sikeax
but our love has gone cold
you're intertwining your soul with somebody else "
Where is the humanity? Where is Sikeax, you know, the real one with cautious eyes and messy thoughts, Hobgoblin glued to her side only to add a sense of unease even when her mere presence can be defined as comforting. I’m only saying this right now because she’s nearly gone, lurching her neck out as saltwater spews out of her lungs and throat into the dampening sand encircling her. There is no sensation of comfort and love in her company, no soft voice with calm words and worried glances, the small ticks that almost go by unnoticed that makes people wonder what someone like her has got to be scared of. You could almost think ‘How could anyone be cruel to that?’ for a few seconds.
A mute scream clogs her throat up and only manages to come out in the form of spitting water, drowning in coughs and teary eyes that burn with a passion fueled by fear and salt. The shaking rattling her entire body turns into terror and fear instead of trauma and heartbreak, eyes barely opened as the muscles surrounding them struggle to pry their lids apart, whites laced with red as they flare with panic.
Where’s to run, Sea Soul? There’s no safety here in anymore, so let’s just suffer.
The sand is even colder on her shoulder blade, having wasted no time in thrusting her body weight into the opposite direction to avoid a touch that was more than unwelcome, gaze coming back around with that same look of fear, struggling to figure out how to make thick, judgemental brows.
“Wh- Whuh-” Words crack in her mouth under the strain. A lower jaw is shivering like a babe in the winter’s cold, trying to get a grip on itself when her brain obviously cannot do that. Something else has to be on her mind, with the way that her head whips away from her failure to have her eyes squint even harder into the distance, looking out across empty beach that’s opposite the direction of her companionship, like she's expecting someone to come her rescue or to be at their side. No one is there as the drool slides down the curve of her lower lip, finishing itself up with a cough that rattles her rib cage a lot harder than she would've thought and burns her throat. The squinting gives a bit harder, still thoroughly caught up in thought.
Sounds take up space against her eardrums, groggy and waterlogged as one comes round to try and figure out what they’re saying. One word manages to make its way to her brain, but a thousand explanations come in return and none of them seem to fit the picture.
So, with the best of her shaken ability, she returns to him with brows knotted up and confusion ridiculing her features, jaw slackened and face slightly more tense. The amount of thought she’s trying to work through right now is more than evident, but regardless, the delusion of a near-death experience only succeeds in making her look stupid.
“I- I…” Sight shifts downward as the words continue to struggle, trying to find space to right themselves when there is never going to be enough. “Reeeed-d-y. Fate gives her a better hand this time around, dragging out the word far and long with a shivering jaw, slamming her tongue into the right space after too long of an embarrassing defeat at trying to place the ‘ee’ sound at the end.
Ready. I’m ready for you to take me away. I’m ready to die and be with them, and I hope they’re ready to be with me again.
The thought of death brings a brief portion of happiness that flutters in her chest like a songbird’s joyous wings in springtime. She flirts with a thin smile, the intensity in her brow muscles going lax as a lazy bat of eyelashes barely brings tears out. They bubble up in their ducts and never make it further, even though her cheeks are stained with sea water.
And her touch goes for his, so obviously left without knowledge of her legs now under the belief that her soul has been pardoned of its sins, finally free to experience happiness with those that really matter.
The dead.
Her eyes drink up every single one of his details as her muzzle tries to find something of his, a shoulder, a cheekbone, possibly a leg. The Grim Reaper has a horn forged from what looks like hellfire and the eyes to match, a delirious brain pausing to think if they possibly forged him with the fire inside and have sealed him shut up with ashes and brimstone. A glimmer of gold adorns portions of his face that she never imagined existed, bringing out faint hints of thought and confusion as her mouth pulls forward slightly, just barely, like the question is there, irony laughing at the fact that it’ll never make it out or have much purpose. Either way, the expression slips off her features within milliseconds, gone like it was never there while she awaits her eventual passage.
OOC: I'm sorry???? ? Sia is so fucking delusional in this thread that even I'm confused
"speak"
@Salem
