no matter how tall he stood, he could never impose a larger shadow than the woman that haunts lulu. the amorous sounds of their bleeding hearts die all at once and in its place is the soft murmur of better, and worse, times. he reaches - slowly, gently, but her fingers have already curled in warning and her face has already twisted. 

he sees a challenge, not finality, in her stare and his own eyes go dark and cold.

"i know you," he says. "i know your fears and your desires and i know why it's easier for you to make me out a villain."

the shadow splits, warps - that intimidating figure of a broad, mean woman becomes leaner. sharper. fingers like needles and teeth like daggers - sapphire eyes glimmer in the dark. alecto cackles.

Lulu Flint

☉

she knew herself little anymore. her identity had become the unending work she put into projects, patching over the crumbling truths in her foundation with ever more questions to answer to keep her going.[break][break]

it seemed her fears and desires were in a state of flux, impermanent as rare moments of peace in their region.[break][break]

”do you?” no. he couldn’t possibly know. ”do you even know what she meant to me?”[break][break]

as the woman’s imposing shadow split into some surely lesser demon, relief washed away the phantom pain above her heart where a bullet had once passed through.[break][break]

[attr="class","ooc"]nikkari hect [break]

his mouth goes dry. the shadows fold in on themselves and in their place is a man, daunting and worthless. shuffling cards, drunken murmurs, a haze of cigar smoke, all the familiar sights and sounds of just another night, with just the same people, her figure still in the back, watching through his eyes. 

he cannot admit to it. he cannot admit to never fully grasping her in all of her complexities. how he lay awake for years, wondering after where she went, why and how she left them all behind. 

"i am not her," he seethes. he was her arm, he was her eyes, he was her blood, and he has never not taken pride in that. 

Lulu Flint

☉

she realized her hand was still in his, curled under his fingers, a sandshrew playing dead. there was comfort there, in his touch, even as she wanted to tear away. he felt like galar. like motostoke. like thrills and distant happiness.[break][break]

around them, she could hear the past. laughter, gambling, drinking. but the memories melted away, like snow to nothing under the tropical sun.[break][break]

just as she had to his aunt, she sought to cut him deep, before he could do the same to her.[break][break]

”no,” she agreed, hand pulling away from him finally. ”if you were, maybe the dragons would still be alive.”[break][break]

[attr="class","ooc"]nikkari hect [break]

had he been there, had he not stayed, would the dragons had been any better off? would he have been there when they took fiona, he would have had a choice and he would like to believe it impossible, but it wouldn't have been. 

he'd have died for his aunt and for all that she gave him, painted as much of the present with red to stain her past. maybe she would have preferred him a memory. 

maybe she prefers that still.

he spares her a withering look and tucks his tongue in his cheek. 

"and perhaps," he says, "you would be dead."

Lulu Flint

☉