the ascendant
she/her
twenty-nine
November 03
sootopolis
demisexual
councilwoman
champion
i got new love, new skin to wrap myself in
sanguine sacrilege
POSTED ON May 18, 2023 2:10:13 GMT
you don't deserve me, freya. it has not left her. he has not left her. he has made her question everything. even in her dreams, he is there, with his hand under her chin, cupping her jaw lovingly and drawing her ever-closer. giving her exactly what she wants and asking nothing in return. that's all it was - a piteous way for him to grant her her fantasies of being worth something. she was never his sword. her training? the countless hours spent honing her body, preparing to be the iron wall that stood in front of bullets for him (and didn't she? didn't she take two at his behest?). poor freya. poor, silly freya, being spoonfed what she asked for and swallowing it down, only to retch it up later and spit it back onto him. you did nothing for me except use me. but she was used. she was used. wasn't she? couldn't he have known what he was doing? couldn't he have known that wasn't what she wanted? what she needed? that it wasn't right?she is through with hiding. her body bears new scars of battle. when she lands outside the walls of his gym, she shrugs off her t-shirt with its long sleeves, exposing a skintight muscle shirt. it bunches around her hard edges. she's no longer the thinned waif from traipsing through kyurem's wasteland. her sparring with KING WAYLAND and her regular excursions have once again made her fit for combat. lyune is returned to his ball for the moment, only so that she may approach the receptionist's desk and ask after her appointment. i wanted to see you happy. she's told to wait and so she does. rather than take a seat, she stands off to the side and looks, with brows drawn in concentration, out the window. painfully, she thinks, happiness was escaping you.
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