I know nothing.
The bone girl is disappointed. “All this world and you know nothing?” Faida chastises with a whisper from lips that reach for his ear, and a smile that threatens to cut it like a knife. As she draws back, her gaze sweeps this land of lovers. How ironic that the girl of death and a loveless heart, should find herself here first of all.
“I have no home.” And she does not wish for one.
She shiver-steps through the cold, cold water, each small foot splashing into the stream with little more than a whisper. The water stains her skin the darkest grey, a grey of roiling thunderclouds. Up and up and up her slender limbs those grey stains crawl. In every place the boy is black the water marks her grey.
Her tail swishes and sways and her body quakes with the memory of spines clacking over rock. Oh there is a monster still within her and it roils and rolls and thrashes; an alligator through water.
Their muzzles touch, midnight to white, white light and she wonder if he knows how close he comes to death. Her breath is a sigh across his cheek, her lips following the black ink of his mask. He moves to retreat, but keen and wild and dangerous Faida rises from the water, stalking his every retreating step. Her lips stay close with his, her smile turning viperous, even has her eyes still gaze dreamily out from beneath, heavy punch-drunk lashes.
As beautiful as a snowflake and as dangerous as consuming as a blizzard, she circles him. This girl, this monster, will smother him with cold as she explores his every scar, orbiting him like a comet seeking its crash-landing.
“Yes.” She breathes against his hot, hot skin. There, there she feels the vibrant pulse where death has not yet touched him. “But only a murderer who can keep me dead – can you?”
She retreats, the monster returning to the watery depths. Yet she keeps her eyes upon him, her smile fierce as she steps backward into the stream and watches her blood begin to flow downstream. Can he see it? Can he see the jagged holes upon her ribcage? And the blood that runs red, red over Astarte’s even redder skin? Can he hear the water that bubbles in her lungs?
Her eyes, beetleblack and as empty as a cave, remain fixed upon him as she smiles and smiles and smiles, “How do you kill?” The white girl asks and invites him down from the bank as her scar begins to chafe. “Come down, if you don’t mind the blood,” Faida sings, pure and white and radiant from within her crystal clear stream.
@Acton
