes a cocking gun. “I bet you’d be beautiful in the glow of the fire you’d burn me in.”
Their reunion had turned into a hazardous game of cat-and-mouse, treacherous tug-of-war, testing who was going to fold, to bend, to break, who was going cave first and be honest? Their banter was becoming less cordial and gradually growing hostile. Fever may be the one to inflict the wounds, but Toaru was carrying the salt.
She expected him to bark at her for trying to turn away, sure, but she didn’t think he would come in closer and use his teeth to pull the hairs of her tail. In a wild and liquid motion, she pirouettes and snaps her own porcelains in his direction – ears flattened to the back of her skull, gaze set in a glare as she questions the audacity in this man.
She can’t help but wonder what he would have done if she kicked him in the mouth.
It tickles her fancy.
But as she was busy contemplating her next move, just like that, Toaru changes his tactics, and he is now a shark circling blood in the water. Again, he surprises her with his own coldness, his own spitefulness that would rival her own. A fraction of her was pleased he had the balls to speak to her like that, the other couldn't help but frown at his unhappiness with her. She brushes off her own feelings quickly, inhales sharply, and watches as he inspects her. Fever is familiar with gawking, yet for some reason, this felt more invasive than her usual clients.
Alas, she chooses not to let it bother her. The woman makes sure to emphasize the sinuous dip in her spine as she curls her neck into a swan-like arch, her lashes fan and flutter in the sunlight like monarch butterflies. The fire in her rages as he pokes her with his own questions; he still knows her well enough to assume she’d be wild with jealousy; he remembers her possessive nature. So, she ignores those words, instead she asks with feigned innocence, beguilement flirting with her lips as she giggles dangerously, “You think I’m pretty?”
She coos to him in a saccharine, mocking voice. “I’m glad you think so highly of me, I can’t say the same of you, though. My expectations of you have, well – “ she pauses, her eyes a finger tracing the muscles in his legs, tip-toeing up the strong and masculine curve of his neck as she eyes his height, “They’ve fallen a little short.” Her lower lip is a pout before metamorphosing into a devious simper.
Fever braces herself for whatever retaliation she might face for poking the bear, the white on his face suddenly looking less like an uncharted map waiting to be discovered and more like the bleeding of war-paint.
And when she would find a moment in the dust, when things had become quiet and still once again, she would snake her head closer to him, so that she was just out of reach, where the heat of her breath could mingle with his dappled cocoa skin of his ear. She whispers to him, hushed and pained, so quiet so that the sands of Solterra could not hear the secrets that slipped from her tongue.
He breaks her - just a little.
“Stop living in a dream?” She asks with a breathy desperation she had long forgotten she held. “You stupid boy, you were my dream. I would have spilled my own blood if it meant a promise of your happiness. I would have broken my bones if it meant I could see you smile, Toaru. I would have been a weapon for you to wield against your enemies without question, and I would have been a prayer of salvation had you needed it from me.”
There were few things that would satisfy her in this world. She pulls away from him and turns her back on him, avoiding the scrutiny of his gaze. Her brow furrows, a silent curse as she scolds herself for her bout of weakness. She had let him get to her, and it infuriates her.
“I would have left with you if I could have, but I suppose that doesn't cut it for you now either, does it?”
@Toaru
![[Image: 45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png]](https://f2.toyhou.se/file/f2-toyhou-se/images/45505141_kShAGp5UVRG2Lvt.png)
i am a forest fire; i am the fire and i am the forest
and i am a witness watching it
